Targeted (Callahan & McLane Book 4) (15 page)

19

Ava drove through the Gresham neighborhood on the edge of Portland. City of Gresham police cars lined the streets, and uniforms held back the growing crowds of gawkers. She passed two local news vans and wondered how they’d managed to get to the scene before her. During the drive she’d found out the victim was a patrol officer with the West Linn Police Department from the other side of the Willamette River. She parked where directed and got out of her vehicle. Anger and pain lined the faces of the cops she walked past.

Straight ahead a midsize Craftsman-style home waited for her. Looking around, she noticed that every home on the street was similar. The homes were too close together for her taste, but she understood the appeal of the neighborhood. Especially to young families who wanted a good-size home in a development with like-minded neighbors. Sidewalks to easily push strollers on. A small park at the entrance to the development. Neighborhood watch signs. A feeling of community and safety.

She knew a neighbor had called in suspicious activity. Maybe the neighborhood watch program did work. She moved up the walkway, nodding at the officers who waited. She had her ID and badge handy, showing them when requested. This home was decorated for Halloween, reminding her of Louis Samuelson’s home, but the decor was child-friendly. Ghosts with smiles and kittens with witch hats. Not realistic blood and heavy tombstones.

Did this officer have small kids?

Her heart clenched for a brief second.

Was he a father?

She signed the log, pulled on her shoe covers, and slipped on the gloves a polite patrol officer handed her. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t ask questions. His expression told her that what she’d find inside was bad. Low voices sounded indoors, and she set out to find them.

She passed a formal living room, noticing a strong odor of smoke—not cigarette smoke; more like burned-dinner smoke—and headed to the back of the house, where she found an open-plan family room and kitchen. Zander and Nora stood outside the kitchen speaking with a crime scene technician who held a large camera. The dead officer was on the floor, a mask clenched in his hand. High-velocity blood spatter covered some of the lower kitchen cabinets.

Ava froze as she spotted the blood. “He was shot?” she asked.

“Nice to see you, too,” said Zander. “Yes, he was shot in the chest. We definitely have a different type of scene here compared to the others.” He looked at his notebook. “A call was made to 911 at six
P.M.
A neighbor had heard a gunshot. She stepped onto her front porch while still on the phone with the operator and saw a man running toward the entrance of the subdivision, trying to keep to the shadows of the homes.”

“He ran across their lawns?” Ava asked.

“Yes, trying to avoid the streetlights.”

“Where’s the neighbor?”

“I have an officer sitting with her in her home,” said Nora. “I told her we’d take a look at the scene and then talk with her. She has a sleeping infant in the house.”

“Who is he?” Ava asked, studying the man on the wooden kitchen floor.

“Lucien Fujioka. Forty-five. Married, no kids. He’s been with the West Linn Police Department for nine years. Was with the Vancouver PD before that.”

“Where’s the wife?”

“Sacramento,” said Nora. “She travels for her job. I have an officer trying to track her down and get someone from a local department to notify her in person. This isn’t the type of news you break with a phone call.”

“No,” agreed Ava. She squatted next to the victim and looked at the mask. “This one is from
Friday the 13th
, right?”

“Yes. The character is Jason Voorhees.”

“A hockey mask?” asked Ava.

“In the films it is,” said Nora. “This one is made for someone to dress up as the character. It’s not an
actual
hockey mask. I compared it to images online already.”

“He pulled it off,” Ava commented. “Or did it never get put on?”

“Look here how the high-velocity blood spray fans over it.” Zander crouched next to her and pointed with a pencil. “He wasn’t wearing it when he got shot. It was in his hand. The spray pattern is consistent from the hand to the mask.”

“But it looks like he exhaled blood, too,” said Ava. “Which makes sense if he was shot in the chest. Could some of that spray be from him expirating blood?”

Nora stepped close and shone her flashlight on the blood, looking closely. “He expirated onto his shoulder over here.”

Ava stared. It all looked like high-velocity blood spatter to her. “How can you tell?”

“Someone explained the difference to me during a previous case,” Nora said. “When you look closely, the tails of the blood drops are blunt and the pattern is chaotic and random. That’s not what high-velocity blood spatter does. Over here on the mask you can see the sharply narrowed spines of the drops pointing in the same direction—that’s what it looks like. I can also see mucus strands in the expirated blood on his shoulder.”

