Spiraled (Callahan & McLane Book 3) (3 page)

4

Mason watched as Ava was escorted out of the danger zone and toward the staging area. She’d finally texted him fifteen minutes earlier, stating that she was fine and the shooter was down.

Recent reports had the shooter dead with his own bullet in his brain.

The staging area had settled into an organized arena of police, EMS, and fire departments working as a team to address the needs of the exiting shoppers. Five ambulances had left with victims. Two still breathing, three not.

Her gaze instantly found him, as if she heard his thoughts across the crowd.

Relief flowed out of him again. He’d known she was safe, but tension had woven its ugly fingers through his spine as he waited. She said something to the officer escorting her, who eyed Mason and then replied. The officer pointed to the coffee shop, and Ava gave an answering nod. Mason had watched some victims being led to the coffee shop to be interviewed.

She pushed through the crowd of uniforms.

She’s all right.

A smile curled her lips as she drew closer, and for the hundredth time he was struck dumb by how lucky he was to go home to her every night.

Mine
. She strode with the poise of a woman with confidence. Strands of her dark hair had come loose from her ponytail, and she had blood splattered across her legs, but he focused on her dark-blue eyes. She was never glamorous; she had girl-next-door looks that were enhanced by a sharp brain and dry sense of humor. The perfect woman for him.

She moved into his arms and clutched him tight, her face in his neck. He felt her chest expand and slowly deflate with a long, slow exhalation. The smell of sunshine on her hair and skin wafted across his nose, and he gripped her tighter. His eyes started to burn, and he rubbed a knuckle across one, blinking rapidly. “Dammit.”

Her torso vibrated with a low laugh.

“Not funny,” he said. “I didn’t know what was going on in there.”

She pulled back to meet his gaze, her dark eyes calm. “I know. It wasn’t easy to put what I
knew
you were thinking out of my head.”

“What happened?”

His toes curled in his boots as he listened to her story. “You could have left.”

She lifted a brow at him.

“Or not.”

He got it. He needed to let her do what was right. Didn’t mean he couldn’t worry.

“I have another debriefing. And I’m starving. What are you supposed to be doing?” she asked.

“They’re pulling together a task force to review statements, video, and every scrap of evidence to figure out why this happened. Ray and I have been assigned to it, but they’re still figuring out the best place to set it up. For now, I’m helping taking statements until they find a location. Ray’s already taking some in there.” He nodded at the coffee bar.

“That’s my destination.”

He took her hand and led her across the parking lot. It no longer mattered how late he worked today; she was safe.

Ava sat at a table in the mall’s coffee bar. The employees were gone except for two managers who’d asked to stay and brew free coffee. Plastic cups holding iced coffee and thick green straws sat on every table. The staging coordinator had designated the shop as a temporary interview station, and rattled shoppers waited in nervous groups to give statements.

At the next table, Mason interviewed the older man from her yoga class who’d been in the bathroom with the shooter. He was focused on the witness, listening closely as he made careful notes in his perfect printing. He glanced her way, and she understood his need to have her in his line of sight for a few hours.

She’d felt horrible when she spotted the missed texts and calls from Mason on her cell phone, fully aware of his terror and anger last spring when a serial killer had kidnapped her, believing Ava belonged to him. She still jerked awake out of nightmares to confirm she wasn’t sinking to the bottom of a river in the killer’s van.

Now Ava didn’t know when either she or Mason would get to leave the scene. Every time she turned around, one of the incident commanders had “just a few more questions.” Ava had downed a grande iced coffee and a scone and tried not to talk with her mouth full. She looked patiently at the Washington County sergeant across from her. His mustache triggered 1970s porn music in her head, but his voice made her want to watch a Western.

“I think we’re done,” Sergeant Shaver finally said. “This incident could have ended a lot worse.”

Ava nodded. Four people had died, one having just succumbed to injuries in the hospital.
Will there be more?
She tried not to think about the man she’d seen shot.

“My understanding is that people who carry out these types of shootings start them with the assumption they’ll end up dead,” she said. “I don’t know what the shooter’s story is, but something pushed him over the edge. Still no identification yet?”

Shaver shook his head. “Male in his early twenties. He’ll be identified soon enough.”

