Page 20 of Fatal Strike
“I’ll concede this time. The FBI office at 5:30?”
“Works for me. We can grab breakfast at a little café in Galveston that I know about. Great food and coffee.”
13
JON AND LEAH ENTEREDan FBI conference room where the SWAT team, SAC Thomas, the ASAC, and a counselor from the employee assistance program all sat around a long table. She’d been through the drill before but regretted being the last ones to report in. Although summer usually meant less traffic, the drive into town had been brutal, putting them back at FBI headquarters with less than five minutes to spare.
SAC Thomas stood, an impressive figure with massive shoulders pointing to his Baylor football days. He welcomed the agents and gave them paper copies of the mission report before turning the meeting over to the SWAT commander. Adiscussion about the morning’s mission ensued with the typical what went right, what went wrong, and lessons learned. Since snipers were employed to neutralize the situation, the mission qualified as stressful.
Leah typed the men’s names who’d been killed into her phone.Jon, also busy with his phone, was probably doing the same. Neither man had a previous record. They were both single, in their late twenties, products of drug addiction and poor decisions.
The EAP counselor waved. “Any of you need to speak to me, I’m here, or send an email.”
Leah had been through a psych eval three months ago after a high-risk confrontation on the northeast side of Houston. She believed the key to managing stress came from living a low-key life when not involved with SWAT, on a lone sniper mission, or working violent crime. Easy for her to do since she chose a private life.
When the meeting ended, SAC Thomas asked for her and Jon to stay behind. “We have the new case to discuss—Judge Mendez’s murder and the Venenos’ activities in Galveston.”
The room emptied. The SAC closed the conference door and clicked on a screen at the front of the room. “This debriefing won’t take long.” He sat across from Leah and Jon. “Are you okay to work the gang-related homicide? Leah?”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“Jon?”
“Me too. My partner’s wife used to work for the judge. Iknow that has no legal bearing on me working the case, but I wanted you to be aware.”
“Thanks. We’re good there. Do either of you feel the other is not psychologically fit to work these homicides?”
Neither of them had objections. Strange question to ask with both present.
“Get the paperwork done about this morning. I don’t want it to interfere with the homicides.”
Leah despised that part of her job. Had to be completed, no way around it.
The SAC aimed the remote and clicked to an image of Judge Mendez’s body at the rear of St. Peter’s church taken by GPD before an ambulance transported the body to the hospital. The dead rattler lay across his chest. “Initial signs indicate all three victims died of a venom injection to the heart.” He advanced to a photo of Ian Greer, whose body lay in an identical manner to Judge Mendez’s. Marcia Trevelle’s body matched the other two.
“Back up to the judge’s body,” Jon said. “Zoom in on his face and neck.” When the image was enlarged, Jon walked to the monitor and pointed to the judge’s upper torso. “Earlier you reported the judge had been beaten, which is unlike the other two victims.”
Leah studied the massive bruising and cuts. “He put up a fight.”
“We’re analyzing hair and clothing particles,” the SAC said. “We’ll know soon when the full ME report is released. Where are we regarding initial interviews?”
Leah outlined Rachel Mendez’s statement, Edgar Whitson’s, Silvia Ortega’s, Father Gabriel’s, and the brief phone call to Elena James, concluding with “We requested surveillance on Silvia Ortega. She’s insistent her son is innocent.”
“While he remains at large. Electronic billboards will be going up all over Houston, Galveston, and the surrounding area to enlist community support.” The SAC held his pen over a legal pad. “Stay on Silvia Ortega, the ex-girlfriend, and any other women linked to these homicides, because the Venenos in other cities use women to pass on messages.”
For the past few years, the governor’s Criminal Justice Division had provided funds for an ongoing Texas Antigang Center in Houston—TAG. The Venenos had no idea how many law enforcement specialists were on this.
“What’s TAG saying after their initial response this morning?” Jon said.
“Word on the street is the Venenos are recruiting members as young as fourteen. We suspect they’re trafficking illegal drugs, but since the Venenos don’t have any distinguishing tats or use gang signs, it’s hard to prove who belongs or what they’re doing. A TAG meeting is scheduled for Friday at 9a.m. I’ll be there in your place. Need you on the case. I’ll contact both of you afterward.” He turned off the monitor. “Tell me about Father Gabriel.”
Jon shook his head. “He has this grandiose idea of stopping the gang single-handedly. This morning’s caller told Father Gabriel he was being watched. While he claimed not to know why, I think he’s holding out on information.”
“Your take?” the SAC said to Leah.
She sighed. “Regular stuff—no detection of nervousness in his body language. The victim and a suspect are members of his church, and Father Gabriel was shaken today. I think he’s scared he’ll be the next victim.”
“We’ve learned more about him this afternoon,” SAC Thomas said. “It explains his quest to convert criminals. He lost a nephew in a gang firefight in 2012. The death started his prison and community work. He’s on a one-man campaign to rehabilitate every fugitive in Galveston.” SAC Thomas lifted his chin. “My experience with priests tells me Father Gabriel most likely puts the church at the forefront. He wants the killings stopped, and he will do all he can to make sure that happens. But it won’t necessarily be on our terms.”
