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“I beg to differ,” said Michael. “Bombers are almost always above average intelligence.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t intelligent, just that I don’t think he would consciously use his left hand to slit a throat just so we couldn’t pin it on him because, as you said, ninety percent of the population are right-hand dominant.”
“Then Rena’s murder is random?” Matt asked, sounding exasperated.
“No. But it might not have to do with Avila.”
“You can look into it if we find no evidence here that he killed her. But right now, we need to bring him in.”
“With his family?”
Matt motioned to the people who had congregated across the road from Avila’s house, chatting and watching as a third deputy drove up. “I can’t trust that someone isn’t going to be able to reach him, or that word isn’t going to get out on social media, which could cause him to panic. We need to control this—and I think calling in the Coast Guard is the safest way to bring him in.”
“You’re probably right.”
“About this, I am.”
“And do you need me for anything?” asked Kara.
“Not right now. Why don’t you take a couple hours back at the house and decompress? What you went through—”
“No, I’m good. Really, Matt,” she added. He must have looked concerned. He cleared his expression. “I want to follow up with Jamie Finch about Rena. If Rena said anything to Jamie about Avila, it could give us motive. Cal McKinnon said she’d be back around lunch.”
“Do that. Michael can finish supervising the search. Do you want Ryder?”
“Not necessary. I’ll let you know if I need anything, but this shouldn’t take long.”
31
Kara drove just outside the town limits to the house Jamie Finch shared with Cal McKinnon. Jamie’s car wasn’t in the carport. Kara double-checked her notes; Cal said she’d be back by noon. It was only twelve fifteen. She could wait for her, but it had been a long day already and she hadn’t eaten. The extreme fear she’d suppressed while holding the bomb had her adrenaline pumping. But time off at the house wasn’t an option. Not only because Damon Avila was still out there, but because sitting around reliving the intensity of her fear would drive Kara crazy. She needed to work. It was calming, purposeful.
She drove to a small sandwich shop downtown, ten minutes from Jamie’s house and not too far from the sheriff’s station. She ordered a turkey and avocado—no mayo—and sat outside on the deck, which had a partial view of the water. Under an umbrella, she enjoyed her sandwich. Her heart finally felt like it was beating at normal speed, and she could think. When she was halfway done, her phone rang. It was a Seattle area code...and that’s when she remembered she’d reached out to a couple of people about Marcy Anderson.
“Hi, is this Detective Kara Quinn?”
“Yes. This is?”
“Lisa Fletcher, you left a message for me. You said you had questions about my time in the Coast Guard.”
“Thank you for calling me back. I won’t keep you long. I’m actually calling about Marcy Anderson. You were her roommate for a year, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Caleb McKinnon? He served with you.”
“Cal, of course. He and I went through boot camp together.”
“Not Marcy?”
“She was in the class before us—maybe two classes before us, I don’t remember.”
“And you were all assigned to Seattle.”
“Yes. I’m an engineer, and Marcy worked in logistics. Cal was maintenance. He could fix anything.”
“You’re no longer in the Coast Guard?”
“Reserves. I gave ten years and retired last year. I’m back to college for a master’s in engineering.”
