Page 22 of Fatal Strike
Thanks for your prayers.
Jon
He stole a look at the time: 12:45 a.m. He should get a little sleep soon. Leah had most likely been in bed for hours. He liked her. Today he’d seen a professional woman who had a compassionate side. Earlier when they completed the paperwork from the SWAT mission and then requested reports for the new case, night had crested. Dark circles under her striking copper-colored eyes and exhaustion in her voice said the day had been long enough. Morning was soon enough to bring her up to speed.
15
THE ALARM SOUNDED AT 4A.M.,much too early for Leah, but the hour came with the job. At least she’d managed to sleep in her own bed and breathe in the comforts of home and she wasn’t in some remote spot waiting for orders to shoot. After a hot shower, she blew her hair dry, watching the time. With Houston’s traffic, Jon’s suggestion of leaving the office at 5:30 was a good idea. She’d rather avoid bumper-to-bumper madness and drive into Galveston early.
With nine minutes to spare, she brought her laptop to life. Intel was her lifeblood, and she craved information like a toddler whimpered for cookies. She scrolled through her in-box and clicked on a message from Jon sent around 2a.m. Why hadn’t he been sleeping? They needed to have their heads in the game.
She read while her electric toothbrush did its job. Dylan’sfriend Aaron Michaels was enrolled at the University of Houston. He’d contacted Galveston police to offer information after the BOLO went public. A little odd in her opinion. Maybe Michaels didn’t want to be implicated in a crime. He hadn’t seen Dylan since December. Their friendship had deteriorated several months ago, but no explanation was given. Michaels had a clean record. Still he’d be talking to the chief of police today and perhaps to her and Jon.
Grabbing her backpack, she set the home alarm and hurried to her Camaro for the fifteen-minute drive to the office.
Leah pulled into the employee parking lot at FBI headquarters and discovered Jon’s truck idling. Interesting. Agent Colbert played the always-early game. So much for demonstrating control in this new partnership. She’d remember this for the future. The moment she opened his truck door and slipped her backpack behind the seat, she smelled the amazing aroma of coffee, and like a warm blanket enveloping her, her ruffled personality was soothed.
“Good morning.” She pointed to the cups in the console. “The coffee smells wonderful. You’re about to be my fave agent.”
“Are you saying if I hadn’t brought you coffee, then I’d be your least favorite?”
“Give or take.” She buckled her seat belt and hid a grin. They both had the navy-blue pants and blazer going ... FBI typical.
“Are you perky in the mornings?” He pulled through the gate and onto Highway 290.
“Once I have a few swallows of coffee, I’ll be jabbering.” She peeled back the plastic tab on the coffee cup and blew into it before taking a sip. “I read your email. What time did you go to bed?”
“Shortly after three. And you?”
“I worked until eleven, specifically on the police reports regarding Ian Greer’s and Marcia Trevelle’s deaths. But you received those?” When Jon nodded, she placed the coffee back into the console. Too hot to drink.
“Did you notice a discrepancy in the way the bodies were staged and the Veneno pattern in other cities?” Jon said.
“What am I missing?”
“Aside from Galveston, all the bodies were left at the entrance of a church, not the rear like Judge Mendez. And Ian Greer’s and Marcia Trevelle’s bodies weren’t found anywhere near a church.”
She recalled the reports from the previous night. “Neither did all the victims have a dead rattler draped across their chest. Wonder why the Venenos switched up their mode of operation?”
Jon shook his head. “Has to mean something, but what?”
“Chief of Police Everson could have insight.” Leah shifted gears to the other issue that had been nagging her after reviewing the reports. “It’s odd that Rachel Mendez didn’t mention how the judge and Greer were schoolmates.” She noted Jon’s nod, then said, “Maybe in her grief, she forgot to mention it. Definitely want to talk to her about that today. We have a full schedule. I assume we’ll also interview Judge Mendez’s staff at his office, and I have questions for Aaron Michaels. Plus those we listed yesterday.”
“Let’s start with breakfast at the Sunflower Cafe,” Jon said. “I think you’ll like it. Great local food.”
Leah was used to coffee and a bagel for breakfast, carryover from being a New York City gal, and she was picky when it came to food. If she’d take the time to eat, she’d have more of a shape than a fence post—a true Texan expression.
Jon continued. “Why don’t you call Father Gabriel and ask him to join us?”
Leah pressed in the priest’s number, and he answered on the second ring.
“Agent Colbert and I are enroute to Galveston. We’d like you to join us at the Sunflower Cafe at 7a.m. for breakfast and to discuss the case.”
“Eggs and interrogation on the menu?” he said.
She glanced at Jon. “The only thing Agent Colbert and I eat early in the morning.” She was relieved when he agreed and ended the call. “Father Gabriel might have found a surge of cooperation.”
“Or a stab of guilt?”
