“But Simon was told to wait in the bathroom, right?” said Zander. “Travis needs the store to be open for his plan to work. What are we missing here?”
“We need a bigger presence around that store, now!” said Mason. “Get a half dozen cars spread through those parking lots.”
Ray grabbed his phone and headed to make a call outside.
Mason looked at Zander, doubt suddenly filling his mind. “Right? A police force needs to be seen to stop whatever he thinks he’s planning. Or should we be watching for him, planning to catch him? We sort of know what he looks like. And he should be dressed in black. Shit! What’s the best plan?”
“A presence,” said Zander. “We’ll never spot him in time. He plans too carefully. This guy knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“Then why did he just activate Simon in a place that’s not available?” Questions zinged through his mind like pinballs.
“I wish I knew,” admitted Zander. “Let’s get over there.” He stood and picked up his empty tray. Mason neatly folded the paper around the rest of Ray’s veggie sandwich to take to him and then threw the remains of his own in the garbage.
By seven fifteen the Starbucks parking lot held one electrical van, two police cars, and no customer cars. The mailing shop next door had closed up. With some strong persuading from Zander, the two other stores in the little strip mall closed early and the employees left. The only other businesses still open were the grocery store and big electronics store that sat at the far end of a big shared parking lot. Mason and Zander watched from a corner of the Starbucks parking area as Shaver barked orders at his teams. Three other police cars sat in the larger parking lot in clear view of the Starbucks while another half dozen cars slowly patrolled the lot. Prevention was the primary goal in this operation. Anyone who intended to start shooting would think twice at the sight of the large police presence.
Any sane person would think twice, Mason amended. Chances were that their shooter was quite sane. His planning and success indicated he had a sharp brain and knew exactly what he was doing; but his brain had something very twisted or missing in one corner, which was typical for serial killers and mass shooters. On the drive over he’d wondered where their shooter fell into the killer classification system. He seemed to be a hybrid of mass and serial. He definitely fell into the mass shooter category, but the majority of those killers went into the shooting knowing their chance of survival was very small; they were willing to take that risk. Had their shooter expected to die? Mason didn’t think so. He’d created a near-perfect exit strategy and neatly placed the blame on someone who couldn’t defend himself each time. This shooter had no intention of dying.
And then he did it again. And again, shortening the window between killings and placing himself firmly under the serial killer classification. Mason knew the FBI profilers would say he was doing it for the sexual-type thrill and power he experienced. The dizzying high from the success—and the belief that he could get away with it over and over.
“This guy is a serial killer,” he stated out loud. “We thought we had a rash of brainwashed young men looking to end it all and take people with them. That wasn’t right at all.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Zander. “The mass shootings are his signature, but the murders are his goals. And we know he’s not done. He’s enjoying this way too much.”
“Do you think we’re on target believing it’s these particular women? Or is it just a coincidence that there’s been one female law-enforcement type each time?”
“I think we’re following a good lead.”
His answer didn’t give Mason any satisfaction. “I asked Lane County to follow up with the range where Jennifer Spendlin worked. If we’re right that she was the first targeted victim during a shooting, we need to know why he shot her. We’ve got a killer who’s a good shot. Chances are he crossed paths with Spendlin at her place of work.”
“Good point,” said Zander. “I hadn’t put that together. You’re right. He clearly sees weapons as a tool of his trade and would have spent some time honing that skill. That’s a good place to start.”
“Your FBI profilers are going to salivate over his records.”
“Hell yes. If we’re right about what he’s doing, they’re gonna love it. A new brain to dissect.”
“He’s definitely not typical. I think of most serial killers as moving in the shadows, stealthily spying on their prey. This guy makes as big of a scene as possible.”
Zander agreed. “But what’s his main motivation? What is his primary purpose and final goal?”
“Shit. Now you’re sounding like your profiling buddy, Euzent.”
“He’s the best. I wish he was here right now. He’d have more insight into what makes our killer tick. I emailed him earlier, but it’s too late on the East Coast. Maybe we can get him out here.”
“I want to catch this guy tonight,” said Mason. “I want him to show up here in the next fifteen minutes and have fifty cops take him down.”
“You and me both.”
Zander wiped the sweat off his forehead and Mason did the same. The temperature had peaked at ninety-five degrees earlier in the day and had barely cooled down. The air was heavy and still. Humidity was rare during the Pacific Northwest summers, but Mason felt it today. “Crime and heat,” he muttered. “Hand in hand. Give me some snow or ice that keeps everyone stuck at home.”