Spiraled (Callahan & McLane Book 3) (7 page)

“Where’d the mother and boy go?” she whispered.
I don’t want a fucking medal.

“Watch.” He hit
PLAY
.

Ava watched the woman sprint into the camera’s view. She had the boy clutched to her chest and was running toward the parking garage. She barely glanced at Ava and Misty on the ground.
Mother’s instinct. Protect her child.

“You do a good job here,” Shaver commented. “You calm Misty down and immediately get her leg taken care of and get the two of you out of view.”

“Everything was locked,” said Ava. “I wanted to get her out of there, but I couldn’t carry her and she couldn’t move.”

Several minutes ticked by. The shooter came into view, and Ava leaned closer to the screen. Her impressions of him had been accurate. He moved like a hunter, searching and watching. Twice she saw him check his watch. “He looked at the time right before I thought he was going to shoot us,” Ava commented. “Does he do the same on the earlier views of his shootings?”

“Don’t know,” Zander said with an edge in his voice. “Two of the cameras in front of the theater area weren’t functioning. We don’t have any video of the first two shootings.”

“What? How?” Her mind raced.
Was that deliberate or lucky? Maybe the point of the shooting
was
to take out the jewelry fence’s brother-in-law.

“We’re trying to figure that out,” said Shaver. “The cameras appear to have been tampered with. I’ve got a team printing them and checking the roofs right now to see if any evidence was left behind. Along with officers combing through video for how the shooter entered the mall.” He pointed at three people at another bank of computers. “We don’t know if he came on foot or parked in the garage. I wouldn’t mind finding his vehicle or figuring out where he got the weapon, either. So many things to get done.”

“No one’s talked to his family yet?” she asked.

“Working on it.”

“What about witness video? Didn’t anyone pull out their phone?”

“Not that’s been reported from this shooting,” answered Zander. “There weren’t a ton of people there that early in the morning and most of them left immediately when the shooting started.”

“He had it all planned,” Ava breathed, staring as the figure strode out of the camera’s view. “He was supposed to be in the bathroom by a certain time. Why?”

“I was hoping you could shine some light on that,” said Shaver. “Everyone else who encountered him immediately got the hell away and didn’t look back. You were stuck and forced to watch him in person for longer than anyone else. What else can you tell us?”

Shaver leaned closer, his gaze boring into the side of her face. She didn’t look away from the computer screen. The video had cut to the shooter walking the last twenty feet to the bathroom. He vanished inside.

Ava’s brain ran the scene through instant replay, watching his long strides and confident bearing as he neared the restroom. Something tickled the back of her brain. “Replay that last part, please.”

He touched a few buttons, making the piece continually loop, and Ava watched a few more times. The shooter never looked back, never glanced over his shoulder to see if someone was coming. “He’s so confident,” she said. “His movements aren’t of someone who’s even slightly nervous. Is that because he achieved his primary goal?”

“Like killing my witness?” muttered Zander.

Shaver tilted his head. “They say these guys know this is an endgame. They’re committed once they put their plan into motion, fully aware they’ll probably die either by police or their own hand. Everything is showing us he thoroughly thought out his plan. The cameras, the clothing, the weapon.”

“Very thorough,” Ava said. “Like someone who’s rehearsed this over and over. There’s got to be earlier footage of him at the mall walking this route. I’d imagine within the last week. He’d want to know if there were recent changes along his planned path.” She looked at Shaver and Zander. “How many people do you have reviewing footage? You’re going to need a whole lot more.”

9

Mason knocked on the door of Justin Yoder’s parents’ home.

“Nice house,” Ray muttered. “Not where I expected to end up today.”

Mason understood. Someone who’d committed the type of crime that Justin Yoder had should have lived in a hellhole, his life a hot mess of stress and anger and unfulfilled need. The gorgeous Tudor home in front of them in the quiet, well-groomed neighborhood indicated peace and prosperity.

