The Silence (Columbia River #2)(59)

He said nothing.

Nora spoke up. “You think you’ve been followed?”

Fury burned in Ava’s gut.

“That seems the most logical conclusion,” said Mason.

Ava massaged the back of her neck, wanting to release its ache, which had hounded her all day. “We need to see if the cameras caught anything.”

“I can do that on my phone.”

Voices turned their attention. The two officers had stepped out of the home and were talking on the front porch. Ava was pleased that one had put a leash on Bingo and brought him out. She, Nora, and Mason crossed the street and met the officers as they came down the porch stairs.

“The house is clear,” said the female officer. “We walked the yard too.” She scratched Bingo’s ears. “This guy wanted to come. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him out.”

“Not at all,” said Ava, taking the leash. She squatted down and gave the dog a hug. “As long as he’s safe, I don’t care about the rest of the house.”

“I care,” said Mason. “We’ve got half our savings wrapped up in that money pit.”

“The kitchen looks great,” said the other officer. “My wife wants to do something similar in our house.”

“Expect it to take thirty percent longer than estimated and cost twenty percent more,” said Mason. “Nothing unusual inside?”

“No, all the doors were locked, as Agent McLane told us they should be. Windows intact and locked.”

Bingo pulled on the leash, straining to go up the porch stairs.

“Sit,” said Mason, who continued to speak with the officers.

Bingo sat, his dark gaze going from Mason to Ava and back. He gave a long whine.

Ava cocked her head as she studied the dog, and Mason stopped midsentence to look at Bingo. “What’s-a-matter, boy?” he asked.

The dog whined again and pulled on the leash—while still sitting.

Ava looked to Mason, who lifted one shoulder. She loosened the leash. “Come on, Bingo,” she said, taking a step toward the stairs. The dog bounded up in two leaps and stopped at an Adirondack chair near the door, making snorting sounds as he sniffed at it.

A small paper Starbucks bag was on the arm of the chair. “No,” Ava told Bingo as she grabbed the bag a split second before he did. She glanced in the bag, expecting to find the remains of a scone or muffin.

It was a human finger.

“Ewww!” She stared, and then she held out the bag with two fingers, bile rising in the back of her throat.

“Mason, I think Bingo found Reuben’s missing finger.”

Minutes later the finger was in an evidence bag, and the three of them crowded around Mason’s laptop to watch the camera coverage.

“There he is,” Mason said under his breath. A man in shorts, cap, and T-shirt strolled to their front porch, took the stairs two at a time, pretended to knock, and casually left the Starbucks bag on the chair.

His face was hidden by his hat, but Ava knew that stride and physique. “That is the same guy who left the backpack in the dumpster. He knew exactly where our camera was. Look how he turns his face away at the right moment. The blond hair in the other video must have been a wig.”

“Why didn’t he use the same disguise here? Or maybe a different one?” asked Nora. “He appears to have short dark hair. That’s what Shawn Braswell has, correct?”

“Don’t know if it’s currently short, but it is dark,” said Ava. “Nothing here proves that it’s not Shawn Braswell.”

“Especially since he was driving a silver Mustang,” said Mason. “I’ll check with the neighbors tomorrow and see if anyone got his face on camera. Too bad it was so dark.”

“I’m more disturbed that he knows where you live, Mason,” said Nora.

The detective’s face was blank, but Ava knew exactly what she was thinking.

Does he know where I live too?

“Please be careful, Nora,” she said.

“I’m always careful, but this is unnerving. My condo building has good security.”

“Watch when you park,” added Mason.

“I don’t like how personal this feels,” said Ava.

“It was personal to start with,” he said. “You knew the original victim.”

“Not that well,” she argued. Reuben Braswell had been low on her list of useful people. “But now Shawn has brought Reuben’s finger specifically to our house, wanting to make a point. What is that point?”

The three of them were silent.

“I don’t know,” Mason said slowly. “Dr. Trask told me a middle finger was missing, so maybe it’s a big fuck-you to us. But if I was Shawn, I’d be as far away from this town as possible.”

Ava agreed. Why was Shawn Braswell still in town?





23

The next morning Mason strode down the office hallway to the detectives’ area. He’d slept like crap. This frustrating case zigged every time he expected it to zag.

Someone was at my home.

Had he led danger to his own doorstep?

Last night he and Ava had lain awake for several hours, pretending to sleep. She’d finally drifted off, her breaths deepening and slowing. Mason had stayed awake for another hour, his thoughts wildly veering down every tangent in his case.