Targeted (Callahan & McLane Book 4) (17 page)

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Zander asked, looking over her shoulder.

“You would like this sort of thing.” She turned to look at him. “You’re the biggest science geek—” She stopped, stunned by the dark circles under his red eyes. “You okay?”

Zander looked away. “Yeah. Didn’t sleep.”

Ava bit the inside of her cheek. She’d worked with Zander on cases where no one got sleep, but she’d never seen him look this bad. He looked as if he’d finished a fifth of tequila and not slept in days. “It was a disturbing scene last night,” she agreed, watching him closely.

“Bad one.”

Bullshit.
Louis Samuelson spiked to a wall in his living room had been ten times worse than their murder scene last night. Whatever was bugging Zander, he clearly wasn’t going to share it at the moment. Either he didn’t want to talk or it was nothing and he was coming down with the flu.

Or he was just being Zander. Silent man who never shared what bugged him.

Probably that last option.

“You up for this?” she asked, tipping her head toward the door to the autopsy suite.

“Not a problem,” he stated.

“Is Henry joining us this morning?” she asked Nora.

“Henry doesn’t do autopsies,” said Nora with a smile. “He gets to skip them because I’m afraid he’ll crack his skull open when he hits the floor, and he refuses to wear the protective brain bucket I suggested.”

“He’s fainted?” Zander asked.

“Three times. I let it go after that. It’s easier to hold the weakness over his head and demand favors.”

The three of them stepped into the autopsy suite and Ava felt the temperature dip ten degrees. She’d expected it and had worn two layers under her sweater. They donned long-sleeved ankle-length gowns and shoe covers and picked up face shields, planning to get up close to Dr. Trask’s work. Ava was curious to see how the petite doctor worked with death. She’d found her to be down-to-earth and amusing while she did her once-over of Lucien Fujioka last night. Most pathologists Ava had met had pretty good senses of humor. She figured it was necessary to face their job day after day.

The doctor was already at work in what reminded Ava of a big industrial kitchen. Stainless steel tables and gurneys, long hoses, scalloped knives that looked like bread knives, and the large colanders at the sinks perpetuated the kitchen impression. The body on the table with the long Y incision did not.

Neither did the heavy-duty hedge shears in Dr. Trask’s hands. She moved onto a step stool to get a better angle over the body, and glanced over as the three of them neared the table. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. Her dark eyes and long dark ponytail were all Ava could see of her under her protective gear. An eighties band played a rock ballad in the background, and Ava noticed the assistant silently moved her hips with the rhythm.

Ava steeled herself for the crack of the ribs between the blades of the shears and looked away. The sound belonged in a horror movie. She looked back in time to see Dr. Trask and her assistant lift out a bony section of chest. Ava had watched the violent cutting and prying open once before; it’d been enough.

The doctor deftly removed the major organs for her assistant to weigh and log. Ava knew a small sample would be removed from each one for study and preservation, and then the organs would be returned to the body. But not in the perfect positions they’d held during his life; they’d be dumped back in rather unceremoniously. “I’ve already done a thorough exam of the exterior,” Dr. Trask said. “I was right about the blow to the side of the head. I didn’t find any other trauma except the shot to the chest.” She tipped her head to the bony section her assistant had set aside. “I followed the path of the bullet. It went directly between two ribs, through his left ventricle, and out his back in a downward trajectory. I took several pictures so you can see the angle. Since the bullet hole in the cabinet door followed a similar trajectory, it’s logical that Mr. Fujioka was leaning against the cabinet door and was shot by someone standing in front of him.”

“They’ll look for the bullet today,” said Zander.

“It’ll be a big one,” said Dr. Trask. “He has a wide entrance wound and it traveled very straight. Lots of power behind it.”

“Any gunpowder or stippling on him?” Ava asked.

“Very light. The killer wasn’t holding the gun very close to his victim.”

“But the victim was definitely shot while he was sitting on the floor,” clarified Nora.

“Yes. Unless your shooter is eleven feet tall,” said Dr. Trask with a smile. “I suspect your eyewitness might have mentioned that odd fact.”

“Nope. He was average-size. Too average,” said Ava. “Did you find anything unusual?” she asked as the doctor prepared to finish her work.

“I didn’t find any long hairs that Agent Wells asked me to look for, and there wasn’t any tissue under his nails. From the films of his skull, he was hit once with a blunt object that could have been a baseball bat or something of a similar size and width.”

Ava looked at Nora and Zander. “Audrey didn’t mention seeing our suspect carry anything like that. Even though it was dark, I would think she’d spot that.”

