Page 9 of Fatal Strike
Like Jon, Leah believed a be-on-the-lookout alert might work against them if Ortega panicked or ran. She held up a finger. “I have the address, and I’ll send a request for his background.” When she finished typing, she slipped her phone into her pocket. “I took enough pics to get an idea of what Mr. Whitson saw.” She lifted her head and stretched her shoulders. A good workout would help her body fight the aches of stress.
In Jon’s truck, a text landed in her phone. “Here’s what we have on Dylan Ortega,” she said. “He’s twenty-one years old. Lives with his mother, Silvia Ortega. He’s employed at the Hotel Galvez. Works days in the maintenance department. Two years ago he was convicted of a second-degree felony, armed robbery, and Judge Mendez sentenced him to eleven months in jail, then released him on parole. Been clean since with no arrests, and not a suspect in any outstanding crimes.” She glanced up. “I’ll see if he’s at work. We might luck out.” She pressed in the Hotel Galvez’s number and requested the manager.
“Dylan Ortega hasn’t reported to work or called in the past three days. Hold on a moment.” The creak of a shutting door, then the manager spoke again. “Dylan’s no longer considered an employee of the Hotel Galvez. I’m disappointed. He was a good worker.”
“What was his prior record?”
“Outstanding, but we have a strict policy on reporting to work. Why is the FBI interested?”
“We have a few questions. If he makes contact, please notify the FBI immediately. Here’s my number.” She finished the conversation and huffed. “Let’s hope Ortega isn’t on the run.”
“Fired?”
“That happens when you don’t show up to work.”
While Jon drove to the Ortega residence, she pondered. What were the odds of a young man dumping a body at a church where he was a member? Not a smart move. But it was all they had.
How did Ortega spend his spare time? Who were his friends? What were his values? How had prison affected him? Her mind continued to flood with questions.
Her phone sounded a news update. “Media found out about Dylan Ortega.”
“If he’s not already on the run, he will be now. Time to request a BOLO for Dylan Ortega.”
“According to Mr. Whitson, Dylan wasn’t alone. I’m hoping Dylan’s at home and has no idea he was identified this morning. If he’s not there, do you mind if I take the lead with his mother?”
“Go for it. A single mom may feel more comfortable with another woman. Considering her son’s past record, she’ll be real nervous about the FBI wanting to question him.”
Leah stared out the passenger window. “If she warms up to me, I can sympathize with her. We’ll learn soon enough if she’s a law-and-order type.” A thought occurred to her. “Edgar Whitson said she and Dylan are members of St. Peter’s. Is Judge Mendez? Do we know for sure?”
“Should be in his background.”
She navigated her phone and discovered what she’d suspected. “Judge Mendez, our witness, and the suspect are church members. Odd, don’t you think?”
Jon nodded. “Connections are what we want. Check on the church affiliation for the other two victims.”
The search didn’t take Leah long. “Neither Officer Greer nor Attorney Trevelle belonged to St. Peter’s. Both are recorded as Protestants and members of separate denominations.”
“Shove that into a mental file because we might need that later.” Jon pulled into a middle-class neighborhood.
“Do you think Father Gabriel might have information?”
“Little early to say since the other two victims were found in separate locations. Plus, priests take a vow not to reveal anything said to them during confession.”
“Even when a church member is killed?”
“Right.” Jon shook his head. “The killers could be using him, a pawn in their game. Look at the way they’ve crawled into other Texas cities. They select one Catholic church and aparticular priest. Then they beat up somebody and leave the poor soul at the church door and call the priest to check out their deposit. All we can pinpoint is the similar scenario.”
Jon stopped at the curb in front of the Ortega home. Leah took in the neighborhood. Most of the houses displayed pride with well-kept yards. The two-story Ortega home boasted fresh white paint trimmed in blue. Modest and neat.
“What do we have on the mother?” he said.
“Forty-three years old. Works as a dental hygienist. Never married. I’m curious about how she instilled values and respect.”
“Anything else?”
“Only child. Her father worked as a dentist in Mexico City.Entered the country legally when Silvia was four. They settled on Galveston Island. Several years ago, her parents died within a few months of each other. The father passed of a heart attack and the mother of a blood disorder.”
“So Dylan is her only family.”