Appearances could be deceiving. There was no reason to assume the mini-mansion didn’t house stress and anger.

A tall woman answered the door. Mason introduced himself and Ray, and Sally Yoder invited them into her home. Mason knew she’d spoken with the medical examiner within the past hour. Justin’s mother’s voice shook, but she kept her chin up. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose looked raw and red from too many rough tissues. Despair flowed from her, but her gaze was controlled. The two men followed her through the house to a huge great room with bright sun streaming in through tall windows. The room was oddly cool. She offered the detectives a beverage, which they passed on, and then asked them to sit at the table.

She seemed to shrink as she waited silently at the table. She didn’t look at the men but proceeded to tear a tissue into tiny damp bits on the tablecloth in front of her. The home was silent. A quick scan of the room didn’t show any family pictures, and the house looked as if it’d been decorated from that unusual furniture store that Ava was fond of. Solid pale-colored furniture with glittery accents. No homey touches at all. Mason’s preliminary work had revealed that Justin was an only child, his mother divorced and remarried, and his stepfather a bigwig at one of the Northwest banks in their downtown Portland office.

“Will your husband be joining us?” Ray asked.

“He’s on his way, but he’s driving from downtown. I don’t know how long it’ll take him to get here.” She paused and added in a near whisper, “I told him it’s been confirmed.” Her gaze begged the two men to tell her she was wrong.

“Yes, the dental findings were very clear,” Mason said gently. He watched her swallow hard. “Is there someone else who can be here with you right now?” He found it odd that she was alone in the house after finding out that her son was dead. “A neighbor or relative?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been on the phone with family all morning. No one lives close by, and I prefer to do this alone until Eric gets here.” She glanced nervously at the other men and gave a shaky laugh. “You must think I’m odd, but I’m a private person. I don’t like people fawning over me.”

Mason understood but was disturbed by her laugh.
Is this how she deals with loss?
“When did you last see Justin?”

She took a deep breath. “The day before yesterday. He left for work in the early afternoon. He usually works three to midnight at Big John’s several days a week.”

“The huge bowling and game place?” Ray asked. “What’s he do there?”

“Everything. Sells tickets, handles prizes, waits tables. Whatever is needed.”

“You didn’t see him yesterday morning?”

Sally shook her head. “I assumed he came home after I went to bed. I’m rarely up that late, and I’m used to not seeing him until the next day. Yesterday morning I figured he was sleeping in
. . .
he often does. I showered, dressed, and went to the grocery store and ran a few errands. It wasn’t until I got back to the house that I saw the shooting on the news at noon.”

“What about your husband?” asked Ray.

“He leaves for work at six thirty. I was asleep when he left.”

Mason made a note. “Was Justin’s car here?”

“No,” said Sally. “Eric told me he noticed it wasn’t parked on the side of the driveway, but he wasn’t concerned. Justin often sleeps over at one of his friends’ houses. Especially if they’ve worked the late shifts together.”

“A red Toyota Corolla, correct?” Mason asked. “You must have noticed it was gone when you went to the grocery store.”

“Yes, it’s red, and I did notice. But my thoughts were the same as Eric’s
. . .
that Justin had slept somewhere else. He does it about once a week.” Her fingers moved from shredding the tissue to picking at the pattern in the tablecloth, tugging at a loose thread. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Even if I’d noticed that he hadn’t been at home that morning, the shooting had already taken place.” She looked up, fresh moisture in the corners of her eyes. “I should have checked him first thing yesterday morning, maybe—”

“Mrs. Yoder.” Ray leaned forward. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Her eyes indicated she wanted to believe Ray, but Mason knew she’d be doubting and carrying guilt for a long time.

Her shoulders hunched, and she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe Justin did this
. . .
I can’t believe he’s gone. Nothing makes sense.” She looked up, and her gaze pleaded with both men. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone! I know my boy
. . .
are you sure it’s him? I wanted to go to the morgue and see but they told me to wait until they had him ready.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The medical examiner told me he shot himself in the head. Is that true?”

