Editor’s note: Christopher John Monfort, 41, who is suspected of killing Seattle police officer Timothy Brenton Oct. 31, in a drive-by shooting, was arrested Nov. 6, after a car matching the description of the gunman’s vehicle was found outside his Tukwila apartment complex. Western Front reporter Carey Rose sold the car—suspected to have been used in the shooting—to Monfort a year ago.

When I sold my 1980 Datsun 210 hatchback to Christopher Monfort in the summer of 2008, everything went as normal.  We haggled over my asking price.  He said he liked the stereo.  He complained that the gas mileage wasn’t as I advertised.  He said he played guitar and I told him I played drums. He said he wanted to jam sometime.

Now, more than a year later, Monfort has been charged with the murder of Seattle police officer Timothy Brenton on Halloween night.  Life-ending shots were reported to be fired from the very car I sold him that summer.

I know I had nothing to do with the killing; that’s not why I’ve been uneasy this past week.  The fact that such a distinctive car was reportedly used helped the Seattle Police Department’s investigation, and I should probably find some comfort in that.

But I looked Monfort right in the eyes and saw nothing there but a man.  Maybe not a man I fully trusted, but I certainly didn’t see anything to fear.  I sold him the car from my home in Bellevue, and he knew where I lived.

The thought chills me.

I first met Monfort outside Newport High School in Bellevue.  Summertime meant an absence of classes, kids, faculty and parents.  When Monfort pulled up behind me in an early-1990s  Mustang GT, we were alone.

As he circled my car, surveying his find, he said he was looking for something with better gas mileage, and my car fit the bill.  But a many cars get better gas mileage than a

Mustang GT, with its thirsty V8 engine—many cars that are perhaps more bland, contemporary or ubiquitous than a 29-year-old Datsun.

Many of those other cars would have been more difficult to trace from witness accounts and in-car police cameras as well.

Monfort came on strong.  Not threatening or desperate, but with a healthy confidence that gave his words weight.  He was direct.  He would point out a problem on the car, like the rust-colored stain on the carpet from a leaky heater core, and tell me that would affect his offer.

And so he made an offer, and I gave him my home address where we’d meet up later that day to carry out the exchange.

When he drove up to my house, there was a woman with him.  She never left the car and I never met her.

Monfort came into the kitchen to fill out the paperwork.  He spotted my drum set in the other room and said we should jam.  I said maybe.

We signed our names. I handed him the keys, he handed me $900 in cash, and I thought that was that.

Monfort called me a day or two later, saying he was in the area and asking if I was at my house.  He said he had driven 30 miles, or roughly the distance from Bellevue to his home in Tukwila and then back again.  He said he had clocked the gas mileage at approximately 20 miles per gallon.  I had advertised it as 27.

At first, I was concerned.  This man I barely know lives in Tukwila but is suddenly back in my neighborhood with complaints.  I still wonder why he thought it was appropriate to come to my home to tell me about this when no more than a phone call was needed.  In addition, I was irritated because 30 miles isn’t a long-enough distance to measure fuel consumption.  I politely explained that to him, and he agreed to go through a full tank. He then asked if I wanted to jam.  I said not today.

I continued to receive the occasional text message and voicemail from Monfort during the weeks that followed.  At first he continued to complain about the gas mileage, though he eventually conceded that he was mistaken in his measurements.

He continued to insist that he wanted to jam with me, and I continued to make excuses.

As his contact with me mercifully diminished and eventually vanished altogether, Monfort fell off the grid for me. I chalked up his behavior to a nice enough man with his fair share of foibles.  Most people searching for deals on Craigslist.org seem to fit this description anyway, I reassured myself.

That was until Sunday, Nov. 8. I received an e-mail from my dad, Robert Rose, with a link to an article titled “Suspect in officer’s slaying shot by police,” courtesy of The Seattle Times.

“Was this the guy who bought your Datsun?” my dad asked.

I clicked through to the article.  My jaw dropped.  A familiar face smiled at me from my computer screen.  I clicked to the next picture.  A car under a tarp in an apartment complex parking lot bore a suspicious resemblance to the profile of my old Datsun. 

My memory of Monfort, dulled by the passage of time, suddenly swelled as details of our encounter came flooding back. My awe and disbelief grew.
On Monday, Nov. 9, I saw the pictures of my car sitting in an evidence garage in Seattle.  The license plate, inexplicably ravaged but readable, showed “313-UHG,” still portraying the numbers and digits I remember from more than a year ago.

The car I had owned for two-and-a-half years was in custody, an accessory to suspected murder.  The car I had received as a gift, that I had repaired and grown to love, the car that had become synonymous with my high school memories was now a tool that had been used for suspected murder.

I had named the car Watson.

Until I saw that photo of my old license plate, a part of me thought I might have been mistaken.  I told my friends I was 99 percent sure I had sold my car to Christopher Monfort, but a part of me couldn’t be convinced.  But now I know.

I know the man I met, talked with, joked with, became mildly annoyed with and invited into my home is charged with the shooting and killing of a Seattle police officer in cold blood.

Now I know.

 

Monfort's charges, medical condition:

Monfort was charged Thursday with aggravated first-degree murder in the killing of Officer Timothy Brenton, three counts of attempted first-degree murder and one count of first-degree arson for events as far back as Oct. 22.

Monfort was paralyzed from the waist down in Nov. 6 standoff with police and is recovering at Harborview Medical Center, according to a statement from the family.

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