“No one reported anything like that inside or outside of the house. How could we have missed something that large?” asked Nora. “I’ll have Henry call Audrey and ask if she remembers him carrying a bat.”

“I’m not positive it’s a bat,” Dr. Trask said quickly.

“Understood,” said Nora. “But it sounds like we missed something at the scene.” Her phone rang. “Perfect timing. It’s Henry. Excuse me a minute.” She stepped out of the autopsy suite to take his call.

“We have a mutual friend,” Dr. Trask said to Ava in the silence that followed.

“Who’s that?” Ava had heard the medical examiner was new to the state.

“Michael Brody. The newspaper reporter? He’s my boyfriend’s brother.” She stumbled over the word “boyfriend,” and Ava understood. It’d been awkward for her to use the teenage term to describe Mason. It’d been a relief when she could start saying “fiancé.”

“Yes, I’ve met Michael a few times. My fiancé has known him for quite a while. They seem to have a love/hate type of relationship.”

“That’s how Chris described it, too.”

The autopsy suite doors swung open and Nora strode back in. “We’ve got a guy who claims he killed all four cops,” she exclaimed. “And he knows about the masks.”

21

“We have a subject who wants to confess.” Mason heard the excitement in Ava’s voice over the phone. “He walked into the Portland police’s North Precinct and asked to speak to a detective about the murders. They’re transporting him to your building downtown and thought I’d give you a heads-up. I’m leaving as soon as I wrap up some paperwork at the medical examiner’s office, but Zander and Nora should be there by now.”

Mason glanced around the detectives’ room. No one else was present. Duff Morales and Steve Hunsinger hadn’t returned to work yet after Denny’s death. The other Major Crimes detectives were out on calls. He’d have to go up a floor to find Nora Hawes. “Got it,” he told Ava. “I’ll figure out where they’re bringing him. He hasn’t confessed yet?”

“Once the detective realized that this person knew what he was talking about, he halted the interview and reached out to Detective Hawes, thinking the task force needed to handle the interview. Nora said he brought up the masks.”

“Good move.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Nora said she’d wait for me before starting the interview.” Amusement entered her tone. “She said it very deliberately. I think she was trying to hint that you shouldn’t be there.”

“Too bad. I’ll watch through the mirror. She can’t complain about that.”

“Sure she can.”

“She won’t.”
I hope.
He ended the call, telling her to drive safely, and jogged down the hallway to the stairs. He took them two at a time and hit the fire door from the stairwell a bit too hard, announcing his entry to everyone who worked on that floor. He knew Nora was using the room directly over his. They’d joked about running a cup-and-string system out the window for communication. Nora stepped out of a room, a file tucked under her arm.

“I see you’ve heard,” she stated. She cut him off as he started to plead his case. “You’ll stay in the observation room and you won’t say a word.”

“Agreed.”

They moved down the hall together, and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t think I’m a pushover.”

“I don’t.” He matched his stride to hers.

“I might expect the same courtesy one day.”

“I hope I never have to extend it to you,” he said sincerely.

“I’m doing this for two reasons,” she said firmly. “One: I want all the eyes and ears possible on this case. You were at the scene and might pick up on something I or the FBI might miss. And two: you and Denny go way back.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I could be risking my position.”

“I’ll go to bat for you. I can be very persuasive and everything’s feeling disorganized in the office with Denny gone. I don’t think anyone will come down on us for coloring outside the lines a bit.”

“There’s talk that you’re being considered as Denny’s replacement.”

Mason tripped. “What? No. That can’t be right.”
I’m not supervisor material.

“I’ve heard it from two people. It hasn’t reached you?”

“Lord, no. I’d turn it down anyway.”

“Why?” Green eyes turned his way.

“I’m not a boss. I don’t want the headaches that come with supervising people, and I’m crappy at telling people what to do.”

“From what I’ve seen you’re a natural leader.”

“You haven’t seen much. Sure, I can manage a scene in the field. But sit behind a desk and listen to everyone’s complaints? Berate a detective for breaking a rule that I probably would have broken, too? That’s not for me.”

“Huh.”

He glanced at her. “You like doing that stuff?”

“I like people. I’ve had supervisory positions in the past. I’ve been told I do it well.”

“If they come to me, I’ll suggest you.”

She snorted. “That’ll go over well. I’ve been in this office for two weeks and am the only female in Major Crimes. Is this your way of getting me to go back to Salem?”

“The guys around here could use some shaking up. If you’re fair, they’ll be fair.”
I think.

She lifted an eyebrow, giving him a “You’re bullshitting me” expression.

“Maybe not,” he admitted.