Ava leaned closer and saw the patterns Nora described. “Fascinating.” She filed the new information away in her brain. She took a closer look at his hands. “He fought back!” she exclaimed. The victim had scrapes and abrasions on his knuckles. She squinted at his fingers, trying to see if he’d scratched the assailant and caught some skin under his nails.

“Yes,” said Nora. “Another difference in this case besides the gunshot. He saw him coming and put up a fight.”

“But the attacker was prepared with a gun. I wonder if he had a gun with him at the other murders.”

“He messed up here,” said Ava. “Somehow Officer Fujioka knew he was in trouble and forced the attacker to shoot. In the other attacks, they were subdued with a blow to the head and killed, and then the masks placed over their faces. Is there any evidence that the killer tried to subdue him first? Rope? A struggle somewhere?”

“The rest of the home is very neat,” said the female evidence technician with the camera. “I’ve taken shots in every room, and I didn’t see any sign of a struggle. I was about to move outside and shoot in the backyard, but I did a preliminary walk when I got here, nothing out there caught my eye. I’ve spent most of my time in this room.”

Nora nodded. “I noticed the same lack of struggle elsewhere. I think everything happened right here. Front door was unlocked so the attacker could have walked in or been let in. There was a pizza burning in the oven when we got here, so he was making something to eat. I turned off the oven.”

That explained the odor.

Their victim was barefoot, wearing jeans and an Oregon State sweatshirt. He’d been shot in the chest. Even on the dark wooden floor, the sight of the large pool of blood was overwhelming.

“A bullet hole leads into that lower cabinet,” said Zander. “It looks like he was leaning his back against it when he was shot. And then he slid down to the floor.”

“Cowering from someone?” Ava asked quietly. The change in the MO bothered her. Why had this one been handled so differently? Had their unsub been surprised when he entered the home, and panicked and shot? She wondered if they’d find a blow to the back of the officer’s head. That would explain his low position. But why the gun?

“Why did he use a gun?” Zander echoed her thought. “He had to know someone would hear.”

“Either he had no choice or it was what he wanted,” said Nora.

“He wanted the police to arrive at the scene sooner?” Ava asked.

“According to the neighbor, the wife isn’t due back for three days. There’s a good chance no one would have found him until then,” stated Nora. “He could have been here for days.”

“But why get us here early?” Ava’s brain tried to compute. “Did he want to watch
us
for some reason?”

An electric bolt struck her.

“What?” Zander asked sharply.

“Is someone filming the crowds out front?” she whispered.

“Yes,” said Nora. “Two people. One is filming and the other is taking stills.”

“I need to see them as soon as possible,” Ava said, as nausea threatened to bring up her wine. Nora headed to the front door.

“What is it?” Zander asked in a low voice.

“Twice I’ve run into a guy who’s asked me about Jayne,” Ava said. “He has to be following me somehow.”

“How can that be related to this?” Zander asked slowly. “You think he’s doing these murders?”

The error of her premise hit her. She covered her eyes. “I’m so stupid. No, there’s no way he’s done these crimes. When I wondered if someone was trying to manipulate us to a location so he could watch us, I was swamped by the thought of this guy. He seems to know where to find me.”

“You’re saying you have a stalker.” Zander eyed her seriously. “Have you reported this? Does Mason know? How often have you seen him?”

“Twice. But each time he’s asked for Jayne. He’s looking for her, not me.” She felt like a fool for bringing it up in the middle of a crime scene. “Forget I even mentioned it.”

Nora reappeared with a tech and a large camera. “Show her what you’ve filmed so far,” she ordered, with a gesture toward Ava.

“It’s not necessary,” Ava said as the tech placed her camera in Ava’s hands with video rolling on the large display. Ava watched as it slowly panned across the faces. The camera automatically adjusted for areas of poor lighting. “Nora, I’m sorry. I overreacted. This has nothing to do with these—”

She froze. “How do I pause this?”

The tech pressed a button. “Need me to back it up a bit?”

“Please.” Ava’s nerves twanged as if someone had plucked them.
I saw him. I know it was him.

