“So what can you tell us about the guy we’re looking for?” asked Nora. “It’s clearly not the goth kid in the other room. I don’t want to waste time talking about him if no one thinks he did it. Although any suggestions you have to pull more information out of him will be appreciated.”

Euzent pulled out his notepad and flipped through several pages. Mason noticed his handwriting was atrocious. Similar to Ray’s chicken scratch. It surprised him; he’d expected the agent’s notes to be picture-perfect. Like his own. “I’ve been reading everything you’ve sent me. Granted, I’ve only been able to skim the reports of what happened last night, but I feel well informed on Special Agent Weldon’s case, Captain Schefte’s, and Officer Samuelson’s death.

“The best I can offer right now is a brief overview of some elements you’ll find in your killer. Hopefully they’ll help you narrow your field of suspects and give you a guide when guys like Micah Zuch try to take the credit. Some of this is pretty general. Any good investigator will already be aware of the obvious elements, but bear with me, okay?” He quickly scanned the group, his gaze frank behind his glasses.

Mason nodded. Sometimes it helped to have someone state the obvious.

“You’ve got a smart guy here. He’s organized and intelligent. He leaves a very clean scene. I suspect he was aware of everything he left behind . . . including that happy fingerprint.” He shook his head, giving a half smile. “I admit I haven’t seen one of those before. The scene last night feels less organized . . . the change in his method of killing . . . the mask in the hand of the victim. I need more time to look at the evidence from that scene.

“Our killer brought everything he needed to each scene and took the tools with him when he left. I think Micah might be right that some sort of pulley was used to hang Vance Weldon, but there’s nothing like that in Weldon’s garage. The other victims were hit in the head to disable them, and we can’t find the weapon that made the blows. He purposefully brought a mask and knife. Apparently he carried a gun as backup and needed it last night. He traveled all the way to the coast to silently kill Denny Schefte. Clearly he is a planner.”

Henry Becker’s hand shot up. “Why do you think he chose that coastal location? Our other three officers were murdered in their homes.”

“Good question. My theory is that he did it because of the presence of the other police officers in the cabin.”

Murmurs filled the room, and Mason felt sick to his stomach. Denny was murdered because his friends were there?

“You think he was thumbing his nose at the profession,” Henry stated.

“I do. Killers like to see the feathers ruffled, but there was no publicity for Weldon’s death, no big hunt for a killer. He could have found Weldon’s death anticlimactic and decided to try something different. He wasn’t brave enough to target Denny in his work environment, but to target five detectives in a cabin in the woods? That’s ego-building and it created tons of press. He could have killed Denny at home, but I think he found out about that trip and decided to use it.”

“But was Denny the target? Would our killer have settled for one of the other detectives?” asked a voice in the back of the room.

Mason felt everyone’s gaze drill into his back.

“I’m almost positive Denny was the target.”

Beside Mason, Ava exhaled and set down her pen. Her fingertips were white where she’d clenched it.

“So it’s personal?” Mason asked. “It’s not police in general?”

“I think each one of these killings was extremely personal. He did his research. He went to their homes, he picked a time when they’d be alone, he knew how to approach them in a way that didn’t raise an alarm with the victim—although it appears last night’s case didn’t go the way he expected. He was able to smoothly approach the first three victims. Yes, he hit them in the head, but he was already in their immediate presence. Either he moves like a silent ninja or his presence was expected or not a surprise. Who would Louis Samuelson not be surprised to see at his home late at night?”

“The killer could have been there for hours,” Ava pointed out. “And hit him in the head after socializing for a period of time. We don’t know that he knocked on his door late at night—it might have been at dinnertime.”

“Good!” Euzent’s eyes lit up. “I think it’s very possible your victims knew their killer. Your suggestion doesn’t disprove that. Denny Schefte was outdoors, so I think our killer had a different tack to draw him out. So my question is why would Denny go outdoors at night?”

“His cell phone records show he wasn’t contacted,” Nora pointed out.

“So he heard something outside? What kind of noise would a seasoned cop comfortably check out in the middle of the night?”

“He knew what it was,” said Mason.

“And he didn’t feel the need to alert anyone else,” Euzent finished. He held Mason’s gaze. “Who or what would have drawn you outdoors at night by yourself?”

Mason shifted in his chair. “My son. Ava. My dog. Not much else. I would have alerted one of the other guys if it’d been a voice I didn’t recognize or someone who sounded like they needed help. Or”—he paused—“the killer got lucky because Denny stepped outside to make a phone call or take a walk.”