They worked their way to the interview rooms and found Zander waiting outside one. They stepped inside the adjacent observation room to get a look at the confessor.

“He’s young!” Mason exclaimed. “There’s no way . . .” He let the sentence fall away. Age didn’t matter these days. Teenagers filled the headlines with their brutal crimes. Even some preteens.

“The masks might make more sense if he’s our guy,” said Zander. “I kept feeling there was a younger element to those choices.”

“How old is he?” asked Nora.

“He’s twenty,” supplied Zander. “Name’s Micah Zuch.”

Mason studied the slouching young man at the table. He had dyed his unruly hair an impenetrable black and wore black skinny jeans, a ripped black shirt, and a black jacket. He was thin to the point that Mason wanted to order him a Big Mac. Two of them.

“Street kid?” he asked.

Zander shook his head. “I have a home address from southeast Portland. His mother lives there. No father in the picture.”

“He’s twenty and lives at home?” Mason asked. Although his son Jake was nearly twenty, and he still lived at home when he wasn’t in school. Micah didn’t look like a college student.

“I think it’s more common these days than when we were twenty,” said Zander. “It’s cheaper to live at home. Cost of living is higher now.”

Only because kids today believe the cost of living includes an iPhone, a new car, and a big-screen TV.

“At first he told us he was homeless,” Nora said. “He told the detective he lived on the streets with some of the other homeless kids but eventually admitted he went home to sleep. Sounds like he spends a lot of his time on the streets, though.”

“A street kid wannabe,” Mason murmured. “What type of person wants to pass himself off as one of them?”

“They’re edgy. Independent,” said Zander.

“They’re also hard up to find a place to shower and sleep. Many of them resort to crime to fund their drug habits or meals.”

“There’s got to be a misguided admiration on his part,” suggested Zander. “Why don’t kids look up to real leaders?”

“Beats me,” said Mason.

“He knew about the masks,” said Nora, pulling them back on topic. “He told the detective which masks were at each scene. We’ve kept that completely to ourselves.”

Mason shot her a sharp look. “Did he include Vance Weldon? Even the press isn’t aware of that case.”

Nora looked at her notepad. “He said the first guy wore a Freddy Krueger mask.” She exchanged a look with Zander and Mason. “I’d say he knows a lot about our cases.”

“You’re assuming he’s telling the truth,” said Zander. “We’ve had a half-dozen people call to claim they killed Denny Schefte. Up until now it’s been easy to eliminate them.” He looked at Micah. “I have the feeling this isn’t our guy—no matter what he knows. He’s a toothpick. Do you really think he had the arm strength to lift Samuelson up on that wall in his living room?”

“Maybe he wasn’t alone,” said Nora. “But he claims he acted alone.”

Someone rapped on the observation room door and Ava stuck her head in before anyone could move. “Sorry I’m late.” She stepped inside and looked through the window. “He’s so young!”

Mason felt justified. It wasn’t
his
age that’d made him see Micah Zuch as young; Ava was twelve years younger than he. Nora brought her up to date.

“I’d like to go in first,” said Zander. “I don’t see the point in easing our way into his good graces. I want to know if we’re wasting our time. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”

Nora agreed, and Zander stepped out of the observation room.

Mason bit his tongue, remembering his promise to stay silent.

Zander appeared in the interview area and placed a notepad on the table as he sat across from Micah. “I’m Special Agent Zander Wells. I understand you have information on some murders.” He clicked his pen, positioned it over the notepad, and looked at Micah expectantly.

Micah stared back. “Special agent? Like as in the FBI?”

“Yes.” Zander offered no more explanation.

“Can I see some ID?” Micah hadn’t moved from his slouch.

Zander silently held out his identification. The young man looked at it and nodded. “Why is the FBI here? Isn’t this a Portland police building?”

“I’ll ask the questions. Do you have something to share with us or not?” Zander glanced at his watch.

Micah straightened in his chair and lifted his chin. “I killed those cops.”

“Which ones?”

“The guy at the coast. The one in southeast. The one last night and the one up in Vancouver.”

Zander didn’t write down anything. “What are their names?”

He recited four names, which Zander listed across the top of his pad.

Mason didn’t get excited. All that information could have been found online. Except the information about Vance Weldon.

“How did you kill Special Agent Weldon?” Zander emphasized his title.

“I hung him,” he said simply.

Zander wrote something under Vance’s name and looked hard at Micah. “Vance was a big guy. How’d you do that?”

The young man snorted. “Don’t you know anything about engineering? Ever hear of a pulley?”

“There wasn’t a pulley at the scene.”

