Page 92 of Fatal Strike
“In the future, I won’t keep anything from you. I promise.” Sincerity laced his words.
“Neither will I.” How wonderful of God to put a good man in her life.
“Agent Colbert is waiting for us,” Agent Riesel said. “Are you ready?”
Warren squeezed Silvia’s hand, and she followed the agent. Once inside the locked doors, Silvia pointed to Agent Riesel’s left hand. “Did you have an accident?”
“Not exactly. A delivery boy brought me what I thought were roses. When I lifted the lid, I was bit by a rattler.”
Silvia gasped and covered her mouth. “How dreadful.”
“One more reason why I want these people stopped.”
“Shouldn’t you be home resting?”
Agent Riesel smiled, but Silvia thought it was forced. “I’m okay, and thanks for asking.” She opened the door to a small, windowless room.
Agent Colbert rose and greeted Silvia. He’d always made her suspicious of his motives, as though Dylan were guilty without evidence. “Please, have a seat,” he said. “The man in custody is being escorted to us.”
She sat opposite the agents. Silvia feared she’d be ill. What was worse? Learning Dylan was a Veneno or him finding out she doubted his innocence? Long minutes passed before a brisk knock brought Agent Colbert to his feet and to the door.
The prisoner was brought inside, his hands in cuffs. Silvia’s face grew hot. She peered into dark-brown eyes, studied the long nose and telltale signs of cocaine use on the insides of his arms. He nodded his recognition. This was the man who’d picked up the seven hundred dollars for Dylan.
“Ms. Ortega, do you recognize this man?” Agent Riesel said.
Her stomach whirled. “Yes.”
Was this man receiving protection or getting some sort of deal for cooperating with the authorities? If Dylan were guilty of a crime, would he agree to help the FBI or the police inexchange for a lesser sentence? She desperately needed to talk to her son and drew in a prayer for strength. “I need to know if my son, Dylan Ortega, is a member of the Veneno gang.”
Moments ticked by. Why wasn’t the man—whatever his name was—giving her a simple answer?
“The agents showed me his picture, but he ain’t nobody I’ve seen.”
Relief rushed through her, mingled with confusion. “Then why did you come to where I work? I thought you were helping him, you might be his friend.” Silvia regretted revealing her role in aiding Dylan, but her desperation to know the truth was too great.
“I got a call to pick up money from you. The man on the phone told me where to get it and the place to drop it off. I—”
“Where was the drop-off site?” Agent Colbert said.
The man paused before answering. “A trash can outside Moody Gardens.”
Agent Colbert pushed paper and pen toward the man. “That tourist site is expansive. We need a map like you gave us previously for the rattler pit.”
The man wrote with his cuffed hands and slid the paper back to the agent.
Silvia couldn’t see what was written, but she wasn’t finished with her questions. “What’s your name?”
“Henry.”
“What were you paid for picking up the money?”
“Another day to live.”
Any other questions escaped her, so a police officer escorted the man out of the room. “Agent Riesel, thank you,” she said. “You’ve closed a door for me. Since that man doesn’t know Dylan, I’m sure you’ve concluded he’s a victim and not guiltyof any wrongdoing.” There, she’d successfully repeated her rehearsed words.
Agent Riesel’s eyes were gentle, kind. “Ms. Ortega, we must talk to your son. Henry Kantore’s statement doesn’t exonerate Dylan. Truthfully, it adds more weight to his involvement, tying Dylan to other members of the group responsible for these crimes. And we still have an eyewitness who is sure he saw Dylan the morning of Judge Mendez’s death.”
“You will find out my son is a good man.” How many times had she spoken a form of those words? Dylan was innocent of the horrible crimes, and somehow she’d prove it.
