Sheriff John Rasmussen had been having a difficult twenty-four hours from handling the press, multiple agencies, and his own staff who learned about Marcy’s crimes, which needed to be addressed. But Matt wanted him in the interrogation room with Damon Avila. Not just because Avila’s family was local and the sheriff should be involved, but because it might give him more pieces to the bigger puzzle of how Marcy put together this complex frame job.
Matt debriefed John, and the sheriff was on the same page with him, so when they walked into the interrogation room with Avila and his lawyer—a public defender from the county who looked near retirement age—they had a united front. An assistant US attorney had arrived earlier in the morning and was observing from the observation room. It would help expedite any legal agreements should Avila want to talk. Matt had already received a bit of leeway from the government lawyer, so he didn’t have to jump up and down to get permissions.
He went through preliminary questions with Avila and the lawyer. Avila looked like he hadn’t slept much, and he was drinking Dr Pepper and water, alternating between the soda and the water bottle.
“Again, Mr. Avila,” Matt said, “I appreciate your willingness to answer a few questions now that you have your lawyer present.”
“Depends what type of questions,” the lawyer said.
“I’m going to lay my cards on the table,” Matt said. At least some of them, he thought. “First, we executed a legal search warrant yesterday on Mr. Avila’s property that yielded evidence of bomb making. A working bomb was found that nearly killed one of my team members. Files that had been in the possession of retired agent Neil Devereaux were also found in his house. Files and notes that showed that Neil suspected Damon Avila of murder. This is what we call a clear motive.”
“I didn’t make any bombs,” Avila said. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
His lawyer put a hand on Avila’s arm. “I know that the person you suspect of bombing the Water Lily committed suicide last night, and that a statement by a victim showed that Ms. Anderson did in fact plant a bomb on a trawler that nearly killed several people. Clearly, the evidence was planted in Mr. Avila’s house. He has no expertise in bombs or bomb making.”
“A working theory at this point is that Ms. Anderson and Mr. Avila worked together. Ms. Anderson wanted to kill her ex-boyfriend Cal McKinnon, and Mr. Avila wanted to kill Neil Devereaux, who had uncovered evidence that Mr. Avila killed five people over the course of the last thirteen years.”
Avila’s face paled. He didn’t say anything.
“You will not be able to prove any of it,” the lawyer said. “My client has nothing to do with the bombings, and the idea that he is some sort of serial killer? You’re pulling that out of thin air.”
“The evidence will prove it,” Matt said. “A bomb in his house. Documents stolen from Neil that include Neil naming Mr. Avila as a suspect in these deaths. I can get a dozen sworn statements that Anderson and your client were friends and spent a lot of time together. Mr. Avila was on the mainland the same time that C-4 went missing, and one of his former students who he continued to tutor in math worked at the construction company where the C-4 went missing from. I can tie this case up with a pretty little bow for the prosecution. And with Ms. Anderson dead, the people will want justice. This is a death penalty case. Murder with special circumstances.”
Avila opened his mouth. The lawyer stopped him from talking. “With Ms. Anderson dead, you have no evidence that my client has done anything wrong.”
“A bomb was found in Mr. Avila’s house in the box of documents stolen from Neil Devereaux. Those documents have already been read and processed—Neil’s fingerprints were all over them, the notes were in his handwriting. That is enough evidence to keep your client held without bail. The court system doesn’t take kindly to domestic terrorists.”
Avila shook his head.
His lawyer said, “You’re jumping the gun on this, Agent Costa. I know that a search of Ms. Anderson’s apartment yielded more documentation of bombs and bomb making as well as her obsession with her ex-boyfriend. Photos, letters, plans. On her person was found passports for her and the young child she planned to kidnap. It’s clear she was the sole bomber.”
Someone had talked out of school about the passports. The search of her property? That was very public, but the passports were not. That irritated Matt, but he didn’t say anything.
John did, however. “Where did you hear about the passports, Roger?”
“I don’t have to tell you that. I know it’s true. And you don’t have a case.”
