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“Some,” she said.
“If you don’t need me, I’m going to head over to the house for an hour. Since Matt wanted to hit the ground running, I haven’t had a breather. Just need a catnap.”
“I’m good. Still reading through files and I have some calls to make.”
She was relieved when Jim left. She liked him, but she felt like she had to beon, for lack of a better word, when anyone was around. She needed to process her mother’s call, then refocus on the task at hand.
She glanced down at her phone and again saw the message from Kara Quinn. Now, that she could do! If Quinn wasn’t going to seriously dig into the lives of the Jeffries family, dismiss suspects based on a brief interview without explanation, someone had to do it.
6
When he and John arrived at the West End Charter main office, Matt thought everyone who worked there still looked shell-shocked, even after three days. More than two dozen people sat together outside their cubicles, or stood in small groups. This was a third of their operation—the rest worked in security, maintenance, or in the club.
John knew every person he saw—one of the nice things about working in a small jurisdiction as a cop. Also, when the crime rate was low, residents trusted law enforcement more, and that developed a good working relationship between business and the police. But it also meant there could be a blind spot if someone you knew and trusted was involved in a crime.
John had called ahead, and the three owners of West End Charter—the Colfax siblings—had set up the conference room with coffee and pastries. Matt gladly took the coffee. He’d been up at three in the morning to catch the flight out west and was feeling sluggish now that it was after lunch—and close to the dinner hour on the East Coast, where they’d flown from.
The Colfax family had founded West End Charter with two boats more than fifty years ago. Since, it had grown to a fleet of forty that included charters, boat rentals, and guided tours. Their kayak rental business was thriving. Directly south of the main Friday Harbor port, they also had a harbor leased from the state for ninety-nine years, and they rented out a small number of extra slips there to long-term visitors.
Ted Colfax was the oldest, forty, and he appeared to have a quiet, even temperament.
Lynn, his sister, midthirties, was divorced and had taken back her maiden name. Not that it meant anything, but Matt always kept an eye out for family motives, past and present, whenever there was a crime that could have a financial component. Lynn was the accountant for the company and seemed to have a solid head on her shoulders.
Adam Colfax was the youngest brother, at least ten years younger than his sister, and clearly a hothead. Matt could tell not only because he had once been a hothead—and sometimes his Cuban temper still got the better of him—but because of Adam’s inability to sit still or talk without an accusatory tone.
“You still don’t have answers, John?” Adam said after introductions. “It’s been three days. We have the damn protesters back because they think the explosion was a malfunction of our boat!”
Matt had spotted the IP protesters lining the street leading to West End property. They chanted and carried signs with rather generic messaging about saving marine life, but hadn’t obstructed traffic.
John said, “I’ve already given a statement to the press that the preliminary investigation indicates that it was an intentional bomb, not a mechanical problem or accidental error.”
“And they don’t listen!”
Ted cleared his throat and said, “John, ATF was here all weekend inspecting our boats and property and they found no other bombs. We are remaining closed today out of respect for the families, but we’re cleared to continue operations unless you tell me there’s a reason we shouldn’t.”
“That’s a business decision,” John said. “At the moment, I can’t tell you whether your business was the target or not.”
“So you don’t know anything more than you did Friday night,” Adam interjected.
Matt said, “We know the bomb was planted in the bow of the ship, and the explosive used was C-4. That’s something we can trace because it’s hard to get and is heavily regulated, but tracing takes time. C-4 is easy to handle—it won’t go off spontaneously. We ran preliminary background checks with the ATF on all your staff, and so far, everyone is clean.”
“I could have told you that,” Adam said. “We run backgrounds on everyone when they’re hired.”
“Be that as it may,” Matt said, “we have to do the same. We appreciate your cooperation with security footage and access to your records. It helped us get a jump on the investigation over the weekend.”
“But you didn’t find anything?” Lynn asked, trying to sound hopeful.
“Not yet. Unfortunately, the security footage is only from building entrances and immediate exterior,” Matt said. “It wouldn’t show anyone approaching a boat from the water.”
Ted shook his head. “It’s our fault. We didn’t foresee something like this.”
“There’s no blame there,” Matt said. “And we don’t know exactlywhenthe bomb was planted. We’re working backwards from the time theWater Lilyset off. It could have been planted weeks ago.”
Ted shook his head. “We inspect our boats regularly. Our maintenance people would have found it.”
“How regularly?”
Lynn slid over a file. “These are the maintenance records for theWater Lilyfor the last six months. Ten days ago, the yacht was fully inspected. That means every inch was covered, both interior and exterior and a full exam of the engine. TheWater Lilywas last out Wednesday night. Ted took it out.”
