Page 24 of Fatal Strike
He’d succeeded in making her smile. Again. She didn’t see any problems in their working arrangement yet. “If you make me crazy, I’ll let you know. And feel free to reciprocate.” She sipped her coffee, and her mind went straight to the case. “What’s really going on here? Judge Mendez sentenced Dylan Ortega to eleven months for armed robbery. Later he assigned Dylan to Father Gabriel for community service. Then Judge Mendez gave him a job. Why would he kill a man who tried to help?”
Jon turned onto Fourteenth Street toward the café meeting place. “Definitive answers are in the making with our breakfast, optimistically speaking.”
“You’re sure of yourself,” she said. “Maybe Father Gabriel’s just worried about the status of your soul.”
“Mine’s in good shape. No need for him to waste his prayers.”
16
JON AND LEAH WALKED INSIDEthe Sunflower Cafe and inhaled the mouthwatering smells of bacon, coffee, and cinnamon rolls. Jon spotted Father Gabriel at a table on the left side, his back facing the entrance. Not smart for a man who’d been threatened. Ahandful of people sat around the tables. None appeared suspicious.
He and Leah wove around the tables to the priest. A tea bag was steeping in his mug. If Jon were to stereotype a priest, the choice of caffeine in a bag fit. Father Gabriel stood, his black shirt and white collar giving him a distinguished look against his white hair and beard. Dark circles beneath his eyes indicated a lack of sleep.
What kept you up last night? Were you wrestling with your conscience or unable to rest because of the turmoil in your church and community? Or both?
The three shook hands and eased onto chairs that gave him and Leah full view of those entering and leaving the restaurant. After a waitress filled Jon’s and Leah’s cups with coffee, they gave their food orders—shrimp omelet for Leah, eggs Benedict for Father Gabriel, and smoked chicken hash for Jon.
Once the waitress disappeared, Father Gabriel folded his arms on the table. “I’d like to apologize for what may appear to be a lack of assistance in the investigation of three murders. I assure you, I’m deeply troubled by the deaths, and I want the senseless violence stopped. The island is filled with people who are scared and grieving. They need to see God in my words and actions.”
“What’s changed since our last conversation?” Jon was in no way interested in starting an argument at 7a.m.
“I want my cooperation clarified. How do you think I feel about my church used as a transfer station for a violent gang’s crime?”
“Angry? Distressed?”
Father Gabriel breathed in deeply. “Add mourning.”
“In the event Dylan or a criminal makes confession, would you encourage them to contact law enforcement?”
“I assume their efforts to that effect would be termed as cooperation?”
“It’s always better for suspects to turn themselves in. Is there a reason you neglected to tell us about St. Peter’s being a community service organization for those under Judge Mendez’s court, specifically Dylan Ortega?”
Not a muscle moved on Father Gabriel’s face. “I apologize for omitting the information.” He held up his hand as though to stop Jon from saying more. “Yesterday I spoke the truth. I haven’t talked to Dylan but twice. He came to the church, completed his responsibilities, and left. He checked in and out with my secretary.”
“What were his duties?”
“To keep the grounds clean and make any small repairs deemed necessary. If there was a matter needing his attention, then I left instructions with my secretary.”
The priest’s hands-off attitude didn’t seem like the actions of a man who wanted to rehabilitate those assigned to community service. “You didn’t try to strike up a conversation? Try to get to know him better? Draw him into church?”
“He wasn’t interested. I approached him many times, but a conversation takes two people. Dylan is resentful of God, has no use for our Lord.”
“We’d like a list of those persons who’ve completed community service at your church, male or female, and dates.”
“All right.” Father Gabriel pulled out his phone and typed. “You’ll have the information before noon.” He laid the device beside his knife.
Jon turned to Leah. “Agent Riesel, what questions do you have?”
“You mentioned a church secretary. We didn’t see anyone in your office yesterday.”
“She’s on vacation this week. I’ve been handling the clerical responsibilities myself.”
“We’d like her name and contact information.” Leah positioned her hand over her phone’s keypad.
“Lucinda Serrano.” Father Gabriel gave the phone number.
“What can you tell us about her?”