Matt wondered if Avila had helped Anderson with the passports. Maybe...maybe. But they hadn’t found anything that pointed them in that direction at either property.
Matt pulled a file from his briefcase and slid it over to Avila. The lawyer took it first, opened it.
“What am I looking at?” he asked.
“On the top is a copy of the speeding ticket your client received on May 1, four years ago, the day after Eric Travers went missing from his boat. Evidence that your client was in Puget Sound at the time. Then, a hotel receipt where he stayed for two nights, near the dock where Travers kept his boat. Then, a receipt of your client renting a motorboat the same day that Travers went out—from the same dock.”
“This doesn’t prove that my client had anything to do with his disappearance.”
“The fourth page is a photo of your client’s vehicle thirteen years ago—a pickup truck he owned at the time—parked at the trailhead leading to Mowich Lake, the weekend that Brian Stevens and Jason Mott disappeared.”
“Which means nothing.” He frowned, clearly not understanding why there was a photo of his client’s truck at all from that time.
“Neil was obsessed,” Matt said, “and he spent three years tracking down people who had been at Mowich Lake that weekend. It was Memorial Day, a lot of visitors. He spoke to dozens of people, asked to see any photos they had, looked through social media pages, and one family had taken pictures in the parking lot when they arrived. Mr. Avila’s truck was there.”
“It’s still not going to prove—”
“I’m going to cut to the chase,” Matt said. He’d been watching Avila’s expression, and he was ready to talk. Matt had to get the lawyer to let him talk. “We have a dozen FBI agents now reopening five cases—five deaths that had been ruled accidental, but Neil Devereaux believed were murder. Mott and Stevens. Eric Travers. Missy Douglas. And Billy Clark.”
Avila began to shake.
“Your client killed those five people, and if Neil could get this information—” he gestured toward the folder “—as a retired FBI agent, think what a dozen active and dedicated FBI agents will be able to find.”
“I—” Avila began.
The lawyer interjected. “Before my client says another word, I need a plea deal in writing.”
Matt pulled out a paper from his pocket. “The best I can do is take the death penalty off the table.” He slid over the agreement to the lawyer. It basically said if Avila had nothing to do with the bombings but confessed to any other capital offenses, he would not be eligible for the death penalty.
“I’m going to need more.”
“No,” Avila said. “No. Just—no. I’m not going to put my family through a trial. Through...everything. I’m just not going to do that. All I want...if my nieces want to see me...after this...after... I...I just want to stay close. As close to them as I can so they can visit.”
“That I can do,” Matt said, with a glance toward the one-way mirror. There was no knock, no sign to stop the agreement. “I will make it happen, if you’re honest with me right now.”
“I never planned on killing anyone. It just...happened. I followed Brian at Mowich Lake. It was a fluke, really—I saw them at a gas station in Pullman, I was in town interviewing for a teaching position, and just followed them. They were laughing, and all I could think about was how my life was over. I couldn’t play ball. I’d lost my girlfriend. I’d lost everything...and I was going to confront him. But I didn’t know what to say, so when they invited me to go midnight fishing, I went. One thing led to another and I pushed Brian into the lake. Jason tried to get him out—the water was cold, freezing. And I pushed Jason in but he hit his head on the boat and he floated. I think he was unconscious. Maybe dead. It was so dark. I took the boat back to the dock. I didn’t plan to kill them... I just wanted them to hurt like I hurt.”
Neil was right. All along, Neil had been right.
“Missy Douglas.”
Tears came. Matt didn’t know if they were to try to garner sympathy or if he was truly remorseful. “I loved her. I never wanted to kill her.”
“What happened to Missy?”
“When I found out she was engaged, I just wanted to talk to her. Her fiancé wouldn’t let her—how could he stop her? He said she didn’t want to see me and I...I was so angry. I just wanted five minutes! I followed them to the mountain. She went walking in the morning before anyone was up and...and I pushed her. I didn’t want to, it was like I couldn’t help myself. I loved her. I’m so sorry.”
