Page 11 of Fatal Strike
Agent Riesel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “A witness claims to have seen Dylan at St. Peter’s early this morning about the same time police believe Judge Mendez’s body was left at the church. That’s why we need to talk to him.”
Her stomach soured. “This is a bit overwhelming. Come in and we’ll straighten it out.” She stepped aside and allowed the two agents to enter. The aroma of a vanilla candle filled her home. Normally the scent gave her peace. She pointed to the living room. “Please, sit down.”
Silvia’s attention settled on her sacred wall and shelf across the room. In the middle was a shrine to Mary, and on each side were photos of Dylan—Little League, first Communion, football, school, soccer, and three from his high school graduation. Constant reminders of her dear son.
Agent Colbert took a chair, and Agent Riesel sat on the sofa, leaving the other end open.
“Would you like something to drink?” Silvia said. “Coffee? Tea? Lemonade?”
They declined. They weren’t there to socialize, and she was only prolonging the inevitable. She moved a chair beside a small table that held more Dylan photos and her rosary. Nightmare emotions flooded her, like the last time Dylan broke the law. “You say this is about Judge Mendez’s death? I’m confused. My son is a good boy.” But she understood perfectly why the agents were there.
“I’m sure he is,” the woman said. “But he’s a person of interest.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we need to talk to him.”
Silvia wished she hadn’t opened the door to the FBI agents. “How can I convince you he’s not a part of Judge Mendez’s death? Someone has lied to you. My son is innocent.”
“Ms. Ortega,” Agent Riesel said, her voice kind, but Silvia doubted she meant it, “I can only imagine how you must feel—”
Silvia’s worst fear screamed across her mind. “Unless you have a child, then you have no idea.”
“You’re right. I have no concept of your angst. But not being able to talk to your son forces us to secure a search warrant. In the meantime, authorities will be looking for Dylan.”
Agent Riesel’s words pierced Silvia’s heart. She gathered up the rosary from the table beside her and silently prayed while caressing each bead. She struggled for a clear mind. “He loves his mother. Was brought up in church. Talk to our priest, Father Gabriel at St. Peter’s. He knows my son.” Sadness dripped into her words.
“Take a deep breath.” Agent Riesel spoke as though they were friends. “I know you want to help. Has he contacted you?”
She refused to sink into a panic attack and breathed in deeply as Agent Riesel suggested. “He went for a walk around 8p.m. but never returned. His motorcycle is still in the garage. Usually he calls or texts. We’re very close, always have been. I’m worried he might be hurt. And now you people accuse him of murder.”
“We haven’t accused him of anything.” Agent Riesel gave a sad smile as if it would help Silvia feel better. “We have questions pertaining to his whereabouts at the time of the crime. What’s his cell phone number?”
As Silvia gave the number, Agent Colbert pressed each digit into his cell phone. She waited, begging God to make things right.
Agent Colbert placed the phone back into his pant pocket. “It rang four times and stopped. No voice mail.”
Silvia blinked back the tears. Had Dylan tossed his phone, or was he afraid to answer a strange number? “Try texting him and explain who you are.” She’d texted him twice early this morning before his shift, but he hadn’t responded.
Agent Colbert did as she requested. Again they waited.
“Dylan often loses his phone.” Silvia gripped the rosary beads tighter. “He misplaces them.” She wanted to say more, that Dylan was going to school and had a wonderful future planned. “Agent Riesel, my son respected the judge. When he needed a job, I spoke to Father Gabriel. He put the two in touch. Dylan worked for the judge off and on, maintenance things at his office and rental property.” She noted the look the agents exchanged with each other.
“When did this occur?” Agent Riesel said.
“About six months before going to work full-time at the Hotel Galvez.”
Agent Riesel pulled a pen and notepad from her pocket and jotted down something. “Does Dylan know Mrs. Mendez?”
“He may have met her.” She worried about how much to say.
“Does he know anyone in the Veneno gang, agree with their beliefs?”
“No. Never.” Silvia arched her back. “They murder people with their misconstrued justice. My son doesn’t agree with their actions.”
Agent Riesel nodded. “What about their views?”
“Are you twisting my words?”
