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Jim motioned to the two sheriff’s deputies who doubled as crime scene investigators. Then Matt strode down the walkway to where Kara was talking to West End’s owner.
“Is there a body? Dammit, your agent won’t tell me anything!”
Matt was mindful of the eyes and cell phones all over the place. He didn’t need anyone listening to this conversation.
“Detective Quinn,” he said, “thanks. Keep the perimeter until the sheriff’s people relieve you, which won’t be long.” He motioned for her to watch the crowd, but he probably didn’t have to remind her. Bombers, like arsonists, often lurked at the scene among bystanders.
“I need to know, Costa,” Ted said. “What happened? Was anyone hurt?”
Matt walked Ted toward the administrative building, but they didn’t go inside. He found a private place where no one could listen in.
“Yes, there’s a body. Black male, adult, that’s all I have right now.”
“Garrett.” Ted closed his eyes, rubbed them with his fingers. “Dammit.”
“Garrett who? Employee?” He didn’t remember the name from the list he got from Lynn Colfax.
“Washington. Garrett Washington. Security. New hire, he started Saturday. His roommate called me when he heard the explosion. Garrett gets off at three in the morning; his roommate starts at six. I doubled security, rented a couple apartments for these guys through Labor Day. Just to patrol because... But Garrett wasn’t on duty. Why was he there?”
“We’re investigating. I assume you ran a background check?”
“Of course! Why? You don’t think—No. No way, that makes no sense. He lives outside Seattle. He wasn’t even here before Saturday afternoon.”
“Okay, that’s a start, but I’ll need to verify that. I also need to talk to the last person who saw Garrett.”
“Bruce Dingham. He runs the night crew. He’s been with me for years. Shit! What’s going on? Why is this asshole killing people?”
Matt had theories, but without more evidence, that’s all they were. “ATF is on their way, along with a munitions expert who has investigated dozens of bombings.”
“I just can’t believe those kids would do anything like this!”
“Kids?”
“Island Protectors. They’re mostly high school and college kids. But I suppose after all the crap that happened a couple years ago, some of these kids think that it’s okay. But this isn’t vandalism. This is murder.”
“First, we don’t know who is doing this, so keep your theory to yourself. I’m investigating every angle. Can you call Bruce in?”
“He’s still here.” Ted looked around. He saw his employees standing outside the main building, others near the club entrance, some crying, all shocked. “I’m going to have to close until we know... Dammit! I didn’t want to do this. These people count on me. I employ more than a hundred people during the summer. And...” He took a deep breath.
“Do what you need to do, be available. Where’s Bruce?”
Ted led him to a small building next to the administrative building. A simple sign read SECURITY OFFICE.
Bruce was upset—he’d liked Garrett, a good guy down on his luck after losing his business—but he had nothing of import to add except two things: the exact time that Garrett Washington clocked out (3:03 a.m.) and the fact that he and his partner had run off teenage boys who’d been drinking on one of the docks—including a fourteen-year-old named Mickey Billings, the son of a town council member.
Matt turned to Ted. “When your brother and sister arrive, I need to talk to them. But make it clearnotto make any statements to the press or others about what happened until we have more information. If you’re comfortable, you can refer everyone to me.”
“What about Garrett’s wife?” Ted asked. “He only worked for me a few days, but damn, he was a good guy. He’s married, has a kid. What am I supposed to say to them?”
“I can call her,” Matt said.
“No. He was my employee, my responsibility. I’ll do it.”
Ted walked toward the administrative building.
Matt saw Kara standing on the edge of the dock. She wore sunglasses and was watching the crowd. Deputy Anderson was there, in uniform, moving people along and keeping order along with a half dozen other deputies. The Coast Guard had arrived and were keeping boats out of the containment area. The sheriff had two teams of dogs out, inspecting every boat at West End. When they were done with West End, they’d move over to the harbor. The ferry service was delayed. If Matt had his way, he would cut off all boat service for twenty-four hours or more until they had a grasp on what they were dealing with here.
But that might not be realistic. He’d already got a report from the sheriff that they were not sending any ferries until noon; they would reassess then and decide whether it was safe. They’d locked every port across all islands while security inspected every boat.