In the end, Damon Avila confessed to all five murders. Eric Travers because he had been given the promotion that Avila wanted, and Billy Clark out of jealousy. It had been spontaneous, like the first two. He came across Billy on the road. Billy had been driving fast, and it reminded Avila of how he shattered his leg. He didn’t intend for him to die, just to be hurt. To know how Avila felt. And it was after that that Avila started to lose sleep, to feel out of sorts. The guilt began to set in, and when Neil Devereaux started looking at him suspiciously, he knew Neil knew.
“Did you work with Marcy Anderson to plant the bomb on the Water Lily?”
“No. I swear. I knew nothing about her plan. I don’t know anything about the C-4. I didn’t take it, she didn’t tell me anything. But—she told me that Neil suspected me of murder. She said he’d asked for her help, but that I didn’t have anything to worry about because he didn’t have any hard evidence, only a theory.”
“Did you find it at all suspicious that a local deputy was willing to overlook murder?” John interjected.
“No—not really. We were friends. She said I had been her only friend when she arrived, and she knew how it felt when someone betrayed you.”
John leaned forward. “Did you tell her that you killed Brian and Jason? The others?”
“I...I said it was an accident. Which was true about Billy—I didn’t mean to kill him. And the others, they were just spontaneous. I didn’t really plan it, I just saw red and pushed.”
Matt wasn’t certain he believed that the murders were spontaneous and unplanned, but Avila confessed to all of them.
And Marcy knew. She knew and that was how she was able to frame him. It was almost a perfect crime.
“Why did you go to Bellingham two weeks ago? You went Monday night and returned Tuesday early afternoon.”
“I didn’t.”
“We have your truck on the ferry. Every license plate is logged when they drive on.”
“I loaned my truck to Marcy. Hers was in the shop, she’d woken up to a flat tire, and she had a doctor’s appointment. I mean, that’s what she told me.”
“Can anyone verify your alibi?”
He looked panicked for a minute. Then his eyes widened and he said, “Yes! Yes. Pete called me Tuesday morning—I usually don’t work until the afternoon, but he needed me to help stock the bar. He picked me up before eleven. I remember because I had loaned Marcy my truck.”
Avila stared at Matt, pleaded with him. “I swear to God, I swear on my sister’s grave, I didn’t know anything about the bombs. Nothing.”
Matt believed him.
“Write it out.” He slid a notebook and pen toward Avila.
The lawyer took the pen and said, “You don’t have enough to charge my client with murder.”
Matt raised an eyebrow. “I do.”
“Not first degree. Not premeditated. Before my client writes a word down, I want a plea agreement. Manslaughter, concurrent sentences.”
There was a knock on the window. “That’s up to the AUSA. She’ll be in here momentarily.” Matt got up, John followed suit.
Matt followed John to his office and closed the door. John settled at his desk, looking both defeated and angry, but he was beginning to regain his composure.
“Pete Dunlap has lived here his entire life, except for a few years. He was raised here, raised his family here. I went to his wife’s funeral. This is going to tear him up.”
“Murder affects more people than the victim. Family, friends, community—all victims.”
“I’m so angry, but mostly sad. How this could happen in my town. We’re good people here, Matt. Good, honest, hardworking people who care about each other. I brought her in.”
Now he was onto Marcy.
“Marcy Anderson had a solid record in Seattle, and she had a background with boats. She was in the Coast Guard. I would have hired her if I were in your shoes.”
“She killed ten people. Kidnapped a child. And she was one of mine.”
“One of the best things about a small town like this is that people know you. They trust you. They will look to you for guidance. And you’ll regain what you had.”
“That’s not going to be possible, not completely,” John said. “No one is going to forget what happened. How could they?”
“But you’re not to blame. You need to help return the town to the sanctuary it is for so many people.”
John nodded, though he still looked troubled. Matt hoped he took his words to heart.
