Not now.
He didn’t like to admit it, but Mason grudgingly admired the investigative reporter. As a whole, reporters drove him nuts. And it’d only gotten worse with the hundreds of online “news” sites cropping up. Facts and truth weren’t high on their list of priorities when it came to sniffing out a story.
But Brody was one of the good ones. The two of them had butted heads a few times but eventually recognized they shared a dedication to finding answers. Ava adored the reporter for some reason. Probably because he usually rubbed Mason the wrong way. Brody had no filter and no respect for authority. Mason suspected Ava pushed him and Brody together as much as possible so she’d have a sociology experiment to analyze.
The younger man was cocky and laid back and always looked as if he’d just returned from the beach. Currently he wore loose shorts—with two ragged holes—and a faded T-shirt. He didn’t look like a man with two master’s degrees. The Range Rover and expensive watch were the only indications that the reporter had money to burn. Family money. His mother had been a skilled surgeon, his father a state senator, and his uncle the governor of Oregon.
Mason shielded his eyes from the sun as he squinted at the vehicle. It was navy. Last time he saw the reporter, it had been black. “New Rover?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want, Brody?” Mason asked. The casual displays of wealth never failed to trigger Mason’s annoyance.
“What’s the connection between the death of Reuben Braswell and the shooting yesterday?”
How did he find that out?
It was another thing that irked Mason. Brody had sources that he shouldn’t have and refused to reveal. The reporter had friends in both high and low places.
“Why do you think there is one?” Mason inserted annoyance into his tone. He wasn’t about to acknowledge anything. “If you have questions, we have public information officers to help you.”
Brody grinned, his teeth white against his tan face. “I like you better. You don’t mince words.”
“No shit. Go away.”
“See?”
Mason put on his cowboy hat as he headed for his vehicle. “I’m exhausted. Fuck off.”
“Hey, Mason . . . I’m sorry about Ray.”
He halted and looked back. Brody’s tone was sincere and so was his expression.
He knows when to stop with the crap.
On some twisted level, Mason enjoyed their arguments. “Thanks.”
“If something at the Braswell murder scene led you to that bomb scare at the courthouse, I might know some avenues you can pursue to find the shooter.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Deadly serious.”
“I’m not on the shooting investigation. My job is to find who murdered Reuben Braswell.”
“I think this might open up some leads for that murder too.”
“You use the word might a lot. That doesn’t instill confidence.”
Brody shrugged. “You know I have resources.”
Do I want to open this can of worms?
“I could use some coffee,” Mason finally said. He could spare twenty minutes to hear Brody out if it might help with either investigation.
“I’ll even buy,” said Brody.
“That was a given.”
Ten minutes later the two of them were at a shaded table outside a coffee shop. Mason had ordered an iced black coffee. Brody had a gigantic frozen drink with four shots of espresso, whipped cream, and extra caramel drizzle.
“That’s not coffee,” said Mason as he realized he wanted a taste of the froufrou drink.
“It’s caffeine. That’s what’s important.”
Mason leaned forward. “What do you have for me?”
Brody drew a happy face in the condensation on his plastic cup. “A couple of months ago I was working on a story about conspiracy theories. Where they originate, what draws people to them, how they perpetuate, and so on.”
“Ava said Braswell was a conspiracy theorist.”
“Let me finish,” Brody said, raising a brow. “I found several online-message-board sites dedicated to discussing these theories. It was pretty entertaining. Especially when people would present proof. Blurry pictures, links to unreliable web pages, testimony from relatives. Great stuff. It was one of my most fascinating research projects.”
“Your research is reading what crazy people write.” Mason wished his job were as laid back.
“Some of the writers are as normal as you and me, but they seem to have a weakness for the bizarre.”
“You mean a weakness in their heads.”
Michael ignored his remark. “After a while one commenter frequently caught my attention. He had all sorts of theories about our government—and several other governments around the world. Believed there was a one-world government forming behind our backs. He would trumpet that law enforcement was a weapon of the government to keep us down, created to make a permanent working class that simply supports the rich. No chance to build something of themselves. Arrest the middle-class working guy who’s barely supporting his family and throw big fines at him that he can’t afford, or lock him up long enough to lose his job and rely on government handouts. Said law enforcement only pretended to help the public. That they would ignore regular people in real trouble.”
“Sounds like it was personal to the commenter.”
“That’s what caught my attention too. But then his rants turned to killing cops. He proposed to take away the government’s human weapons, so the government would be powerless to keep us down.”
Mason’s hand tightened on his coffee cup. “Seriously?”
“Yep. He caught a lot of flak from other commenters, which didn’t seem to bother him. He could argue with the best of them, but he also had plenty of supporters. I got the impression he frequented other message boards where this law enforcement conspiracy to keep the average man down was commonplace. I looked but couldn’t find another one that he participated in. He probably had a different username.”
“Who was this guy?”
“After some deep digging, I found the email for this poster belonged to Reuben Braswell.”
Mason’s coffee turned to acid in his stomach.
“Think one of his like-minded associates could be involved in his murder?” asked Brody.
“That doesn’t make sense. If they had the same ideologies, why kill him?”
“Maybe he had a change of heart . . . Maybe the shooting was part of a big plan and he wanted to back out. That could have made one of his associates very angry.” Brody looked evenly at Mason. “What at the Braswell scene alerted you to the bombing threat at the courthouse?”
I can’t go there.
“Considering your number of sources, I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out.”
“I’ve heard rumors. Nothing substantiated. I know an alarm was raised while you and Ray were inside the home, and then you were out of the house within minutes.”
“Everybody responded to the threat. City, county, state, federal . . .”
“But no one else was investigating the murder of a cop-hating conspirator and then rushed into a massacre.”
I hate it when he does that.