Targeted (Callahan & McLane Book 4) (18 page)

“All that since he turned eighteen?” Ava asked.

“Yes. Looks like he was eighteen before he started his senior year . . . a bit older than the other students. He’s been busy. There’s a statement from a teacher that says she’d seen a disturbing pattern of overreaction to situations and it made her very nervous to be around him. The slightest thing would set him off in the classroom. He’d take offense if someone looked at him wrong or said something rude. She thinks that’s why he brought the knives and gun—on the same day—to the school. He felt he had something to prove.”

“What about his home life?” asked Zander.

“Doesn’t say. It lists the same address he gave earlier. Oh, wait. Here’s a report. His mother filed a report with local police that twice someone had left a dead cat on her porch. The responding officers questioned her son and Micah confessed that he’d done it.”

“What? That’s disgusting,” said Ava, wrinkling her nose. “Then what happened?”

“I can’t tell. That was pretty recent. I imagine he has a court date coming up. This report says the mother tried to stop the officers from pressing charges, saying that she didn’t want her son arrested, but it was out of her control by then. If he admitted to it, he’s going to be charged.”

“If my kid was killing cats, I’d want the police involved,” Ava said slowly. “I don’t think I’d try to protect him. Clearly he needs some sort of mental help.”

“It’s hard when it’s your kid,” Mason stated. “I’d murder Jake if I caught him doing that. But would I want him thrown in jail? I think I’d drag him to a shrink first.”

“What if he confessed to the cats like he just confessed to the murders?” Ava asked. “What do they call that, when someone continually confesses to things they didn’t do?”

“It’s called needing a kick in their ass,” muttered Mason. Ava poked him in the ribs.

“I wonder if he’s seen a psychiatrist,” Nora asked. “I’d like his doctor’s opinion on this. Do you think Micah would tell us if he’s had mental health treatment?”

“Can’t hurt to ask,” said Zander. “Even though he knows a lot of facts from those murders, I don’t think he did it. I do think he knows who committed them.”

“Could he want to impress some street kids?” murmured Ava. “Maybe he’s stepped forward to steal their thunder or protect some of them.”

“These weren’t sloppy murders,” Zander pointed out. “Not something I’d expect a group of street kids to do. He’s confessing for a reason, but we don’t know what it is yet.”

“No one here thinks he’s our killer?” asked Nora. Silence met her question.

“Dammit.”

22

Nora Hawes had given him the stink-eye a few times, but Mason ignored it. He was going to push every boundary he could until she explicitly told him to get lost. Until then he wasn’t going anywhere. He read the computer screen over Henry Becker’s shoulder as the detective went through Officer Fujioka’s history. Henry had checked Fujioka’s name against the crimes on which Schefte and Samuelson had crossed paths, and had come up empty. Zander had supplied some of Vance Weldon’s FBI case history, but Mason knew it was incomplete. The FBI wouldn’t blindly hand over information on its domestic terrorism cases. Zander had taken Fujioka’s information and gone back to the FBI office to work with Special Agent Mercy Kilpatrick in the privacy of their own computers and databases. He’d promised to return to the task force by that evening.

“Officer Fujioka volunteered with three different philanthropy programs,” said Ava, stepping into the room. “I don’t know how he had time to go to work. He also attended the HealthNut fitness center that the other two men belonged to.” Frustration crossed her face. “We need to find a narrower connection.”

“The connection might be pretty old,” said Mason. “Remember the Bridge Killer?” He was referring to a past case in which the adult murder victims had been friends as teenagers.

“I can’t forget,” Ava muttered. “And now I’m thinking about the women who were murdered last summer because they were all in law enforcement.”

Her face had paled a bit. That case had nearly pushed her over the edge, and she’d considered leaving the FBI. “How long are we going to let Micah Zuch sit in that room?” she asked.

“He’s fine,” said Mason. “He’s got McDonald’s and a soda. That keeps every kid that age satisfied for a while.”

“He’s not a kid. He’s twenty.”

“He’s a kid,” asserted Mason. “He’s no man.” He’d been disgusted with the whining behavior Micah had displayed after Zander’s interview. Displeased with the brevity of the interview, Micah had asked to talk to Zander’s boss. Nora had mollified him with promises of “I’ll see what I can do.” The fast food had kept him quiet for an hour, and Mason suspected a video game system would keep the kid silent for the next twenty-four hours.

“Special Agent Euzent is upstairs,” said Ava. “He’s watching the video of Zander’s interview with Micah. I peeked in and saw him shake his head over and over.”

“He knows the kid is lying.”

“Now to get Micah to tell us who really did it,” Ava said. “He has to know.”

“I wonder if Euzent would be useful in that interview. With all his hocus-pocus, witchy reading of people, I bet he can get the kid to beg to tell the
real
truth.”

“Profiling isn’t hocus-pocus.” She gave him a stern look.