“I need to talk to Donna. Apologize.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Matt said. “We were following the investigation where it took us. If she can’t see that, that’s her problem.”
“She’s still one of my constituents. She’s still somewhat of a friend.”
“I get that. But I’m telling you—tell her what happened, but don’t apologize for doing your job. Because one of these days, one of her people is going to go too far, and you’re going to have to arrest them. Just like Craig Martin and Valerie Sokola.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I am right.”
It would take time, but Matt was confident the San Juan Islands Sheriff’s Department would come back, stronger than ever.
Matt talked to the AUSA and John stayed with her and Avila through the negotiations and written confession. The AUSA was thrilled, said Avila would spend at least twenty-five years in prison. “I wish it could be more, but getting the confession goes a long way. Not going to trial on this—where it would be difficult to prove premeditation—is huge. Honestly, this would have been a hard case to prosecute, Costa. I owe you one.”
Matt was pleased with the confession, but didn’t feel like justice was truly served. Damon Avila would pay for his crimes, but five people were still dead.
Matt left them to wrap everything up and walked from the sheriff’s station to West End Charter, needing the time to collect his thoughts. After a week of intensity, he almost felt a letdown. The bomber was dead. A killer had confessed. But people were still dead, and while justice was being served, Matt would never be okay with the loss of life.
Matt planned to tell Ted Colfax what was going on with the investigation, but Ted was out on the water. Matt walked down to the pier, not knowing if he would wait for him, or if he would come back tomorrow.
Matt saw Adam Colfax sitting alone on a bench at the end of the dock. He approached.
Adam looked up at him, sunglasses hiding his eyes, his mouth in a firm, straight line. His face was damp, and Matt suspected he had been crying.
“Ted’s out,” Adam said. “Won’t be back until sunset.”
“May I sit?”
Adam nodded.
They sat in silence for a long minute, staring out at the calm water. The wind and clouds from yesterday had disappeared; the sky was completely blue, the water calm, sparkling in the sun.
“You heard,” Matt finally said.
“It’s fucked. Just fucked and completely stupid.”
“I agree.”
Again, silence.
“I keep asking myself why,” Adam said. “She blew up the boat to kill one person.”
“She blew up the boat to kill two people,” Matt said. “Cal, because she was a psychopathic stalker, and Neil Devereaux so that she could frame Damon Avila for the bombing. She planned on getting away with it.”
“But you figured it out.”
“My team did.”
“And she killed herself. I can’t even tell her how she screwed up my life. All those people, dead, for no reason. My sister told me that Mrs. Jeffries is pregnant. Now the kid won’t even know his dad. And Kyle...” His voice cracked. “He was only twenty-two. After he graduated next year, we were going to move in together. I wanted to get married, but Kyle said we had all the time in the world. But we didn’t. And now he’s gone for no fucking reason.”
Matt put a hand on Adam’s shoulder, but he didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.
Kara didn’t want to talk to anyone else today, but she felt she owed Madelyn Jeffries some closure. She dropped Michael off at the house—he said he would go with her, but she wanted to do this on her own.
She drove out to the Jeffries property. Her hangover was almost gone, but her head was still all twisted from both everything that happened yesterday plus Catherine’s conversation with her this morning. Kara had no doubt that Catherine had intentionally tried to get under her skin and manipulate her, but there was a lot of truth in her comments, and Kara couldn’t shake the feeling that her life, as she knew it, was over.
Worse, she felt like she was in perpetual limbo, not knowing what to do or who to trust.
She pushed it all aside and walked up the stairs to the Jeffrieses’ front door. The day, at least, was beautiful. Eighty degrees, blue skies, birds chirping, and sailboats sailing.
Too beautiful, too chipper, after so much violence and death.
Robin, the fiancée, answered the door. “Agent Quinn.”
“Detective,” she automatically corrected and felt like an idiot. “Call me Kara, please. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to see if anyone had questions, let you all know what happened and what’s going to happen.”
“That is kind of you. Come in, please.” Robin led Kara to the living room and motioned for her to sit. “May I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?”
