Page 50 of Fatal Strike
“Add him to your spreadsheet and his friendship with Silvia Ortega. We’ve seen quite a few calls back and forth between them.”
Leah smiled at the thought that he liked her relationship matrix.Too bad it hasn’t shown us who is guilty.
Jon and Leah walked into Livingston’s Souvenir Shop between Sixth and Seventh Streets on Seawall Boulevard. Bustling with activity, the shop carried Galveston memorabilia—cups, pens, shells, candy, toys, T-shirts, boogie boards, and whatever else a tourist could want. A young woman with purple hair tied back in a ponytail stood behind the counter and prepared specialty coffee drinks for customers and sold locally made pastries.
Warren Livingston was a tall, white-haired man with an oceanfront tan and deep lines at the corners of his eyes. He introduced himself to Jon and Leah.
“Please give me a moment to take care of these customers,” Livingston said.
When the shop emptied and the young barista took over the register, Livingston approached them. Jon shook his hand. “We’re here to talk about the threat.”
He drew in a breath. “I’ve cringed each time someone entered the shop. I’d like to think the threat was a prank since the gang has the island in panic mode. Kids could have done it.”
“That could be the case,” Jon said. “We stopped by your property and everything appeared to be in order.”
“Thank you.” Livingston dragged his hand over his face. “Ineed to be open here. I’m seeing Silvia Ortega, and I feel like I’m betraying her. But I don’t trust Dylan, been thinking he could be behind the threat.” He eyed the barista, who appeared to be listening. “Can we talk outside?”
“Of course,” Jon said.
Livingston led them through a back room and closed the door behind them. The smell of spoiling food from a Chinese restaurant two doors down met her nose.
Leah pulled out her phone. “What is your barista’s name?” When Livingston gave it to her, she typed it into her phone to check for a background later.
Jon resumed his questions. “Why do you suspect Dylan?”
“Rough boy. No boundaries. Silvia’s given him everything he ever wanted. If she’d refused him a few times, he might not have wound up in prison. And he wouldn’t live from one party to the next.”
“Drinking? Drugs?”
“You name it. I’m surprised he’s only been arrested once. Street smarts, I guess. I used to think Aaron Michaels was a good influence on him.” Livingston shook his head. “Never saw that one coming.”
“Were you acquainted with Landon Shaw?”
“Yes, sir. He’s been by Silvia’s when I was there. I saw he was killed in the same shooting as Aaron. He acted like an okay kid, but the news said he had a prison record.” Livingston swallowed hard. “This keeps getting worse. I wish my gut instincts pointed to Dylan’s innocence, but he doesn’t like me. Told me to stay away from his mother. I think it’s because I can read him better than she does. We’d be married if not for his objections.”
Jon smiled at Leah to take over. She understood he wanted her to handle matters of the heart.
“Sir, have you tried talking to Dylan?” she said.
“He wouldn’t listen to me.” He paused. “He called Silvia last night while I was there ... shortly after midnight. I heard a one-sided conversation. She encouraged him to give himself up. It sounds like he doesn’t have an alibi. I heard her ask, ‘How much?’ and assumed he needed money.”
“Do you think she’ll help him?”
Livingston nodded, a bit reluctantly, Leah thought.
“Do you have any idea where Dylan is?”
“If I did, the police department would have arrested him.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t want to obtain a concealed handgun license, but I’m concerned about Silvia and afraid for myself.”
Leah added compassion to her gaze. “We won’t stop you from legally carrying a weapon, but I do urge you to wait a little while longer. All law enforcement is committed to ending these tragedies. Please let us know anything you overhear or suspect.”
“Trust me, I will.”
The sound of breaking glass inside the shop reached them. The barista screamed.
The three rushed inside. A rock lay on the floor.
“Did you see anything?” Livingston said to the barista.
