“Hell no,” said Ray. “Don’t give him a heads-up that we know he exists!”

Mason stayed silent, noticing Zander did the same. He’d weighed the pros and cons of revealing what they knew to the press. He couldn’t see much benefit. They could post the best still frame of the shooter and hope someone recognized him, but the clearest image was pretty lousy; it’d trigger hundreds of false identifications. And Mason liked the idea that the shooter didn’t know that they were aware of his existence. He wanted the man confident; he’d be more likely to slip up.

“That’s Shaver’s call,” said Zander.

“And speak of the devil,” added Ray as Sergeant Shaver joined their group.

Shaver looked as if he’d been running on hits of caffeine for four days and sleeping on a cot in a side room. Mason suspected they all looked about the same. Shaver waved a file at them. “Got something interesting.”

“Spill it,” said Zander.

“Ballistics on the bullets from the Eugene shooting match a case from a decade ago,” Shaver announced.

The group was silent.

“It took that long to get results?” asked Ray. “It’s been two months since the Eugene incident.”

“They didn’t assign a priority to getting the bullets through forensics. They had a dead shooter and knew who he was,” Shaver pointed out. “Lane County didn’t see the point to ask for a rush when they weren’t searching for a suspect, and I wouldn’t have, either. There’re too many cases that need quick answers. This wasn’t one of them.”

The men slowly nodded in understanding. “And the old case that it matches?” asked Zander.

Shaver looked at his file. “March of ten years ago. Sharon Silva was shot once in the head at her home. She lived alone and wasn’t missed until she didn’t show up for her shift three days later. This happened in Eugene not too far from the University of Oregon campus and it was never solved.” He looked up. “She was a U of O police officer.”

His words ricocheted in Mason’s head, and he fought down his anger. The senseless deaths of fellow officers who’d put their lives on the line to protect others always pissed him off. And this was a woman. Doubly bad. He saw his feelings reflected in the eyes of the other men. Ray let loose a streak of expletives.

“I remember that. She wasn’t very old, was she?” asked Ray. “Every department in the state takes it very personally when one of our own is killed. I can’t believe it’s still not solved. They threw everything at that case.”

“Nothing panned out,” said Shaver.

Mason didn’t remember the case. “You have her picture?” Shaver held up an image of a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She had a warm smile. “Family? Suspects?”

“Some family that lived out of state,” answered Shaver. “They questioned the neighbors, but everyone swore they heard nothing. She was shot late at night on a Saturday while the house next door had a live band playing. I imagine it was loud.”

Mason groaned. “And multiplied the number of interviews and suspects. She was inside her home?”

“In her backyard. Looks like she was on a bench on her back patio. The report said she had a broken beer bottle near her body and beer in her system. After checking with the party, no one had brought that particular brand, and she had a partial six-pack of it in her fridge. They think she was simply outside listening to the band from her own yard when she was shot.”

“Location of shooter?” Ray asked.

“About ten feet away. One shot at the back of her head.”

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Mason. “An assassination.”

Shaver gave him an odd look. “Several of the investigators made a similar observation. Stated it felt cold and calculated. Not an accident.”

“It’s Eugene again,” said Zander. “What made our shooter wait ten years between murders?”

“Maybe we need to check all the cold-case shootings from the last decade in the Eugene area,” said Ray. “Maybe it hasn’t been ten years. Since the recent ballistics comparison would have hit on any other bullet matches, maybe we need to look at other similar aspects in case he has multiple weapons.”

“Other aspects?” asked Shaver.

“Cold cases with multiple gunshot victims? Or women who live alone who’ve been shot?” said Ray as he stared at the ceiling in deep concentration.

An alarm sounded in Mason’s brain.

“Women in law enforcement,” said Mason, looking at the other investigators.

“Gabrielle Gower.” Zander slapped the table as he caught Mason’s train of thought. “The first victim in the Rivertown Mall shooting. She was a former patrol officer from Medford. I think she’d left the force about two years ago.”

“Let me see the lists of the other victims in the shootings,” said Shaver. “Now!”

“Jennifer Spendlin was the mom who dropped her toddler in Eugene,” said Zander. “She wasn’t law enforcement, but she was an instructor at a shooting range.”

All the men looked at Zander.

He shrugged and met their curious gazes. “I remember stuff. No one had a law enforcement history at that shooting that I recall.”

Mason recalled Ava’s saying that Zander had a reputation in their office for a nearly photographic memory.

“What about the Troutdale shooting?” Shaver asked.