Normally Kara would decline, but she was dehydrated. “Water, please.”
She smiled, said she would be back. A minute later she was, with a tall glass of ice water and Madelyn. “Justin is in town getting some supplies,” Robin explained. “We’re going to stay a few more days.”
Kara drank half the water, put the glass down on a coaster on the glass coffee table.
“This is a small town, I’m sure you heard about what happened yesterday, but I wanted to make sure you have accurate information and answer any questions.”
Madelyn sat down on the couch next to the chair Kara was sitting in.
“You are kind,” she said. She looked pale and skinny—like she’d lost weight in the week since the explosion.
Robin sat down next to Madelyn and took her hand. Robin said, “The sheriff came by late last night. We know about Deputy Anderson. It’s—truly, it’s almost unbelievable.”
“Senseless,” Madelyn whispered. “It’s not fair.”
She at least sounded a little better than she had when Kara was here with Catherine.
“No, it’s not fair,” Kara said. Life wasn’t fair, never would be. “But she’s dead. I wish she was in prison, but this way you won’t have to go through a trial and newspaper headlines and media bullsh—” She cleared her throat. “Maybe you’ll find some closure knowing what happened.”
“Maybe,” Madelyn said.
“I don’t know if you can tell us,” Robin said, “but Justin heard that Damon Avila was arrested for the bombing. Did he help her?”
Kara had a text from Matt that Avila had confessed to five murders. “We initially arrested him because of a bomb found in his house, but we believe that Deputy Anderson was attempting to frame him. Neil Devereaux, one of the other victims on the Water Lily, had been investigating Avila for a cold-case murder. Neil was retired, but he was obsessed about the deaths of two college students. Avila confessed to the murders that Neil suspected him of and denied any involvement or knowledge in the bombings. At this point, we believe that Marcy Anderson acted alone.”
No one said anything and Kara wondered if she’d said too much. She finished the water, put the glass back down. Looked at the painting above the fireplace, the one of the mountains and Pierce and Madelyn having a picnic. They loved each other. Kara didn’t know what that even felt like, if she would ever know what it felt like. If she would even know... Love seemed so foreign to her.
Except when she saw the love in Madelyn for her husband. In Cal for his fiancée. In Justin for his father, in Cal and Jamie for their daughter. The way Pete Dunlap spoke about his daughters, about his dead wife. Maybe it was something she would never have.
Maybe love was something she didn’t deserve.
She said, “I need to be going, but if you or Justin have any questions, you can call me and I’ll find the answers.”
Robin got up to walk her to the door, but Madelyn waved her off and escorted Kara herself. She said, “You were very kind and straightforward with me from the beginning, and I appreciate it. Everyone has been walking on eggshells around me. I finally sent my mother away. Told her to go to my house in Bellingham and start planning for the funeral.” Her voice cracked, but her eyes remained dry. “Anyway, thank you for being honest. So I’m going to ask you this: Did you know when you were here with that woman that she was responsible?”
“No,” Kara said. “Not then.”
“When did you suspect her? Or did you?”
Kara thought back to what it was. Carefully, she said, “It wasn’t any one thing,” Kara said. “But she said something the morning after we were here the first time, and what she said didn’t quite ring true. So I watched her. Listened. Investigated. I didn’t suspect her of the bombing then... That took another day. But I was suspicious that she had a secret, that she was up to something. And I followed that doubt until I had proof, one way or the other.”
Madelyn stared at her, and Kara couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking. “You never thought I was involved.”
“No.”
“You’re the only one. I think...I think Justin even had doubts at the beginning.”
“I think,” Kara said, “that Justin is grieving like you are, that he wanted answers like you did, and he knows you loved his father. And if he doesn’t know that? He’s an idiot.”
Madelyn’s lips twitched up just a fraction. “Thank you for everything. And I am glad she’s dead. She doesn’t deserve to breathe when she killed Pierce and everyone else on that boat.”
Kara couldn’t disagree.