Page 33 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

I said in a more soothing tone, “Look, we heard he’s a great guy. We’re just following up on one of a thousand leads.”

“Captainisa great guy,” she said, her eyes glistening. “He’s been through so much, between football and Iraq and Afghanistan and his … I hate that his name has come up in any way. He doesn’t deserve it. I hope you’re not telling people about this.”

“No, no, calm down, Ms. Plum,” Sampson said. “We’re just checking something out.”

She wiped her eyes. “He’s a hero around here.”

I said, “I’ll bet he is.”

Sampson said, “And he’s coming our way.”

I looked over to see Davis jogging off the field. We went down and met him on the track.

“FBI?” he said after we introduced ourselves.

“And Metro Homicide,” John said.

“What’s this about?” he said, appearing genuinely bewildered.

I said, “The American Airlines plane.”

“You mean the jet that went down?”

“Your name came up,” Sampson said.

“What? Not a chance. How?”

I said, “The name Marion Davis came up. We’re not saying it’s you.”

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “Well, it’s not.”

“Good. So you’ve never rented a van from Avis?”

“A van? I don’t know. Maybe a couple of years ago? At least I think it was Avis.”

Sampson held up his phone and showed Captain the picture of the rental agreement and the name and signature the FBI lab had raised on the scorched paper. “That you?”

The coach gaped. “Well, that’s my signature. But so what? I rented that van like two Augusts ago.”

“Not what the date says.”

“I don’t care what the date says,” Davis said. “Where did you find this?”

Sampson said, “It was among the debris of the bomb that destroyed the machine gun that shot down the jet.”

He looked from Sampson to me, incredulous. “No. That is … impossible.”

“Can you tell us where you were on Monday evening, Captain?”

The coach frowned, then said, “Yes. I was camped out on my couch with a bucket by my side. I got food poisoning at a crab boil on Sunday and I was home all of Monday recovering.”

“Is there anyone who can back that up?” I asked.

Davis hesitated.

“I can,” said Fiona Plum, who’d come down to the track. “I heard the coach was sick and I went by his house. He was there.”

I said, “You went in and spoke to him? What time was this?”

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