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  Father Gabriel nodded. “Law enforcement work never ends, just like mine. But while I choose to embrace lives, I fear you have a different perspective.”

  “Law enforcement’s role is to protect the innocent.”

  “And using violence to combat violence won’t eliminate the problem. If I can talk to these men, I can influence them to end the violence and turn themselves in. Not only the Venenos but all gangs.”

  “I commend your aspirations,” Leah said. “But many people on the island are afraid of who could be targeted next.”

  “Then I must seek out gang members before another death occurs.”

  Jon stifled a sigh. The Venenos were terrorists, and no one in their right mind negotiated with killers.

  12

  LEAH CHECKED HER PHONE for the time and status of late-afternoon traffic while Jon drove the stretch of I-45 north to Houston. They’d make their meeting with SAC Thomas and the SWAT team if traffic didn’t bottleneck. Being late didn’t match a sniper’s DNA.

  “I should have asked for a Coke before we left Galveston.” She yawned.

  “I can pull over.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “But I’m not.” He moved into the right lane and exited at the next feeder where a Whataburger saluted them with an orange W.

  After a jaunt through the drive-through for a Diet Coke for her and a Dr Pepper for him, they were back on the road again like a Willie Nelson song. She wanted to discuss the investigation, but her mind needed to analyze findings and body language. Edgar Whitson was a hero in her eyes, and she hadn’t detected anything but honesty from him. As much as Leah wanted Silvia Ortega’s heart to be at peace, Leah recognized the woman’s fierce protectiveness regarding Dylan . . . possibly to the extent of breaking the law. Elena James might have lied—it was hard to tell from their brief phone conversation. Had they really broken up, or was she covering for him? Father Gabriel’s stand seemed illogical. He had the vow and faith thing going, which she failed to understand. But the man wanted the murders stopped and claimed he’d help. In her opinion, he’d walk into danger to save a man’s soul. A threat on his life hadn’t lessened his zeal.

  She reached for her phone. “I’ll type our notes. Then we can prioritize them and make a list for tomorrow.”

  “They’ll change after we talk to the SAC. My guess is our meeting will be short, a debrief from this morning’s shootings, and then we’ll catch the SAC up to speed on Judge Mendez’s case. Possibly there’s new intel in the deaths of Greer and Trevelle.”

  “Wish we could have finished out the day in Galveston and talked to more people.” She shrugged, regretting how they’d left Silvia Ortega. “Hated we weren’t able to gain Silvia’s confidence.”

  “She may be afraid to provide intel. Death by lethal venom injection isn’t a great way to go.”

  “And this isn’t her first rodeo, as you Texans say.”

  “How long have you been in Houston?”

  “Eight years. Four previously in Dallas. Anyway, reality can be paralyzing. How does Silvia feel about learning her son may be part of a gang?” How had her own mother felt about Leah’s behavior? Although she’d never broken any laws, she’d given her parents plenty of sleepless nights. Mom and Dad had tried to talk to her about responsibility until Leah ran. “Her faith will be her strength or weakness.”

  “We may see both before this is over.” He tapped the steering wheel.

  “Unload your thoughts.”

  “I want to discover the Venenos’ endgame.” Jon hammered in a good point. “Time isn’t an ally. Right now, we have nothing but a rising body count.”

  Like Jon, she wanted solid answers. “Okay, here’s my best shot.” She shook her head. “Poor choice of words. We’re compiling questions. On our agenda for tomorrow, I have another meeting with Rachel Mendez, Elena James—who came up clean on her background—Judge Mendez’s staff, Chief of Police Zachary Everson, and Dylan’s high school bud Aaron Michaels.”

  “Add researching known persons in southeast Texas who milk poisonous snakes.”

  “Rattlesnake farms.” She hadn’t considered the rare business of wranglers. No reason to mention her phobia. Her blood pressure shot straight up at the thought of one snake, always been that way. “I’m adding the Hotel Galvez manager.”

  “At the Galvez, we can check if Dylan had any visitors or mentioned where he spent his spare time. If we’re lucky, we’ll be given access to security footage and won’t have to wait for a warrant.” Jon kept his attention on the road. “Regardless of when Dylan’s found, my guess is his employer, coworkers, and girlfriend know a different man than his mother or the priest.”

  She typed with her forefingers and thumbs. “The island’s going to feel an economic pinch with the murders. Business owners will be concerned about the tourist trade taking a nosedive.”

  “A press release about GPD and the FBI working 24-7 should help on that front. The public needs to know law enforcement is on their side.”

  She lifted her fingers from her phone. “And who knows? Father Gabriel might remember something useful.”

  “He’s putting himself in danger by wanting to bring the bad guys to God, and he believes it’s noble to his faith. The hardest thing to do is persuade a man who’s ruled by his convictions.” Jon changed lanes and pressed the gas. “He reminds me of someone.”

  “Another priest?”

  “Not exactly.” Jon chuckled.

  “Clue me in so I can find some humor in today.”

  “Father Gabriel reminds me of my father. Both are opinionated to a fault. Their beliefs are a religion.”

  She studied him. “I’m waiting.”

  Jon sighed. “My dad insists I resign from the FBI. Hightail it back to Oklahoma and work for the Chickasaw Nation. My plans for the future don’t play into his. I’m extremely proud of my heritage, treasure it. Except my career is with the FBI.”

  Jon must value his dad’s approval, and their relationship sounded messy. “What exactly does he want you to do there?”