He knew that, but at least he’d distracted Ava from thinking about last summer’s near-death experience. “I have the utmost respect for your profiler. You know that. He’s been a big help in the past. Let’s go see if Micah’s ready to talk to us.” He followed Ava up to the next floor and into the small conference room. Six other members of the task force were already present, including Nora and Henry.

Nora stepped to the front of the room and held up her hand to capture everyone’s attention. “Before Special Agent Euzent gives us his thoughts on our unsub, I just heard from the evidence team. We’ve got a fingerprint from last night’s mask. It matches the unusual print on Samuelson and Weldon, and we checked Micah Zuch’s fingerprints. He doesn’t have the smiley face.”

Ava had told Mason about the smiley face fingerprint. He wasn’t surprised to learn it didn’t belong to Micah Zuch. It’d bugged him that it hadn’t been present at Denny’s murder scene, and now it’d turned up at the fourth death. Why not at Denny’s?

“Is there anything else that’s different from the Schefte scene?” Henry asked, voicing Mason’s train of thought. “One case without that marker seems odd.”

“I agree,” said Nora. “And the fingerprint has been in the exact same spot on each mask. It’s on the inside of the forehead area.” She looked at Special Agent Bryan Euzent. “Your thoughts? Are we wrong to include Denny Schefte’s murder?”

No!
Mason clamped his lips together to keep from speaking out. Denny was part of this. He could feel it.

“Everything but that fingerprint indicates Denny was killed by the same person,” said Euzent. “I’d speculate that he forgot to leave that signature behind or it was eliminated during the actual murder . . . or the during the evidence collection.”

Nora’s chin shot up, but she stayed silent. Mistakes happened. They all knew it. “The press has reported that we have a suspect in custody,” she said. “I’ve asked public relations to issue a statement to set them straight, clarifying that someone has come forward with information.”

“I think you knew Micah Zuch wasn’t your suspect before you fingerprinted him,” said Euzent. “I want to know how he got his information. Let him stew in that room for a few more hours and then go in strong to find out how he knows so many facts.”

“What would make someone confess to murder?” asked Henry. “Especially four murders?”

Euzent gave a pleased smile that made Mason’s stomach clench. The clean-cut FBI agent enjoyed talking about psychopaths a little too much. Over the past year, Mason had learned that the more twisted the mind, the more fascinated Special Agent Euzent became. A twenty-year-old kid who’d confessed to four murders he hadn’t committed must have made Euzent’s day. Or year.

“Keep in mind that all I’ve seen is the interview,” said Euzent. “Although I did read his file. I
know
there has to be a juvenile record on him. In it I suspect we’d find more acting out and childlike crimes of impulsiveness. The adolescent brain feels fearless and has no appreciation for consequences.”

“But he’s twenty. He should know better,” said Ava.

“Exactly. His brain hasn’t caught up yet. Maybe it never will. It doesn’t matter what he’s been told by his mother—and I’m sure at some point he was taught that murder is wrong and punishable—what matters to him is what
he believes
within his frame of reality. It appears to me that he expected something else would happen when he confessed. It’s pretty clear on that video that the interview didn’t proceed the way he wanted.

“The brains in this room are fully developed, right?” Euzent raised an eyebrow as he scanned his small audience. “We take consequences into account before we act. For some reason Micah doesn’t do that.” He tapped the file on the table in front of him. “And from what I’ve read in his file, he never has. I see a lot of behaviors of concern here and the file is only two years old. There’s lying, blaming others, animal abuse, a strong interest in weapons, and evidence of intense resentment where he blames others for his issues. I don’t know if you read the statement by his teacher, but she said he’d blamed her for his test failures and therefore for his poor GPA and his failure to be admitted to college.”

“He could go to community college,” Mason muttered.

Euzent pointed at him, amusement in his eyes. “Aha. A rational brain sees another path. But in Micah’s brain, it’s all his teacher’s fault. His college hopes are over and
none
of it was his fault. Therefore he has the right to be angry and cause problems for others because his own hopes have been destroyed. The kids who display this sort of behavior won’t take the blame for anything. It’s always someone else’s fault that their life isn’t what it was supposed to be.”

“But he’s taking blame for four murders. You just said he won’t take blame for anything,” Mason pointed out.

“I’m curious to find out what’s pushed him to take that step,” said Euzent. “One possibility is the status of the murder victims. A policeman is a symbol of power and public respect. When you murder or commit an act of violence against someone, you briefly take their power. What better crime for him to claim if he wants to gain respect from his peers?”

“His peers are a bunch of homeless kids,” said Ava. “He doesn’t have a job; he doesn’t attend school. As far as we can tell, he hangs out in Pioneer Courthouse Square all day.”