“This is the second mass shooting this summer in Oregon,” Ava added. “The other shooter in Eugene was about the same age.” In June a young man had opened fire at a small park and killed four people. He’d also taken his life in the restroom.

“Young men,” commented Shaver. “I was one once. There’s a hell of a lot of crap going on in our heads at that age.”

“No excuses,” stated Ava. “There’s no reason to take out anger on innocent victims.”

Shaver held up his hands. “Not making any. But I hope this is the last mass shooting. Next thing you know they’ll be installing metal detectors at shopping malls and baseball games. I’ve been avoiding the media all day. I can just imagine the spin they’re putting on both of these incidents.”

“You’d think they’d give us time to get the facts out.”

“Someone told me he’s heard three different stories from the media about who the shooter is,” said the sergeant. “
We
don’t even know who the shooter is. The important part is that he’s not going to hurt anyone else. Right now we’re still trying to manage the aftermath of the scene. We got the word out that the mall will be closed for a few days and the Cedar Edge police will be in charge of getting belongings to shoppers and releasing cars from the parking garage. Hopefully people will be patient.”

“How many people were wounded?” Ava asked.

“Fortunately not many. Two were wounded by gunfire, one of them your friend, and there were several skinned knees plus one broken arm from someone who tripped while trying to get away.”

“Apparently he knew how to take his shots,” Ava said softly. “He shot to kill. Not to randomly shoot into a crowd.” She paused, remembering seeing the shooter aim at the backs of a group of women. “I told you that at one point I thought he was going to do exactly that, but he stopped. He seemed to have something important to do right at that moment.”

“He may have been looking for the bathroom to end it. I’d like to see the statistics on why shooters do that in bathrooms; it seems to happen a lot. It’s like they don’t want any witnesses to their final act. Which is odd, considering they’ve just done the most publicly destructive act possible. I guess shooting others is glorious; shooting yourself still needs to be hidden away.”

“Wish they were available for interviews,” she said, twisting her mouth.

Shaver snorted. “Answers would be nice. Instead we’ll have to pick apart every minute of his last few days and see what we can find.”

“Ava? You okay?” Zander Wells asked behind her.

She turned in her chair, knowing her FBI colleague’s voice instantly. “Zander, what are you doing here?” She performed quick introductions. The men were shaking hands when Zander said, “The FBI is now involved. One of the murdered victims was under our surveillance because he’s the brother-in-law of a suspected international jewelry fence who’s vanished.”

“Suspected?” asked Shaver.

Zander met his gaze and gave a half smile. One brow lifted slightly.

Ava knew Zander had been loaned to Jewelry and Gem Theft. She’d been on vacation for nearly two weeks, using the time to get a jump start on the kitchen remodel of the home she and Mason had purchased two months ago. She hadn’t realized how out of touch with her office she’d felt until she saw Zander in his subdued suit and tie.

“Think he was our shooter’s target?” Ava asked. “Which victim was he?”

“Dick Olsen. He was the second death. He was shot in front of the movie theater.”

Ava nodded. “More people were shot after that. If that man was the target, why shoot so many more?”

“You’re reading my mind,” said Zander. “But I don’t like the coincidence. The bureau was closing in on this fence a month ago when he disappeared with three million dollars’ worth of gems. The brother-in-law and he were close. It was a good lead, but now it’s suddenly been snuffed out.”

“Definitely something to look at as we analyze the shooter,” Shaver added.

“That’s why I’m here,” Zander said with a casual smile, and he headed toward the incident commander.

Ava bit her lip. It was easy to underestimate Zander Wells. Nearly everyone did upon first meeting the low-key agent, but she’d noticed the sergeant was reserving judgment.
Smart man.
Zander’s talents became crystal-clear after one briefing. He had the memory of a supercomputer and the spry brain of a hacker.

Mason claimed the agent had a thing for her, but Ava didn’t see it. Zander was a good friend. Nothing more.

Suddenly she was exhausted. The sugary scone and caffeine hit were making her gut churn in a sour way.

Shaver was staring at her.

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what’d you ask me?”

How much longer will this take?

5

“I attend the yoga class three times a week,” stated Walter Borrego.

