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7
The sheriff had called out two deputies to manage the protesters. They were a small group, but he was irritated when he climbed into his Bronco. “There’s no reason for this,” John said. “West End hadn’t done anything, not that we know of, at any rate, and the only thing that works with these kids is threats of arrest for trespassing. They back off, but as soon as I leave, they start causing problems again. Then I have to put a couple deputies out there, pulling them from patrol. It really ticks me off.”
“What are they protesting?” Matt asked. He looked in the side mirror as they drove off. There were about two dozen people, mostly young, with signs he couldn’t quite make out except for the one that saidSave the Whales.
“Like I told you before, two years ago there was a recall of a valve on the fuel tanks for about half of the West End fleet. They were given one year to retrofit their fleet, which they’d started to do. They could have pulled all the affected boats, but because they’re a relatively small operation, they didn’t—and weren’t mandated to by law. But one of the boats leaked oil into a protected inlet and Donna went ballistic, used small print in the valve recall to sue West End for negligence. They ended up settling with the EPA, paid a fine, pulled all the remaining boats, and paid for the cleanup. Donna lost her suit. Before that, IP was mostly about protecting marine wildlife and trying to limit shipping in the Haro Strait—which is both a federal and international issue. With West End, she was able to localize her concerns, and that helped with her fundraising, in my opinion.”
“Now I’m beginning to see the bigger picture.”
“I’m going to make it clear to Donna Bell that West End is innocent in the explosion. Maybe she can get them to back off.”
“What if they aren’t?”
John glanced at Matt. “Are you seriously thinking that the Colfax family is behind this?”
“I’m not saying anyone specifically is involved—not yet,” Matt said. “But even if they are low on the list, we haven’t ruled any of them out.” He tapped the files next to him. “My analyst will go through the financials and insurance records and see if there’s a motive. And my investigators will look at personal motives.”
“I know this family.”
“John, you know everyone on the island.”
“That makes me good at my job.”
“I agree. I trust your judgment over anyone else.”
“Why do I hear abutin there?”
“Being close to a situation can give us blinders. You run a tight department. You know the Colfaxes and I trust that your assessment is good. At the same time, having an outsider verify the information is necessary—not just to work the case, but to make sure that nothing slips through the cracks. When we turn this case over to the AUSA for prosecution, we need it to be airtight. If I get a thread that seems more plausible than another, I will pursue it until the lead is proven or unviable.”
That appeased John, and they headed to Donna Bell’s house, a five-minute drive south from West End, just outside the town limits. She had a pretty spread on the water: a cozy bungalow with a wide porch, surrounded by a lot of land and trees. A large hand-painted political sign advocating a yes vote on a local measure faced the road, which didn’t see much traffic.
“What’s that?” Matt asked. “There’s not an election coming up, is there?”
“Local election in the fall. IP got a business tax increase on the ballot that would be earmarked for environmental issues. It’s not going to pass. The 15,000 people who live in San Juan Islands County, most of them either own a business or work for a business that might cut their hours if the tax goes through. She tries every four years. Last time, she got closer—the initiative had a thirty-nine percent yes vote.”
They weren’t out of the truck before Donna stepped out of her house and stood on the porch, glaring their way.
Matt and John walked up the stone path. “Hello, Donna,” John said, taking off his hat. “May we come in for a minute?”
“I’ve already said my piece, John,” Donna said. “You have something to add, you can do it from there.”
Matt stepped forward. “I’m Matt Costa, FBI Special Agent in Charge of the Mobile Response Team.”
“I don’t care if you’re the second coming of Jesus Christ, you’re not coming in.”
Matt didn’t waver. “I’m happy to ask my questions out here. We can do it standing, or maybe we can sit in those chairs under the tree?” He gestured to the right of the house, toward a grouping of plastic chairs under a huge oak tree.
Donna looked him up and down, not holding back her disdain—whether toward him or law enforcement in general, Matt couldn’t tell.
“Five minutes, that’s it. You insult me or mine, you can take a hike.”
“Thank you,” Matt said.
They walked over to the chairs and Matt waited until Donna claimed her seat before he sat. She was a petite woman, not even five feet tall, but her attitude more than made up for her slight stature.
Matt gave Donna a brief rundown on the Mobile Response Team and why he was tasked with this case. He wanted her to feel like she was in the know, and he would be doubly happy if she would spread the information far and wide. If anyone in IP was involved in the bombing, they needed to know that federal law enforcement was closing in on them.
Once he was finished, Donna said, “Is that supposed to impress me, Agent Costa?”