The video moved forward and Ava’s finger hovered over the
PAUSE
button.
There.

She stopped the video and expanded the screen with two fingers, looking at the face of the man she knew as David.

“That’s him,” she said quietly. “That’s the guy who’s approached me twice about Jayne.”

Zander took the camera and studied the screen with Nora. “Stay here,” he ordered Ava. “Nora and I will go take a look.” They headed toward the front door, taking the camera and leaving Ava alone with the two technicians.

“Umm . . . do I need to wait, too?” asked the tech who’d been filming outside. “I have other stuff to do.”

“No,” Ava said, feeling exhausted. “Go get it done.” The woman paused, exchanged a glance with the other crime scene tech, and then left.

“Hello?” a female voice called from the front of the house. A dark-haired woman strode in carrying a black satchel. She smiled at Ava and the crime scene tech, and took a good look at the body on the floor. “Looks like I’m in the right place.” She held out a hand to Ava. “I’m Gianna Trask with the medical examiner’s office.”

Her smile was a little too sunny for Ava. “Special Agent Ava McLane.” Her vision tunneled as she looked at the medical examiner.

The smile faltered. “Maybe you should sit down, Agent McLane.” The doctor grabbed one of her arms while the tech grabbed the other, and they guided her into a dining room chair.

Ava lowered her head between her legs, anger flooding her.
Dammit. Get a hold of yourself.
She sucked in deep breaths.

The medical examiner squatted beside her. “Is it the blood?”

Ava choked out a laugh and lifted her head, looking into the woman’s concerned brown eyes. “No, the blood doesn’t bother me at all. It’s something not related to this.”

Gianna nodded, but she didn’t appear convinced. Ava’s vision finally seemed normal, so she stood, testing her legs. She noticed the medical examiner taking an assessing glance at her stomach.

“Not pregnant,” Ava said dryly.

The medical examiner grinned. “If it’s not a dead body, then pregnancy is usually my second guess.”

Her head felt like it was about to crack open, and she fought to keep her thoughts on the crime at hand. They had another murder to solve and her personal problems had no business getting in the way. She exhaled and turned to Dr. Trask. “I’m better. I believe we’re done taking pictures if you want to get started.”

Dr. Trask nodded and turned her attention to Lucien Fujioka, but Ava noticed she positioned herself to keep Ava in her peripheral vision.
She thinks I might get light-headed again.

Ava was determined not to repeat the experience. She watched the medical examiner palpate Fujioka’s skull. “Is there a blow to the head?” Ava asked.

“Yes. I can feel it on the left side.”

“I think he realized he was about to be attacked and turned,” Ava commented. “Two of the others were hit squarely in the back of the head.”

“I assisted on Vance Weldon’s autopsy,” Dr. Trask said as she ran her hands down Lucien’s arms. “I went back and reviewed all our notes when I heard it might be tied to those other officers’ cases. I didn’t see anything to indicate it wasn’t a suicide.”

“He didn’t have the blow to the back of the head, right?” asked Ava.

“Correct. If it wasn’t suicide, I don’t know how he was subdued enough to be hanged.” Dr. Trask shook her head in frustration, and Ava felt bad for the medical examiner.

“Dr. Rutledge says sometimes mistakes are made in classifications.”

“They are. Doesn’t mean it won’t drive me batty and make me second-guess everything I saw.”

Ava studied Fujioka’s neck, the smooth cords of tendons and muscles, and mentally compared it with the slashed necks of two of the other cops. Weldon’s neck had also looked relatively intact.
How did he get Weldon to cooperate?
“Would a stun gun have left behind some evidence if it had been used on Weldon?” asked Ava.

“Pressed directly against his flesh? Depends on the type of weapon used. I’ve seen a few stun guns leave small bruises and some leave nothing.”

“I thought it left two little red marks.”

“A Taser definitely would. Those prongs can bite into the skin. Stun guns vary widely. I didn’t see any marks on Weldon that could be from a stun gun. But it doesn’t mean one wasn’t used.”

That’s not much help.

Ava looked back at the body. “This officer might have got in some blows on the suspect before he was shot,” said Ava. “Please be careful bagging his hands. Our killer’s DNA might be under his nails. No one else managed to lay a hand on their attacker, which might be why he was shot.”