“What happened next?” Ray asked. “Did you look at the shooter?”

“I did. I looked back as I belly-crawled to Anna. By the time I got there she wasn’t breathing.” Tears rolled down her soft cheeks, but Shirley kept her gaze on the men. “The shooter shot at another man, and I saw him fall, and then he vanished into the restroom. I think there was some shouting, and I know there were more shots.”

“Did anyone come out?”

“Yes, someone was yelling that the shooter shot himself. I remember wondering if I was safe now, but people were still screaming and running around. One woman from my group appeared right after that and helped me check Anna again, but there was nothing else we could do for her.” She wiped at her tears with a tissue. “I stayed with her until the police arrived. I didn’t leave until they placed her in one of those bags.”

“That was very kind of you,” Ray said.

“They say one’s spirit hangs around after death. I hope she knew I didn’t leave her alone. I told her husband I stayed with her. I can’t bear the thought of dying alone.” Her demeanor changed and a hardness settled over her features. “Except for that man . . . the shooter. I hope he was miserable and terrified when he stuck his gun in his mouth. I hope he knew the world wanted nothing more to do with his kind. Hell was waiting for him.”

Mason blinked, stunned speechless by the rapid change in the kind woman.

She nodded at him. “Close your mouth, Detective; you’re going to catch flies. I’ve lived a long time and believe we’re here to make other people’s lives happy. I have no sympathy for people who want to destroy.”

Mason shut his mouth and looked down at his notes. “You didn’t notice anyone on the far side of the lake when you were doing your first lap?”

“No. No one was over there that I saw. It’s usually very quiet on that side in the mornings. A bit creepy. I wouldn’t walk over there by myself that time of day.”

“But he was behind you when you heard the shooting. On the path that led from that side of the lake? Did you have the impression he’d come from that direction?” Ray asked.

Shirley thought for a moment. “By the time I looked back, yes, he was on the lake path, but he could have come from one of the side streets. I honestly don’t have an opinion about where he’d been. He was simply there when things went to hell.”

“Had you seen him before that morning? Did his physical presence remind you of someone you’d seen in the park before? I imagine you run into the same people a lot,” Mason asked.

She shook her head. “I saw a tall man when I looked back. We see a lot of men each morning, usually runners, some familiar, some not. Nothing in my brain said, ‘Hey, that reminds me of . . .’ I’ve lived in the lake neighborhood for a long time, but I won’t claim to recognize everyone in the area.”

Mason tapped his pencil on the table. The shooter must have done some reconnaissance of the area. But did it matter? They had the shooter. Just not his identity. Yet.

“I think we’re done here.” Mason stood and held his hand out to Shirley. “You’ve been very helpful.”

She looked him in the eye as she took his hand. “Figure out who’s doing this,” she said firmly. “Please find who is driving our young men to kill others and then themselves.”

17

Zander skimmed Justin Yoder’s autopsy report and admired the ME’s thoroughness as Ava studied the computer screen over his shoulder. They had left Cole Hooper’s apartment and headed back to the community center where joint law enforcement agencies were still analyzing what had happened at the Rivertown Mall.

There had been no medications in Justin Yoder’s system.

“Did they look specifically for the medication he was taking?” Ava asked.

“Yes. They had to run some different tests, and I called Dr. Rutledge myself to ask about it. But according to this, Justin Yoder didn’t have a trace of anything in him. Not even Advil. Maybe Cole Hooper was right about Justin’s clean-living commitment.” He glanced over the ME’s notes about the physical condition of the body. The twenty-year-old had been in excellent shape with good muscle tone. Maybe he had been doing the urban obstacle courses.

“This is someone who took care of himself,” said Ava. “So why end it all?”

“And does it lend more credibility to Cole’s story that Justin didn’t want to go to therapy?”

“I would think that a twenty-year-old could convince his parents that he was finished with something. Especially if he’d been doing it for four years. I have a hard time believing he went just because his parents made him.”

Zander nodded. “We’re missing an element of the story.” He pressed his lips together. “I wonder how long he’d been off his medication. I’ll check with his psychiatrist and see if he’d made any changes to his prescription. Although I would guess he wouldn’t change anything unless Justin complained that he wasn’t feeling right. And if he wasn’t taking his meds, he must have been feeling okay.”

Ava snorted. “That’s the problem with going off that sort of medication. Trust me, my twin did it all the time. Jayne would feel great so she’d stop taking it, but she couldn’t see the personality changes that I could. I always knew when she’d switched something up.”

Zander sympathized. Jayne McLane was a piece of work. She and Ava stood on opposite ends of a spectrum. He’d witnessed Jayne blow up a house with her impulsive behavior and abandon Ava with a killer as she chased after her abusive boyfriend. Ava claimed Jayne was currently stable and capable of rational conversations; Zander would believe it when he saw it.