The pillar of strength that’d answered the door was starting to crumble, and Mason wished her husband would hurry up. Sally Yoder shouldn’t be sitting alone with the police. “He did,” Mason answered. “I’ve seen him. I don’t think he suffered.”

“Of course he suffered!” she shouted, rising out of her chair. “He shot himself! Something drove him to that point! Something so bad he couldn’t live with himself, so he must have been suffering! Don’t try to sugarcoat this for me. My son is dead.” Her voice cracked, and she slowly sat back down. “And he took other people with him.” She looked at her hands knotted in her lap, and her head swayed back and forth as a low raw wail erupted from the depths of her lungs. “He was my only child.”

Mason froze, but within a second Ray had moved next to the mother, his hand on her shoulder and words of comfort streaming easily from his lips. Mason didn’t have that skill. He knew he had compassion: his heart
overflowed
with compassion for victims, their families, lonely children, and sad pets. But he sucked at expressing it. Feeling as inadequate as generic toilet paper, he waited. This was Ray’s territory. His partner knew Mason’s shortcomings and how to cover them.

A door slammed and a tall, angular man strode into the room. “Sally?” Eric Yoder looked dressed for the golf course, not the bank.

Ray caught Mason’s eye.

Golf or casual Friday?

Ray backed off as Sally stood to meet her husband. They embraced, and she hid her face in his neck as he rubbed her back and his dark eyes glared at the investigators over her shoulder. Eric Yoder looked like a stereotypical banker. Tall, silver-haired, and imposing.

Mason introduced himself and Ray. Sally Yoder pulled herself together and made her husband sit down. He sat heavily and studied the two men. Now that he was sitting, Mason could see he was exhausted. His gaze seemed heavy as he made eye contact. As if he could barely keep his gaze off the floor.

Or as if he was self-medicating.

“Mr. Yoder—” Mason began.

“Eric, please.”

Mason summarized what Sally Yoder had told them. Eric nodded. “Justin sometimes sleeps over at Paul’s house. I assumed that’s where he was when I left yesterday morning.”

“Do you know where Justin got the weapon? Do you have guns in the house?”

Both parents shook their heads. “No guns in the house,” said Eric. “We’ve never owned any. I took him to a range a couple years ago to shoot, but I don’t think he cared for it that much. He never asked me to take him back.”

“What about his friends? What about his friends’ parents? Where could he have gotten the rifle?” Mason pushed.

Sally and Eric looked at each other. “I’m honestly not sure if any of his friends have guns,” Sally said. “He’s never mentioned anything. I can’t say I’ve heard a parent mention it.” Her voice cracked. “I probably don’t know his friends as well as I should.”

“He’s twenty,” said Ray. “He’s an adult. You aren’t expected to watch over every move he makes. Is he in school, too?”

“He tried,” Eric said. “He went to the community college after he graduated, but after one term he didn’t want to go back. His grades weren’t that great in high school, and he wasn’t interested in any particular field of study except his acting classes. We weren’t about to pay for him to go flunk out of an expensive college somewhere or pay his rent in LA to be an actor or join a band.”

Sally studied her hands as she picked at the tablecloth. She didn’t look up while Eric discussed school and had flinched almost imperceptibly when he mentioned not paying for college.
A sore point between mother and son? Or between mother and stepfather?

“Do you know why Justin would do this?” Ray asked calmly, finally asking the question that’d been the elephant in the room.

Sally’s chin went up. “We don’t know. We talked and talked about it on the phone, but we keep coming up with no reasons. He’s had some depression issues for the last five years or so, but nothing has ever indicated that he’d do something like this.”

“Does he take medication?” Mason asked.
Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Yes. I’ll get it.” Sally left the room. Eric shifted uncomfortably in his chair in the silence.

“How long have the two of you been married?” Ray asked. “Justin is your stepson, right?”

