No one else entered the parking lot. Ava held her breath as she watched the time on the video get closer to 1:00 p.m. At 1:20 he entered the view of one of the cameras, and Pat slowed it down.
“He changed,” Ava said. He was now wearing a white short-sleeve shirt and dark shorts. The hat was still in place over the blond hair.
“The shirt was probably under the other one. Same with the shorts,” Zander said.
“Nah, I think those are those rip-off pants things,” said Pat. “You know . . . you unzip them around your thighs. Good for hiking when it warms up.”
“Either way, he deliberately changed.” Her voice was high. This has to be him. “There’s no other reason for him to change.”
“Sure there is,” Pat argued. “He was jogging, remember? Maybe he was trying to work up a sweat and then stripped down a bit when it got too hot. Maybe there are weights in the backpack. He could be training for something intense.”
The man in the video wiped sweat off his forehead as he stopped at his car. He lifted one foot onto the bumper and leaned in, stretching out his back leg.
As an athlete would.
Shit.
They continued to watch as he did the same with the other leg. The energy in the office dissipated. “He’s just a cranky athlete? Is that why he got pissed at the 7-Eleven?” Zander asked, straightening his back. He’d been bending closer and closer to the screen.
“I’d be cranky if I had to run in this heat,” offered Pat.
“Keep the video going,” said Ava. She pressed her lips together.
The man on-screen took off his backpack and set it on the hood of his car and did a few bouncing jumps in place as if working kinks out of his calves.
He’s not in any hurry to get away. Disappointment filled her.
“We’ll keep looking,” Zander said. “This is only our first stop.”
The man opened his car door and grabbed his backpack off the hood. He took three steps to the dumpster, lifted the lid, and hurled the backpack inside.
“Holy shit!” Pat said as Ava’s jaw fell open.
The man dropped the lid, got in his car, and drove away.
16
Mason drove in silence as Nora studied the file.
He’d offered to turn on music, but Nora said she couldn’t read and process while listening at the same time. He respected that. It was a beautiful day for a drive through the Columbia River Gorge. Blue skies, blue water, green trees, tall cliffs, and the occasional waterfall.
“What’s the deal with the parents’ deaths?” she asked as he took the Mosier exit off the highway.
“What do you mean?”
“You saw they died one day apart, right?”
He started. “No, I didn’t. I saw they died about five years ago, but I guess I didn’t notice the dates.”
“Maybe a car wreck where one survived a day longer than the other,” Nora speculated. “Where did they live?”
“Redmond . . . or was it Madras?” The Central Oregon towns weren’t that far apart, but Mason was annoyed that he wasn’t positive about the answer.
“Go easy on yourself,” Nora said.
He glanced over. She was watching him closely.
“You’ve been through a lot in the last two days.”
“We all have,” he stated.
She said nothing else but gave him the same silent look that Ava did when she thought he was being unreasonable. “No evidence reports from the crime scene team yet?”
“I saw some in my email. I need to print them out and add them to the book. Haven’t had time to read them yet.”
“What’s Veronica’s husband’s name?” Nora asked. “If he works for the school district, he might be home since it’s summer.”
“Alan.”
Mason took a right turn and parked in front of a two-story older home in a quiet neighborhood.
“Cute,” Nora commented. “Looks straight out of a Hallmark TV movie.”
Mason agreed. The white home actually had a white picket fence around the spacious yard and a huge tree with a swing. Kids? He spotted two bikes propped up against a post in the carport. They were pink.
He hadn’t come across anything that indicated the Lloyds had kids, but it made sense for the midforties couple. He hoped the children would be out of hearing distance during their talk.
Mason stepped out of the car, and Nora tucked the binder into her large bag. He was about to tell her to leave it in the vehicle—several graphic murder scene photos were inside—when he realized they’d both be in hot water if it was stolen. Best to not take chances.
He scanned for a dog, opened the low gate, and followed her up the brick-lined walkway. The lawn was pristine. Green and freshly trimmed. Rosebushes full of blooms. The attention to detail continued on the home. Crisp paint and cheerful pots of flowers next to the front door. Mason knocked. “Might be best if you started the interview,” he told Nora.
She raised a brow at him and nodded.
Footsteps sounded, and Veronica opened the door. He recognized her immediately from her driver’s-license picture. Her eyes were just as kind as in her photo but now had a question in them.
Mason and Nora held out their identification. “Good afternoon,” Nora said. “I’m Detective Nora Hawes and this is Detective Mason Callahan. We’re from the Oregon State Police.”
Veronica tensed. “What happened?”
“Can we come in?” Nora asked. “Or if you prefer, we could sit over there.” She gestured at a wicker love seat and two chairs on the wide porch.
“Is it Reuben?” Veronica whispered, her eyes wide.
Nora paused. “It is. Your brother died yesterday.”
Veronica placed a hand on the doorjamb, her gaze moving between Nora and Mason. “Please come in,” she said in a steady voice.
“Are your children home?” Mason asked.
“No. They’re at a friend’s.”
“Good.”
Veronica shot him an alarmed look.
I didn’t mean to scare her.
“We can speak more freely that way,” Nora said, smoothly covering Mason’s gaffe.
They followed Veronica into her home and directly to a formal living room on the right. Veronica sat on one end of a sofa and Nora joined her. Mason chose an uncomfortable-looking chair across from them and sat. The wooden back was nearly perpendicular to the seat.
Yep. Uncomfortable.
He felt as if he were sitting in school.
A gray tabby wandered in and studied Nora and Mason with interested blue eyes. Then it chose Nora’s shoes to investigate and rubbed its head against them.
“What happened to Reuben? You’re detectives who have driven all the way out here to inform me in person, so I assume it’s bad,” Veronica said. She grabbed a box of tissues from an end table and held it on her lap after pressing one tissue against her eyes.
“I’m really sorry to tell you, but your brother was murdered,” Nora said in the gentlest voice possible.
Veronica’s head shot up, and she clenched the tissue in her hand. “Who? Who did it?”
“We’re trying to find that out. Our investigation is just getting started.”
“Was anyone else hurt?” Veronica asked.