  “Use my criminal justice degree to get involved in the tribal governing body.”

  “Sounds like a desk job.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You two don’t get along?” she said.

  “Dad’s taught me a lot, and we have a respectful relationship. I love him but not his notions about what’s best for me.” He pointed to her phone. “Add Father Gabriel’s background, his community outreach, the names of his biggest contributors, a list of St. Peter’s members who have records, and the dates and names of his prison and jail visits.”

  “Slow down. Are you always this keyed up after a day like ours?”

  He nodded. “Dylan Ortega fooled his mother—maybe. He no longer has a girlfriend—maybe. Good chance of him being a member of a deadly gang. His priest has been threatened and reminds me of a mule.”

  “I don’t think Father Gabriel would cover for a gang member, especially when he’s been threatened. But he may inadvertently know a Veneno, and that’s why he was threatened.”

  “Makes me wonder if the gang recruits members according to church affiliation.”

  “Morbid thought.” Leah turned to another question. “What if the cry of reconquista is just an excuse to commit crimes and frighten people? The three deaths were those who enforced the law, not anti-reconquista supporters.”

  “The mantra is certainly being used to cause panic,” Jon said. “But I want to know what their moneymaker is. This says sophistication to me. By following the money trail, we’ll have a better idea of why our victims faced execution.”

  Leah wasn’t sure she agreed. They had a solid lead—he was just hiding. “Anything else for tomorrow’s agenda?” She glanced at her notes. “We need to examine the death reports for Ian Greer and Marcia Trevelle—see how far the task force has gotten with interviews and the investigations.” She took a long drink of the Diet Coke, no longer dragging from the day’s activities. “Your energ
y level is rubbing off on me.”

  “Not a bad thing considering how much sleep we won’t get until this is over,” he said. “Include the staging of the bodies. Photos of the three victims. Medical examiner’s initial reports.”

  She ceased typing. “I’ll send some of these questions to the FIG’s expertise.” The Field Intelligence Group had the technology to research and provide the information they needed.

  “Before our attention turns to the action review, what time do I pick you up in the morning?”

  “I can drive. You’ve been behind the wheel all day.”

  Jon frowned, and reality hit her.

  “You’re the alpha who has to be in control.”

  “I am.” He moaned, then tossed her a grin. “So are you.”

  “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 ENTERED an 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. A discussion 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. I know 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 9 a.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.”

  Jon nodded. “We’ll see if he offers solid intel. I need to work harder at gaining his confidence.”

  And Leah needed a fast-track course on how Jon processed info.

  14

  JON’S BODY REQUIRED ONLY a few hours’ sleep to function, and not all at the same time. Sniper missions and working organized crime were easier to accomplish with his erratic sleep pattern. As a kid, his sleep habits drove his parents crazy. To keep him inside the house, they added a lock at his dad’s height—until Jon used a chair to reach it at 3 a.m. one night.

  Tonight, after he finished his mental moment-by-moment replay of the hostage situation, he sat at the kitchen table of his farmhouse and pored over the ongoing reports of the three murders. The victims were too closely connected to be random, but how did they fit into the Venenos’ operation? While Jon considered theorizing for the rest of the night, he needed more intel to understand a gang that used a precise method to kill three distinct people who’d sworn to uphold the law.

  What did the three-day span mean? A tactic to frighten the people of Galveston? Had the victims stumbled onto something that got them killed? Were more at risk? The three victims had been alone when abducted, obviously stalked before execution. Premeditated murder.

  He logged into the FBI secure site and studied Ian Greer’s file. Married with two children. Ac
tive in the community. Outstanding officer with several commendations. Greer wasn’t a member of St. Peter’s, but he and Judge Mendez had gone to high school and college together. His body had been found Sunday morning by fishermen on the east side of the island.

  Marcia Trevelle had an excellent record as a prosecuting attorney. Single, lived alone. Mentored at-risk middle grade girls. From her home alarm data, she’d left work on Monday and never returned. Her body was found at a construction site by the GPD in response to an anonymous call. Her car hadn’t been located.

  Jon reviewed Judge Nicolás Mendez’s file. Nothing new in the investigation since the meeting at the FBI office. Jon skimmed rulings and cases for the past eighteen months in search of names, charges, convictions, sentences, and commonalities. The judge’s strict interpretation of the law made defense attorneys cringe and set him up as a target for offenders, but were other law enforcement and judicial persons who worked tirelessly to protect citizens on a kill list? Would other officials back off and subsequent rulings show leniency until the Venenos were stopped? Did the killers think they had their bases covered?

  Finding Dylan Ortega would be a boost for their side. So would locating the Mustang or getting a lead through DNA left behind. Maybe test results would show the blood on the judge’s knuckles wasn’t his own but his assailant’s.

  Jon dug deeper for information about Father Gabriel and his community work. The man had been a positive influence in many lives, and Jon commended him for his sacrificial efforts. Prison ministries, rehabilitation programs, health needs, and family counseling contributed to channeling lawbreakers in the right direction. But did he realize gang members could offer lip service to God while their lifestyle was still full of toxins?

  Father Gabriel arranged for those assigned to court-ordered community service from Judge Mendez’s office to work off their hours at St. Peter’s. A little more research and Dylan’s name popped up. Judge Mendez had instructed him to complete 150 hours of community service on top of his jail time. Jon sent a request to the FIG and copied Leah. In addition to all members with a record, Jon wanted a list of every person from Mendez’s court who had done community service at St. Peter’s church.