Page 12 of Fatal Strike
“Ms. Ortega, I’m sorry to upset you, but my intentions are to clarify answers.”
Silvia stared at the framed photographs of her son. “Dylan didn’t approve of anything about the Venenos. Not thereconquistaslogan either. How else do you want me to say it?”
Agent Colbert cleared his throat. “We’d like a list of his friends. He could be with them now and have no idea the authorities are looking for him.”
She wavered between trusting the agents completely and wondering if this was all a ploy to pin a crime on her son. “Idon’t know any of his friends.”
“But you do.” Agent Colbert’s firm voice competed with the tick of a mantel clock. “You care about your son, reared him by yourself. Made sacrifices for him. He spent over eleven months in jail for armed robbery, and you’ll do anything to make sure it never happens again. You’re involved with every part of his life. You invite his friends here. Make sure there’s plenty of food. You give them space. You even slid a pack of cigarettes into the cushion of the chair, and now you’re second-guessing yourself.”
“They don’t belong to Dylan.” The cigarettes would stay where she stuffed them. “He doesn’t smoke. Naturally, I can’t give you what isn’t his.” Silvia’s voice rose. “He paid his debt to society.” She stopped speaking to regain emotional stability and search for words. “He learned from his mistake and will never break the law again.”
“Agent Riesel and I hope so for your sake.” Agent Colbert seemed all businesslike. “It’s apparent you love him. Help him by helping us. Who are his friends?”
She stared at the rosary beads. Sharing information with the FBI agents might lead to bad feelings between Dylan and his friends. “I suppose I can give you the name of a young man Dylan went to high school with. He’s a fine boy. I’ll get his contact information for you.” She laid the rosary on the table and slipped the cigarettes into her pocket.
“I’ll join you.” Agent Riesel followed her into the kitchen for her address book and then back into the living room. Silvia read off Aaron Michaels’s name and cell phone number.
Agent Colbert spoke up. “This makes it easier for all of us, Ms. Ortega. We need your full cooperation to find the truth.”
“You’re the ones making this difficult. I’m afraid for my son.”
“Does Dylan have a girlfriend?”
She gazed into the male agent’s face. What should she say?
“May I have her name?”
She hastily rid her eyes of tears. “Her name is Elena James. She’s very pretty. Sweet and generous. Brings me flowers and compliments my cooking.” Silvia allowed a bit of pride to calm her racing thoughts. Food—feeding her family—was her love language. Would she ever get to prepare a special meal for Dylan again?
Agent Riesel took over the conversation. “We understandyour heartache. May I have her phone number? She and Dylan could be together now, safe and innocent of any wrongdoing. We want the truth about this morning. Don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She recited Elena’s phone number, and Agent Riesel wrote the information down on her notepad.
“Would you mind giving us Elena’s address?” The female agent waited.
Silvia gave the information. Later she’d phone Elena and apologize.
“Thank you,” Agent Riesel said. “There’ve been two other victims killed by the same method, Officer Ian Greer and Attorney Marcia Trevelle. Did you know either of them?”
“No, ma’am.” Her fear spiraled.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask us?”
“Will you find my son before someone hurts him?”
“We’ll do our best,” Agent Riesel said. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
Silvia stood and walked to the tables displaying Dylan’s photos. She traced her finger over frames and faces, lingering and praying. Gathering up her Bible, she presented it to Agent Riesel. “From the time Dylan was six years old, he gave me flowers for Mother’s Day. I kept one of each and pressed them into this book. These are not the actions of a killer. God will show you my son is innocent.”
8
LEAH AND JON WALKEDfrom the Ortega home to the curb where the truck was parked. Leah admired the simple beauty of purple and white petunias framing the front of the porch.
Once they talked to Father Gabriel, Jon would drive them back to Houston in time for the debrief with SAC Thomas and the SWAT team.
They’d left Silvia somewhat hostile and in tears. She truly believed in Dylan’s innocence—or she performed well. The woman’s final words accused law enforcement of believing the worst about her son without evidence.
Midway to the truck, Jon coughed into his fist. “We’re being watched at our ten o’clock—two men outside a garage. Could be nothing but curiosity.” His Glock was tucked securely in the back waist of his tactical pants within easy reach.
