Spiraled (Callahan & McLane Book 3) (13 page)

Is this an apology?

Ava couldn’t speak.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jayne’s tone grew louder. “You wish I was dead! Well, I do, too! My only sister moves away and doesn’t even let me know. I get the message, Ava. I’m too messy to have in your life.”

“Are you threatening to kill yourself
again
, Jayne?” A red haze crowded her vision. “Because I’ve heard it too many times.”

“You—”

“This isn’t about what
I’ve
done. This is about
you
.
I’m tired of hearing you’re going to kill yourself!
” Ava sucked in a deep breath as all rational thoughts flew out of her head. “Do you know what that does to
me
?”

“You don’t know what—”

“Here’s what I know, Jayne. Your brain works differently than mine—differently than ninety-nine point nine percent of the human population. But it’s time you thought about someone else for once. Hearing you want to kill yourself,
kills
a part of me.” She slapped her hand over her heart. “And then you say it again. And again. Until I have giant dead holes in my heart. And you know what? They don’t heal very fast. Hell, some of them don’t heal at all.”

Jayne was silent.

Am I getting through to her?

“To you, you’re venting your frustration and trying to stir up some excitement in your life. But for me, you’re ripping out my insides!” She paused. “You’ve got to stop doing this to me.”

“This isn’t about
you
, Ava,” she whispered.

“Well, this time I’m making it about me.” Her heart pounded in her ears. “What you say and do affects me like no other person in the world. You’re my twin and I love you more than life
. . .
so I go out of my way not to hurt you. But you don’t think about anyone but yourself. You’re not going to kill yourself, Jayne. We both know that.”

“You hate me,” she hissed.

“I hate how you make me feel. Can you see the difference? I hate your actions and your words, but you’re threaded through my soul. Hating you would mean I hate myself.” Clarity shot through her. “Oh, my God. You really hate yourself, don’t you? That’s why it’s so easy for you to hurt me. It’s yourself you’re striking out at.”

“You are such a bitch,” Jayne cried. “You’ve got the perfect life, and you’re stomping all over me when I’m down.”

Calm flowed through her.
I know I’m right
. “You need help, Jayne. You need to stay on your medication and continue to see your therapist.”

“I hate you!”

The rage physically punched her in the gut. Her lungs seized.

“You’ll regret it when I’m gone,” Jayne shouted. “You’ll want to take back every awful word you said to me. You’re going to cry and scream and feel the pain that I’ve felt for decades. And I’ll be laughing at you from the other side!”

“You’re threatening to kill yourself again?” Exhaustion swept through Ava.

The call ended.

Ava pulled her phone away from her ear and stared at the screen, feeling another piece of her heart decay and die.
What just happened?
She started to call Jayne back.
No. She’s clearly not rational at the moment.
She took a deep breath and called the halfway house where Jayne lived. She got the manager’s voice mail and left a request for her to call back. She didn’t relate what Jayne had said to her, but asked if everything had been okay with her sister recently.

She shoved the phone in a pocket, moved back to the bench, and sat, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from under her feet. During the conversation she’d stood and walked a dozen steps away from the bench as if she could move closer to Jayne.
There’s no reasoning with her when she’s like that.
She took three deep breaths, forced out one long exhalation, and stared up at the blue sky.

What am I supposed to do?

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes, and she angrily brushed at them.
How do I hate and love the same person simultaneously?
Her heart ached for Mason to sit beside her. She needed his solid arms around her and his neck to bury her face in. She shivered, suddenly cold even though the air was over ninety degrees and the bench felt like a heating pad. Mason was better at these moments than she. He could calm her with a touch and help her rationally see what’d just happened.

How unfair that I bring that into his life.

She snorted, immediately seeing the error in her thinking. Mason had told her a dozen times he wasn’t affected by Jayne. He was affected only by watching what she put Ava through.
I’m the one who needs to handle it better.
Every time she thought she had her feelings and relationship with Jayne balanced and controlled, Jayne attacked from out of the blue.

Like today. Ava thought back through the conversation.
That wasn’t a conversation: that was Jayne venting and me trying to keep up.

Will she try to kill herself?

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made the threat. Twice Ava had called local authorities when she believed Jayne was about to hurt herself. Both times had turned out to be false alarms. One time Jayne had gone through the motions with a knife, but never seriously cut herself. A second time she’d claimed she’d taken an overdose of medication, but stomach pumping and lab tests proved she’d lied. She knew how to push Ava’s buttons and get the attention she wanted. Sirens and flashing lights outside her apartment building made for a healthy dose of notoriety. Or unhealthy dose, depending on how one looked at it.

Now what?

Ava wondered how long it would take the manager to return her call. Could be hours. Until then she needed to get Jayne out of her brain and go back inside and focus on the case.
Easier said than done.
She took several deep breaths and studied the sky, emptying her mind of Jayne’s words. She concentrated on the absence of fingerprints in Justin’s car and the lack of drugs in his system.

What drives a person to do what he did?