Mason lifted a brow at the man sitting across from him in the coffee shop. “You must like it.”

“I do. It’s easy on my joints, and I can do as little or as much of the positions as I’m capable of. My flexibility has improved drastically in the last year.” Walter had a bit of an Einstein aura. His white hair was rather wild and his eyebrows continued the theme. “I stay in the back of the class.” He leaned forward and whispered, “It gives the best view.”

Mason bit his cheek. “So you have several motivations to attend classes.”

Walter nodded conspiratorially. “Several,” he said solemnly.

Mason scratched at his temple and studied his notes.
So what if the guy likes checking out the women in his class?
“You’d stopped in the bathroom after class and were in one of the stalls when you heard some noise outside, correct?”

“Yes. My first thought was fireworks. Even though the Fourth was long ago. Gunfire didn’t even enter my thoughts.”

“Until someone fired a gun in the restroom.”

The bushy hair waved as Walter nodded. “The sound was deafening. I knew that wasn’t fireworks.”

“What did you see when you first went in?”

“There was one guy at the urinals when I went in. He had a youngster with him. The boy was playing in the water at the sink and singing at the top of his lungs as I walked by.”

Mason slid a rough sketch of the layout of the bathroom across the table. Four sinks were directly to the right of the door as a person entered. Past them on the same wall were four urinals. Four stalls faced the sinks from the opposite wall and another four stalls, sinks, and urinals mirrored the pattern behind the first row of stalls. He didn’t like that second area. Anyone in the first area was blind to who or what was in the second. “Remember where you were?”

Walter put a stiff finger on the first stall and added, “The father was at the urinal closest to the wall.”

“Did you see anyone else? Hear anyone else?”

He grimaced. “My hearing’s not the best. I mainly heard the boy.” He lifted a finger near the hearing aid Mason had spotted at the beginning of the interview. “And once he’d shot the gun inside, my ears were ringing like crazy. But I had the impression there were others in there
. . .
back around in this area.” He pointed at the second set of stalls. “I can’t say I heard anything specifically.”

“What did you do after the first shots?”

“Pulled up my shorts,” he answered promptly. “The boy started crying and the father said something like ‘Jesus Christ!’ The shooter yelled at them to get out, and I heard the door open and close again. That’s when he kicked at my stall door and shouted for me to come out.”

Mason nodded, encouraging the man to continue. He’d let Walter get everything out and then they’d go back through and pick the story apart, looking for things he’d forgotten to mention. Immediate interviews with the eyewitnesses were vital. Witnesses couldn’t go home and rest and come back. Stories change. Memories change. People overthink and wonder if they imagined certain aspects and revise their memories to be more logical or to be what they think the police want to hear.

“Sliding that latch on the stall door was one of the damned hardest things I’ve ever done. I didn’t know what was waiting on the other side. I only knew it’d terrified the boy and his father. But he’d let them go. And I hoped I’d get to do the same.”

“What’s the first thing you saw when you opened the door? Did it open in or out?” Mason already knew the answer but wanted to judge Walter’s memory.

“In. I opened it a bit, keeping my body behind the door. The first thing I saw was the barrel of a rifle and a masked man pointing it at my face. He ordered me to come out.”

“What was he wearing?”

Walter frowned. “You said he shot himself in the bathroom after I left. I’m pretty sure you guys know what he was wearing better than I remember.”

“Humor me.”

The witness’s eyes closed and his forehead crinkled. “Black athletic pants. A lightweight jacket out of the same type of material. Black ski mask. I remember thinking he looked straight out of a movie. Why do people feel they have to dress the part of the bad guy?” He opened his eyes. They were a very pale blue set in tired, bloodshot whites. His eyelashes were nearly nonexistent and the corners of his eyes were reddened, as if he’d been reading for several hours.

“Then what?”

Walter’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “He told me to put up my hands and come out.”

“Could you see any facial features? Was he taller than you?”

“Everybody’s taller than me these days. I swear I’ve shrunk three inches in the last ten years.”

Mason straightened his hunched shoulders.

“Eyes were dark. I want to say brown, but I can’t say I actually saw the color. Could have been the mask making them seem dark.”