“I took it with me.”

“What was Special Agent Weldon wearing?”

Micah described the man’s clothing perfectly, including his shoes and the type of mask he’d had on.

Optimism swept through Mason. Had their killer walked in off the street?

“Why’d you kill Special Agent Weldon?” Zander asked as he wrote down the articles of clothing under Vance’s name.

“No reason.”

Zander looked at him for several seconds.

No reason?
Mason exchanged a look with Ava and Nora.

“How did you kill Captain Denny Schefte?” Zander moved on as if Micah’s answer didn’t matter. Mason knew he wouldn’t feed the man’s ego. An answer like “No reason” was a clear request for more questions about his motive. Zander neatly stepped on it by setting the question aside as if it held no consequence.

“I cut his neck. But first I hit him on the head.”

“What did you hit him with?”

“A baseball bat.”

“Where did this take place?”

“A cabin outside of Depoe Bay.” He went on to perfectly describe what Denny had been wearing that night.

Mason listened, seeing the clothing in his mind’s eye. He was disturbed by the monotonous delivery of Micah’s answers. The man sounded like a robot. He sat perfectly still in his chair, having moved only when he’d first realized the FBI was interviewing him. That appeared to be the one element he hadn’t been prepared for. He’d had ready answers for every question and didn’t hold back. Except when questioned about motive.

Again he answered, “No reason,” when Zander asked why he’d killed the captain.

“He could have gotten all this information from photographs or police reports,” Ava whispered. “Could we have a leak somewhere?”

“But that still doesn’t explain why he’s confessing,” Nora said.

“It could take a team of psychiatrists to answer that,” said Ava. “I don’t like his behavior. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t move, there’s no inflections in his voice.” She rubbed at the back of her neck as she frowned. “It’s like he’s been programmed. Is someone pulling his history?”

“Yes. I have a staff member digging right now,” said Nora.

Zander continued with identical questions about Louis Samuelson and Lucien Fujioka. Micah answered perfectly.

Zander stood, thanked him, and started to leave.

“Wait!” said Micah, looking startled. “Now what?”

The three investigators in the side room leaned closer to the window.

Zander frowned. “You just confessed to four murders of cops. You go to prison.”

Nora snorted as Mason and Ava grinned at Zander’s exaggeration.

“But . . . what about a trial and stuff?”

“Don’t
you know anything
about crimes?” Zander asked, throwing Micah’s earlier words back in his face. “You just confessed. Prison.” He scowled at the man. “Or are you changing your story now?”

Mason couldn’t read the young man’s face. He seemed torn. Whatever he’d expected would happen after he’d confessed hadn’t happened.

“Don’t you need to take my fingerprints? My DNA? And compare it to your evidence?”

Zander waved a hand. “Later. They’ll take all that when they process you at the prison. Your confession is solid. You got all the facts right. Only someone who’d killed these men could have told me everything you just did.”

“I did kill them!” he said earnestly.

“Did I say you didn’t?” asked Zander. “I just wrote down your confession. We’re good with this. I don’t think I have any more questions.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll send in an officer.”

Micah stood. “Wait a minute. This can’t be all!”

“Oh, shit,” muttered Mason. “This isn’t right. Why’s he trying to convince us?”

“He may have not killed them, but he was there, or else he has access to the facts of these cases,” said Nora.

“I think he’s glory-seeking,” said Ava. “He wants to be questioned more. He’s not a killer.”

The door to the observation room opened and a female officer stepped in with a file. Zander entered right behind her. She handed the file to Nora and excused herself. Zander waited until the door closed and then looked at the three of them. “I don’t know what to think about that kid,” he stated. “Yes, he knows everything, but he’s not acting right. He’s involved somehow, but I don’t believe I was sitting across from a cop killer. It felt as if I was interviewing someone who plays a lot of video games and has never caused real violence.” He shook his head. “Something is off with him.”

“He wanted you to question him more,” Ava said. “Why would he do that?”

“I have no idea.” Zander turned to look at Micah through the glass. “What do we know about him?” Micah now paced back and forth in the interview room, a fixed scowl on his face, waves of frustration rolling off him.

Nora frowned as she scanned the file. “Oh brother.”

“What is it?” Mason asked.

“His background is a mess and I’m only looking at two years of it. This report started when he turned eighteen, and I suspect there’s more from when he was younger. He was expelled from high school his senior year after planting a fake bomb and calling in a threat. Portland police responded, and the bomb was a mishmash of harmless pipes and powder. Before that he’d been kicked out of
another
school for bringing two knives and an unloaded gun to school.”