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“Damon, you see the name.”
“Brian Stevens.”
“He lost control of his car on an icy road at night and hit your car, which careened off the road. Your left leg was shattered. Now do you remember Brian?”
“I...I didn’t know it was the same person.”
This guy was not a very good liar, which surprised Matt. Mass murderers could usually lie through their teeth and their own mothers wouldn’t know unless faced with hard physical evidence.
“Did you know that your ex-girlfriend Missy Douglas went missing while camping five years ago?”
“Yeah. That was awful.”
Catherine pulled out several sheets of paper from her file, turned them to face Damon. “In April after your accident, Missy broke up with you.”
“It was mutual,” he said.
“According to this police report, the campus police were called to her sorority three times to remove you from the property when you refused to leave. The first time was when she broke up with you.” She turned to the second page. “The second time was a week later, you came to the sorority drunk and wouldn’t stop pounding on the door. You broke a window, and campus police cited you. You paid that bill. The third time was in mid-May, shortly before graduation. You entered the property, even though campus police had forbidden you from going on sorority property. This time, Missy threatened to file a restraining order against you. According to the officer who responded, she said quote, ‘Damon changed after the accident. I tried to stay with him, but he was mean and yelled at me for no reason and refused to go to counseling or get any help. I don’t want to file charges, but I’m scared.’ Apparently, she never filed charges with campus police or Seattle PD.”
“I felt like crap after that. I loved Missy, I really did, and I treated her badly. I was so... I was fucked. I knew I’d never play ball again.”
“That must have been hard for you.” Catherine sounded sincere and showed concern. “You were a star player, you broke records in high school and college, and were going to be drafted by the NFL.”
“It was the worst time of my life,” he said.
“Before Missy disappeared, she had become engaged. To a retired pro football player. Did you know that?”
“Probably, but I didn’t think about it. It was all a long time ago.” He was looking at his hands, not at Catherine or Matt.
“Why do you think Neil was looking into Missy’s disappearance?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ask you about it?”
“No.”
“You’re a teacher, at Bellingham High School, correct? Math.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing at Catherine, clearly suspicious at the change of direction in questioning.
“Did you know Eric Travers?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I just said no!”
For the first time, Matt saw temper. Not worry, not fear, but anger—anger enough to kill? Could Damon Avila actually plot a murder and wait months...or years...to seek revenge? Plan a bombing that took time and patience as well as a deep, cold spine? To kill innocent people just to kill the man who suspected he was a killer?
“Eric Travers was hired to run the math and science department at Bellingham High School four years ago. You had already been working at Bellingham for five years, and according to the principal—” she looked at her notes “—Monica Jefferson, you had applied for the promotion as well. She wouldn’t tell me why you were passed over—employment confidentiality—but I can imagine it was an experience issue. Travers had more than fifteen years teaching and had a master’s degree, as well as some impressive credentials working in an underperforming school and turning around math scores. He got recognition in the press—” she put several newspaper articles down “—and recognition by the governor.”
“What does any of this have to do with me or with the bombing?”
Catherine stared at him. “Neil believed that you killed all these people.”
He shook his head. “No.” His voice was a squeak.