Are they missing something in their brains? Like Jayne?

So far no one had questioned her presence in the investigation. Zander was deliberately including her, and she suspected it was out of pity. He knew she’d go nuts looking at this case from the outside.

Time to go back in.

She stood, her muscles aching as if she’d lifted weights for the past eight hours. She didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to close her eyes and let the heat bake away her chill. Jayne’s call had drained her. Ten hours of sleep and a glass of wine sounded heavenly. Footsteps sounded behind her
. . .
no,
boot steps
.
She spun around and all thoughts of the call fluttered away. Warm brown eyes smiled at her and a schoolgirl giddiness filled her lungs. The crinkling of skin at the corners of his eyes filled her with love.

This
was how someone who loved you made you feel. Not guilty, not confused, not exhausted.

He stopped in front of her, still holding her gaze, and slid his hands around her waist, pulling her tight to his chest. She melted into him and sighed.

How does he do that with a simple touch?

“You look like you need something,” Mason quietly said into her ear.

“Not anymore. I found it.”

18

Mason studied the photos of the Eugene shooter on the overhead screen. The Lane County sheriff had accompanied two of his deputies to make the presentation to the Rivertown Mall shooting task force. Mason had seen Multnomah County’s chief deputy, Arnold Bishop, slip into the room before the briefing started. Their task force was growing. Now they had three large crimes from three different counties to look at. During a quick meeting before the briefing, there’d been a discussion about who would oversee the coordination of information and investigation among all the law enforcement agencies, and the ball had landed firmly in the hands of Sergeant Shaver from Washington County. He was the most centrally located among the crimes and had the organizational skills and resources to keep things flowing.

Mason thought Shaver was perfect for the job. As long as no one had volunteered Mason himself, he was happy. People-pleasing and ass-kissing weren’t things he did well. He preferred to be left alone to get his job done. Not to be assigned a chair with everyone looking at him to guide the next step.

“He looks so happy,” mumbled Ava, eyeing the photos of Joseph Albaugh.

Mason didn’t say anything. He’d seen too many smiling killers. People lied. Lied with their mouths and with their expressions. He didn’t trust any of it.

“Albaugh was a local boy from one of the more rural areas,” said one of the Lane County deputies, gesturing at the screen. “Grew up knowing how to shoot and hunt and ride dirt bikes. Family has lived in the area for generations. Graduated from the University of Oregon with a degree in economics and had been working at the Home Depot for the last four years.

“On the day of the shooting, Albaugh left his apartment by four
A.M.
He had a roommate who woke up briefly when he left; he assumed Albaugh had an early shift at work. Just before seven
A.M.
Albaugh pulled into the lot of Green Lake Park. Witnesses noticed his car arrive but said he didn’t exit immediately.”

“Who else was in the park at seven in the morning?” asked one of the Cedar Edge cops.

“People were putting their boats in at one end of the parking lot for a day of fishing. There were a few people running or walking the trails that crisscross that area. Parents and a few kids. There’s a children’s play area that’s one of the best in the state. Original stuff for kids to play on. There’s a gigantic set of dinosaur bones, an automatic river with a sand bed, and unique climbing structures of the like I’ve never seen before.

“Once Albaugh stepped out of his car, he immediately began to shoot.” The deputy changed the overhead display to a map of the park. “He’d parked at the east end of the lot, far away from the boat ramp.” He pointed with a red laser pointer.

The children’s play area was directly beside where Albaugh had parked. Mason tensed in his chair.
Asshole. Why next to the kids?

“The first victim was a jogger; he went down here. Second and third victims were two parents in the play area. The fourth was an older gentleman simply sitting on a bench. Two children were injured but not by gunfire. One of the murdered parents dropped her toddler daughter when she was shot and another child fell off the slide in the aftermath.”

Ava sucked in a breath and discreetly slipped her hand into Mason’s between their seats.

Mason knew she was going to see a counselor arranged through the FBI’s Employee Assistance Program tomorrow. She’d been sleeping really crappy for the last two nights. Her chin was up and she seemed to be coping okay, but he didn’t want to take any chances. There’d been no protest on her part about talking with the psychiatrist; she knew the drill and accepted it.

“Albaugh then headed to the restrooms here.” The red pinpoint of light circled a square on the map. “He chased two men out of the restroom and then shot himself. We estimate the entire episode took less than two minutes.”

“Cameras?” asked a voice.

“None.”

“History of mental illness?” asked another cop.

The deputy shifted on his feet and glanced at the Lane County sheriff. “Here’s where it gets a bit dicey. By all accounts he had a normal childhood and teenage years. But Albaugh had been complaining of headaches for two years or so before the shooting. He’d seen a few specialists who couldn’t locate the exact issue and he’d tried every medication available. We pulled every medical record of his for the last four years. He’s been to naturopaths, chiropractors, ear-nose-and-throat docs, psychiatrists, and done every brain and head scan available looking for the source. His mother said he’d tried an elimination diet, thinking it was something he was eating, but couldn’t find the source of his pain. As far as she knew, he’d never solved the problem.”

