The Silence (Columbia River #2)(65)

Mason thought. “Nothing jumped out at me. They didn’t find any prints. Some of the smears indicated the killer was wearing gloves when he handled the documents. The blood was smeared over the ink, meaning they’d been written before our killer got blood on them.”

“Over the ink,” Ray mumbled as he looked at the photos. “What is the significance of that?”

“I don’t see one,” said Mason. “Reuben wrote it at some point, and then the killer smudged it with Reuben’s blood that day. I imagine he was looking for Reuben’s plans for the courthouse.”

“He found them,” Ray said.

“My question is, if they were originally working together to carry out the courthouse shooting, why kill your partner and then carry out the shooting?” Mason felt a spurt of energy. He’d missed brainstorming with Ray. The two of them always fed off each other’s ideas, coming up with angles they would have missed on their own.

“Maybe they had a disagreement about it.”

“That’s quite the disagreement.”

Ray enlarged a photo on Mason’s phone. “Look at this.”

Mason looked. It was the page with the sentences about the planned bombing at the courthouse. “What about it? Bloody paper. Same handwriting.”

“You said the blood was over the ink, meaning it’d been written before the murder.”

“Seems logical. I don’t see any holes in that theory.”

“But the part about the courthouse isn’t smudged with blood. In fact, the first sentence about the courthouse skips down to the second line to avoid writing over a blood smear. Same with the other sentences about the bombing.”

Mason stared. Ray was right. The writer had purposefully written around the blood as if it’d been already present when he wrote. None of the sentences about the courthouse and the time of the bombing had blood smeared over them. He quickly scanned the rest of the pages. The sentences filled the lines, with no odd spacing, as in the courthouse sentences.

“I think they were written after Gillian banged on the back door. The killer knew his time was suddenly short and the house would be crawling with police in minutes.”

“But the killer didn’t write this document. Reuben did. The handwriting matches other documents in the room.”

“Look how shaky the letters are in the sentences about the detonation time of the bomb,” Ray pointed out. “I don’t know who analyzed the handwriting, but I could see this as someone trying to copy the rest of the writing.”

“Maybe they didn’t analyze each sentence. Maybe they looked at a sentence in every paragraph. This is on the last page, so they could have studied some of the above handwriting,” Mason said as he mentally picked apart Ray’s theory from every angle. “You’re saying Reuben wrote the document, but the killer added the part about the courthouse.”

“It would answer our question about how the killer knew there would be a law enforcement presence at the courthouse that day,” said Ray. “He’d left the folder in plain sight. Closed, but readily available. The blood on the outside of the folder would call our attention to it.”

“So say the killer hears Gillian making a racket, knows his time is up, so he takes off his gloves and adds the courthouse sentence to Reuben’s rambling diatribe.”

Ray nodded. “That means when he originally handled the document, his gloved hands were already bloody.”

“But he came back to it . . . guaranteeing we’d react in full force to a bomb at the courthouse.” Mason frowned. “Just how much time did he have to spare after Gillian banged on the back door?”

“Enough time to pull off his gloves, write the sentence, and get out.”

“And somehow get out without Gillian seeing him when she came around to the front door.”

“He could have gone out the back.”

“The sliding glass door was locked from the inside.”

“Right. And all the windows were closed and locked. The air-conditioning was running.”

“He had to go out the front door.”

“Do we need to talk to Gillian about her timeline again?” Ray asked.

“I’ll call her,” said Mason. “You’re going to stay here, eat green Jell-O, and prove to them that you can go home today.”





25

“Agent Kilpatrick.” Mercy’s voice was crisp in Ava’s ear.

“Mercy, it’s Ava.”

“Hey! Nice to hear from you. I’m looking forward to your wedding.”

“Me too. This is a work call. Sort of.”

“What do you need?”

Ava explained about Jayne’s phone call and the cell tower location. “She claimed the man she is with killed another man on the coast.”

“What’s the victim’s name?” Mercy was immediately all business.

“David Dressler.”

The line went silent. “Isn’t that your father’s name?” Mercy finally asked.

“It is.” Ava swallowed hard. “He was shot the day before yesterday. Clatsop County sheriff has the case.”

“Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I’m okay.” Ava glanced at Zander, who was listening carefully to her side of the phone call with sympathy in his eyes.