“Could Justin have hid something as big as plans of suicide and murder from Cole?” she asked as they jogged down the creaking wooden stairs.

“I don’t know,” said Zander. “Sounds like he was hiding a lot of things from several people. According to the briefing Ray Lusco sent me about their conversation with the psychiatrist last night, the doctor saw his relationship with Justin as very solid and said the professional visits continued because it was what Justin wanted. According to Cole, that’s not true.”

“And his parents?”

“I think they said Justin asked to continue the visits. I don’t know who to believe.”

“We need the toxicology reports from the autopsy,” said Ava. “I want to know who was telling the truth about Justin’s medication.”

Zander raised a brow at her.

“I mean you need to get those reports, since this is your case,” she corrected herself. They moved out of the building and into the morning sun. Ava raised her face to the rays and slipped on her sunglasses. “I’m on vacation.”

16

Mason held the Troutdale church door open for Ray.

“Feels different this time,” Ray commented as he passed by. “The shopping mall shooting was a mass of hysteria for a half an hour. This shooting in the park was over almost immediately and under control within minutes.”

Mason fell into step with Ray as they headed down the hall to where police were interviewing Troutdale witnesses. Ray was right. The incident had been over by the time the first responders arrived on the scene. The public had momentarily panicked but then taken back its park. Was it because this was the third occurrence? People had had time to think about how they would react? Or was it because the attack had happened in the open and people saw the threat was over minutes after it had started? Personally, he hadn’t felt the same stress about this shooting that he had about the Rivertown Mall shooting. Probably because he’d known Ava was home and in bed.

Are they related?

That damned Nike logo on the jacket and pants of the Troutdale shooter stabbed at his brain. He needed to check, but he was 99 percent certain investigators hadn’t released to the public what the Rivertown Mall shooter had been wearing. Someone close to the mall investigation would know, but had anyone leaked the information? It wasn’t top secret. They’d identified the mall shooter within twenty-four hours. There was no reason for anyone to be interested in what the Rivertown Mall shooter had been wearing . . . unless they wanted to imitate the shooting.

He’d made a call on the way to the church, trying to find out what the Eugene shooter had worn in June, and was waiting for a return call. He’d Googled every article he could on his cell phone, but the description hadn’t gone beyond “dark clothing.” It wasn’t good enough for Mason. It seemed every damned mass shooter in history had worn dark clothing or camouflage.

Did they have a rash of copycats or an organized group of young men bent on killing themselves as publicly as possible?

Inside the church, he and Ray checked in with Chief Deputy Bishop and his organizers. They were assigned a witness to interview. Shirley DeMarco. One of the deaths, Anna Luther, had been in her regular walking group. They met in a quiet room where the woman made constant use of a box of tissues. Shirley DeMarco was seventy-three and widowed, and had walked the lake park five days a week with the same group of women for years.

“Not all of us can make it every day,” Shirley stated. “But we all aim for five days. I haven’t missed a day all summer. Even in the rain we walk.” She dabbed at her nose.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Mason said. “How long had Anna Luther been in your group?”

Shirley nodded, her bloodshot eyes clouding for a second. “Anna joined us three years ago. We all live close to the park and she made almost every walk.” She blew her nose. “Sweet woman, quiet, but always had a nice smile and a positive word for everyone. One of those perpetually happy people, you know?”

Mason and Ray both nodded.

“She was the type you almost didn’t believe was real. The glass was always half full and she knew how to make everyone laugh. No fakiness going on at all.”

Ray slid a map of the park across the table. “Show me where you walked, where you were when Anna was shot, and what you saw the shooter do.”

Shirley took a deep breath. “We always do two laps around the lake. It’s almost four miles and takes us about an hour. We’d finished the first lap and were close to the play area here.” Her finger circled the lake once and stopped at the south end. “I heard three or four shots . . . all close together. We all stopped and looked around. My first thought was fireworks. They do a big display at the park for the Fourth, and it seems like some people continue to shoot off fireworks at least for a week after that, but they’re always at night.” Her finger slid an inch west. “He was here. He’d been behind us . . . I don’t know if he followed us from the far side of the lake . . . but I didn’t see him until after I heard the shots. I looked behind me, saw his mask, and he was aiming directly at our group.”

“What did you do?” asked Mason.

“I hit the ground,” she said simply. “I could either run or get down. I can walk just fine, but running was out of the question and there was nowhere to take cover within fifty feet. The slides were the closest, but my brain told me to get down.” She shuddered. “Everyone else ran. Including Anna. I heard more shots and saw her fall. He shot her in the back,” she said angrily, her eyes narrowing. “God damned young kid shooting a woman in the back. A woman with a family. I don’t know whether to cry or scream.”