“What’d you do next?”

“He told me to go face the wall. The one at the far end of the stalls. It put the urinals on my right.” Walter wiped at his brow. “I thought he was going to shoot me in the back. I don’t know how long I stood there. Felt like forever.”

“What was he doing?”

“I heard him walk back to the other area of the bathroom and yell at someone else to get on the floor and not move. I could hear him going back and forth, keeping an eye on me and checking on whoever else was back there.”

“Did you hear other voices?”

“At first. I couldn’t make out the words. He told them to shut up and that stopped any talking.”

“You didn’t talk to him?”

“No. I looked over my shoulder at one point, and he immediately had the gun aimed my way and shouted at me to turn around. I didn’t look again.”

“How did you get out?”

Walter snorted. “He let me go. He said, ‘Guess what, old man, it’s your lucky day.’ I held still. I didn’t know if that meant he was going to shoot me or release me. Then he screamed at me to get the fuck out of the bathroom. I glanced back at him. He had the gun at his side and was pointing at the door. ‘Get out! Get out!’ he screamed. I couldn’t move. He yelled again, and I took a few steps, not believing he was letting me go, but he nodded and shouted some more. I’d taken two steps when he started shooting into the ceiling. I stopped but he waved the rifle at me to keep going. I decided to go.” He held Mason’s gaze. “At that point I figured I was dead if I ran or dead if I stayed. I decided to die trying.”

“That took guts.”

“No, I was scared out of my mind. The only guts involved were the ones I nearly threw up. When I came out of the bathroom the first thing I saw was more guns pointed at me. They told me to get on the ground, but I was terrified the guy in the bathroom was going to follow me out and shoot me in the back. What drove me to the ground was the thought that I needed to be out of the police’s way so they could shoot him.” Another deep breath. “They searched me and told me to head toward the parking garage and keep my hands on my head.” He turned his head and nodded at Ava at the next table. “I saw Ava. She was hiding with Misty from our yoga class. I wanted to help them get out, but Misty had been shot in the leg and couldn’t walk. Did she make it?”

“She’s at the hospital. I think she’s going to be fine.” Ava had called for an update and been told Misty was on her way to surgery, but the doctors were optimistic.

“Good. Misty’s a sharp kid. Hope the experience doesn’t mess her up too bad.” He looked at Ava again. “She’s cool as a cucumber. Barely seemed rattled back there.”

Mason looked over and recognized the signs of exhaustion on Ava. She hid it pretty well. But he knew the slight downturn to her mouth and curve to her back meant she was wearing down. Months of living together had taught him her tells. They were all small. She knew how to hide her feelings, but most people didn’t have his fascination with every aspect of her face and habits. He could watch her forever at home. Whether she was doing laundry, gardening, or cooking. He paid attention. Her focus on Shaver was still sharp; she’d never let the sergeant see how tired she was. But to Mason she was waving a white flag.

He turned back to find Walter studying him.

“So you’re Ava’s guy. I heard in class that she’d been seeing a cop.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“All over your face. You must have been worried shitless knowing she was in there.”

Mason cleared his throat. “That’s one way of putting it. Let’s get back to you. When he started shooting at the end, did he point the gun back toward the other stalls? Or was he focused solely on you?”

Walter scrunched up his face and thought. Mason sneaked a look at his watch and decided he’d offer to run Ava home after he was done with Walter Borrego. He’d seen Zander Wells stop by and chat with Ava for a moment, and he wondered what’d brought the agent into the hub. Was he just checking on Ava? Or was the Bureau involved already?

He spent ten more minutes fine-tuning Walter’s story, and the man seemed to run out of details. Mason wrapped up the interview and handed him off to an officer. He moved over to Ava’s table. “You guys about done? I can run Ava home and be back in less than an hour.”

She shot a grateful look at him, and her heavy eyelids told him she was more tired than he’d realized. Shaver cleared them to go but told Mason to hurry back.

“I just want to go to bed,” Ava whispered as they left the shop. Her steps were slow, and she leaned heavily on him as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Soon as we get home,” Mason promised. “You can crash and sleep the rest of the day away.”

And I’ll come back and help figure out who shot up the mall. And why.