“The pain in his head drove him to shoot?” muttered Ray on the other side of Ava.

The deputy up front heard him. “Believe me, we’ve discussed that possibility to death. Your guess is as good as ours.”

“Any results on his vehicle?” Zander asked from the back of the room.

“You need to be more specific. What kind of results?” the deputy answered.

“Justin Yoder’s car outside the Rivertown Mall was completely wiped down. No prints of any kind left,” said Zander, causing a murmur through the room.

“Did you know that?” Mason asked Ava.

“Just found out a little while ago,” she whispered back.

The deputy stepped to the side of the room to confer with the Lane County sheriff and the other deputy. The three men shook their heads. He looked back at Zander. “We don’t know the immediate answer for that. I’ll pull the forensics report on his car as soon as we’re done here. But I’ll be honest with you
. . .
we had our shooter; we weren’t looking for a suspect. I’m wondering if the car was even examined in that way.”

“Do you still have the car?” Zander asked.

The deputy raised a brow at the sheriff. The sheriff nodded vigorously. “We still have it.”

“Can we get a team on it tomorrow if you find it wasn’t printed?” asked Zander.

“Absolutely,” said the deputy. “I’ll make the call tonight.”

“What was the consensus from his friends and coworkers about the shooting and suicide?” asked Ray.

“I’d say they were all stunned. Everyone was completely surprised and claimed this behavior made no sense. This was a popular guy. Lots of friends
. . .
although he had broken up with his girlfriend about a month before. Everyone said he’d gotten over it.”

“Maybe he hadn’t,” muttered Ava. She raised her voice: “And what did the girlfriend say about that?”

“She said she hadn’t heard from him since the breakup.”

“Who ended it?” Ava asked.

“She said she did because she was moving to Seattle and didn’t want a long-distance relationship. They’d been dating about three months. Albaugh’s friends backed her story and said Albaugh had been down for a while but seemed to recover.”

Mason wondered if she’d asked him to move with her or seen the move as a chance to break things off.

“We thought this was an open-and-shut case,” the Lane County sheriff spoke up. “There was no evidence he wasn’t acting alone. What bugged us the most was the lack of motive. I don’t like to think that people simply start shooting for no reason. We picked apart his background. Nothing even hinted that he’d try such an action. No broken family, no bullying, no drug abuse, no depression. The tiny indicators we all look for in cases like this.” He paused. “But now
. . .
two more
. . .
I really hate to think that we missed something that could tie these three young men together.” He scanned the crowd of law enforcement. “Who contacted me about what he was wearing?”

Mason put up a hand.

The sheriff nodded at him. “When you told me the other two shooters had been wearing the same black athletic wear, I could barely believe it. I had to look in Albaugh’s file. I knew he’d been wearing black, but when I saw it was the same brand and style as the other two, I wanted to puke. I spent the next hour confirming that that information hadn’t been released or mentioned in the press. The only way your Rivertown shooter could have found out was if someone privately leaked some photos and he chose to wear the same. I don’t think there was a leak. I think it’s all part of a plan.”

The sheriff’s keen eyes studied the group. “And if this many investigators can’t figure out how the hell this all happened, I don’t know who can.”

“Does the media know about the clothing yet?” asked a voice.

Sergeant Shaver stood up. “No. What we’ve said in all three cases is that the suspects wore black. I’ve reviewed the witness accounts and none of them state the brand or even that it’s athletic wear. I don’t think they were looking at his clothing.”

“Is there an ID on the Troutdale shooter?” asked a Washington County deputy.

Shaver turned to look at Bishop, from Multnomah County. “Not yet,” Bishop replied. “Tips are coming in, but I haven’t had word from the medical examiner on a confirmation. We don’t know much of anything yet about the shooter. I’ll make certain his vehicle is thoroughly processed once we find it.”

Thirty minutes later the meeting wrapped up.

Ava was silent as she and Mason left the building. The sun had set two hours ago, but the heat radiated up from the blacktop as they walked through the parking lot. They stopped at her car and looked at each other.

“Another romantic evening,” she whispered, one side of her mouth curled up.

He stepped closer and cupped a hand around her jaw. In the dim light of the parking lot he could barely see the light shower of freckles on each of her cheekbones. He rubbed a thumb over them. The freckles were a reflection of her. She was completely professional in her dress and grooming, but she couldn’t cover up the small bit of playfulness that danced across her cheeks. Just so, her personality was calm and rational, but she had that hint of flirtatiousness that she couldn’t keep hidden.

She had spark. And he couldn’t stay away.

“Every evening I spend with you is romantic,” he said. “Doesn’t matter if we’re looking at a corpse or walking on the beach.”

Her eyelids flickered and uncertainty shot across her face.

“Jayne?” he asked.

“I’m worried.” She leaned into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He held her tight and his own worry increased—but not for her twin.

Would he ever have Ava completely to himself?