“Why shouldn’t he try to impress those people? Every type of society assigns status to its members’ actions. He views those kids’ opinions as very important; they
are
his reality. A group of street kids may not seem like a society to us, but I suspect it’s a big part of his world. Another possibility for his reason for lying is a simple grab for fame without considering the consequences. What better shortcut to being featured on the news than admitting you committed a crime the public is desperate to solve?”

“But—” Ava started.

“You’re thinking like a normal person,” Euzent said, cutting her off. “Think like someone who can’t see the consequences.”

She sat back in her chair, nodding in understanding.

“All that excitement and fame and press sounds pretty good, now doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Not to me,” she stated.

“Or he could be delusional,” Euzent said simply. “He could truly believe he committed those crimes.”

Mason raised a brow. The delusional people he’d encountered had usually smoked or popped something first. Micah Zuch looked perfectly aware of where he was and what he’d said.

“Not many people are truly delusional, but they’re out there,” said Euzent. “The chance is slim that Micah is one of them.”

“So what can you tell us about the guy we’re looking for?” asked Nora. “It’s clearly not the goth kid in the other room. I don’t want to waste time talking about him if no one thinks he did it. Although any suggestions you have to pull more information out of him will be appreciated.”

Euzent pulled out his notepad and flipped through several pages. Mason noticed his handwriting was atrocious. Similar to Ray’s chicken scratch. It surprised him; he’d expected the agent’s notes to be picture-perfect. Like his own. “I’ve been reading everything you’ve sent me. Granted, I’ve only been able to skim the reports of what happened last night, but I feel well informed on Special Agent Weldon’s case, Captain Schefte’s, and Officer Samuelson’s death.

“The best I can offer right now is a brief overview of some elements you’ll find in your killer. Hopefully they’ll help you narrow your field of suspects and give you a guide when guys like Micah Zuch try to take the credit. Some of this is pretty general. Any good investigator will already be aware of the obvious elements, but bear with me, okay?” He quickly scanned the group, his gaze frank behind his glasses.

Mason nodded. Sometimes it helped to have someone state the obvious.

“You’ve got a smart guy here. He’s organized and intelligent. He leaves a very clean scene. I suspect he was aware of everything he left behind . . . including that happy fingerprint.” He shook his head, giving a half smile. “I admit I haven’t seen one of those before. The scene last night feels less organized . . . the change in his method of killing . . . the mask in the hand of the victim. I need more time to look at the evidence from that scene.

“Our killer brought everything he needed to each scene and took the tools with him when he left. I think Micah might be right that some sort of pulley was used to hang Vance Weldon, but there’s nothing like that in Weldon’s garage. The other victims were hit in the head to disable them, and we can’t find the weapon that made the blows. He purposefully brought a mask and knife. Apparently he carried a gun as backup and needed it last night. He traveled all the way to the coast to silently kill Denny Schefte. Clearly he is a planner.”

Henry Becker’s hand shot up. “Why do you think he chose that coastal location? Our other three officers were murdered in their homes.”

“Good question. My theory is that he did it because of the presence of the other police officers in the cabin.”

Murmurs filled the room, and Mason felt sick to his stomach.
Denny was murdered because his friends were there?

“You think he was thumbing his nose at the profession,” Henry stated.

“I do. Killers like to see the feathers ruffled, but there was no publicity for Weldon’s death, no big hunt for a killer. He could have found Weldon’s death anticlimactic and decided to try something different. He wasn’t brave enough to target Denny in his work environment, but to target five detectives in a cabin in the woods? That’s ego-building and it created tons of press. He could have killed Denny at home, but I think he found out about that trip and decided to use it.”

“But was Denny the target? Would our killer have settled for one of the other detectives?” asked a voice in the back of the room.

Mason felt everyone’s gaze drill into his back.

“I’m almost positive Denny was the target.”

Beside Mason, Ava exhaled and set down her pen. Her fingertips were white where she’d clenched it.

“So it’s personal?” Mason asked. “It’s not police in general?”

“I think each one of these killings was extremely personal. He did his research. He went to their homes, he picked a time when they’d be alone, he knew how to approach them in a way that didn’t raise an alarm with the victim—although it appears last night’s case didn’t go the way he expected. He was able to smoothly approach the first three victims. Yes, he hit them in the head, but he was already in their immediate presence. Either he moves like a silent ninja or his presence was expected or not a surprise. Who would Louis Samuelson not be surprised to see at his home late at night?”

“The killer could have been there for hours,” Ava pointed out. “And hit him in the head after socializing for a period of time. We don’t know that he knocked on his door late at night—it might have been at dinnertime.”

“Good!” Euzent’s eyes lit up. “I think it’s very possible your victims knew their killer. Your suggestion doesn’t disprove that. Denny Schefte was outdoors, so I think our killer had a different tack to draw him out. So my question is
why
would Denny go outdoors at night?”

“His cell phone records show he wasn’t contacted,” Nora pointed out.

“So he heard something outside? What kind of noise would a seasoned cop comfortably check out in the middle of the night?”