“Nineteen years,” said Eric. “I adopted Justin immediately. His biological father has never been a part of his life.”

“Is he around?”

“He lives in Texas,” answered Eric. His mouth tightened as he answered. “He’s a useless bum.”

“You never had more kids?” asked Ray.

“No.” His mouth went even tighter. “Sally can’t.”

“Any behavioral issues with Justin that you saw leading up to this?” Mason asked. “A kid with poor grades and depression doesn’t indicate that he’ll go shoot up a mall. Something big happen in his life recently?”

Sally reappeared and set an orange pill bottle down next to Mason. He copied the drug name, pharmacy, and prescribing doctor’s name down on his pad. “I was just asking your husband if Justin had anything big happen in his life.”

She sat back down and gripped her husband’s hand. “All he does is sleep and go to work. I’m not aware of anything new
. . .
good or bad.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. Not in a year or so.”

Mason looked at the doctor’s name on his notepad. “Is this a general doctor or a specialist? Was there other treatment for his depression?”

“Dr. Beck is a psychiatrist. He’s been treating Justin for about a year.”

“Treating? How often does he see him?

“Justin goes in for counseling every two weeks.”

“And that’s been going on for a year?”

Sally pressed her lips together. “It started off every week. That lasted for about three months. Recently they were talking about going to a longer interval between sessions.”

Mason didn’t know if a year was a long treatment time or normal. From his understanding the disease was unpredictable and difficult to treat at times. Things constantly changed. And life events or chemical production in the body could worsen or improve the patient’s outlook on life. He imagined it was a lot like trying to shoot a moving target in the dark with occasional flashes of sunlight.

“When was his last appointment?”

“Last week. Wednesday.”

“How was his relationship with the two of you?” Ray asked. “What was your latest argument about?”

Sally wiped at her eyes. “I got on him for leaving an open box of cereal in his bedroom a few days ago. The damn thing was attracting ants. I’ve told him a million times that he can’t do that, but he never remembers. Seems so stupid now.”

“Garbage cans,” answered Eric. “He’s to put the bins back in the garage before I get home on garbage day. I pulled in that evening and they were still at the curb.”

The same kind of arguments Mason had had dozens of times with his teenage son.

“Kids are the same everywhere,” said Ray. “I’m not sure at what age they figure that stuff out. I suspect it doesn’t happen until they have their own home and ant problem.”

Sally nodded through fresh tears. “He wanted to move out. He wanted to be on his own and we wanted that for him, but he doesn’t make enough. He and three friends were discussing moving in together. They thought that between the four of them, they could afford a good-sized house. But I didn’t like the idea. I asked him what would happen when one of them lost his job and couldn’t pay the rent anymore. Then the other three were on the hook to make it up. How long would they carry a friend?” She rambled rapidly, her words spilling over one another. “One roommate, I told him. One responsible roommate is all he should try to handle. He may have been a little upset with me that I didn’t think it was a good idea.” Her voice cracked.

Eric slid an arm around her shoulders. “That wouldn’t drive him to do what he did.” He looked at the investigators. “I assume you want to search his room? You’ve been very polite sitting here and talking with us, but I imagine you’re itching to look around,” he said bitterly.

“We do have a warrant,” Mason said. “But we appreciate you letting us look. The two of us will take a quick look, but there will be an evidence team arriving soon.” He paused. “The warrant covers the entire house and your vehicles. Electronics, too.”

Sally and Eric stared at him.

“I have work stuff on my desktop.” Eric started to stand. “I need to back it up.”

Mason stood, holding out a hand to slow him down. “It’d be best if you didn’t get on your computer right now.”

Eric froze. “You think I’m going to hide something.” Anger flushed his face. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

“I didn’t say that. But for your protection and to guard any evidence, let’s stay away from anything that Justin might have accessed before yesterday’s shooting.” Mason held Eric’s gaze, trying to be nonconfrontational as he slowed his words and softened his tone.

“He doesn’t use my computer,” Eric snapped.