He wasn’t happy with the direction their spring break had taken. “She picked this guy up? How could she have acted so rashly?”
Lucy found herself in the unusual position of playing therapist. It wasn’t often that she was the calm one when it came to discussing Megan. “Seems like pretty normal teenage behavior to me. I mean, seriously, do you know any other girl her age whose parents subject their every choice to such scrutiny?”
“With our jobs, we’re not exactly helicopter parents, able to be with her physically every moment.”
“Exactly why we overcompensate. We’re trying too hard to protect her, make sure we’re involved in her life. But she’s fourteen, that’s the last thing she wants from us.”
“So you’re saying she’s making bad choices on purpose? To rebel?”
“I’m saying when I was her age, my choices were a lot worse. To think of my poor mom, raising me alone—” Lucy blinked as her eyes misted. She’d lost her mother only a few months ago and grief still ambushed her at unexpected moments.
“Did you get involved with an older man accused of murder?” Nick’s tone was pure protective paternalism—not a trace of the neutral clinical observer, the professional psychologist, or the Zen-harmony he usually brought to family discussions.
“She’s on vacation, at the beach, not with her friends but with her mother, the FBI agent. Of course she flirts with the first cute guy she meets—it’s totally safe. No friends around to judge her if he shoots her down, no risk of humiliation, and she knows I’d never let anything bad happen if her judgment is off.”
“Sounds like it couldn’t be more off. Violent, vicious, bloody murder.”
“There’s no body.”
“Not yet. And he set her up to walk in on the crime scene? How could she not have sensed something was off with this guy?”
“You mean how could I have missed it? After all, I spent the morning with them. I gave her permission to see him this afternoon.”
His silence was damning. Totally understandable—he wasn’t here, he hadn’t met Mateo, seen how protective his was of Megan while teaching her surfing, heard the caring tone of his voice when he spoke of his family.
“I’m not sure she was wrong,” Lucy finally said. “I think he’s innocent.” There. She’d put her money where her mouth was.
This time Nick’s silence was different. Less judgmental, more consideration. How many times had she trusted her gut instinct about a person and been right?
More importantly, how many times had she been wrong? Not many.
The silence lengthened but wasn’t uncomfortable. “Okay,” Nick finally said. “If you believe he’s innocent, so do I. But what can we do about it? Not like murder in a small resort town is any business of the FBI. Last thing we want is Megan to try to play Nancy Drew because she thinks Mateo is getting railroaded by the locals. After all, she gets her patience from you.” Translation: lack of patience.
“Guess I’ll just have to work behind the scenes myself. Figure out a way to prove his innocence.”
“Without letting Megan get involved.”
“Right.” That was going to be the tricky part.
“You’re the one there. I trust your call,” Nick said. “Want me to come down?”
“I’m not sure what you could do to help—other than provide distraction. I think sheer frustration at how slow a case like this can progress and the reality that we might never find all the answers are going to be the toughest things for her to handle.” For Lucy as well, but that was part of the job.
“Let me see if I can get someone to cover for me.” His tone was doubtful—if it had been that easy, he would have made the arrangements to start with.
Before he hung up, she had one more request. Something had been nagging at her ever since she’d seen the crime scene. “Can you give me Don Burroughs’ home number?” Burroughs was her Pittsburgh Police Bureau friend who used a pump just like the one Pastor Fleming had lost. “I need to ask him about insulin pumps.” Used to be she’d memorize all the contact numbers she needed—now they were all at her fingertips stored in her cell, except of course, when it was out of commission.
“I’ll try my best to get down there,” Nick assured her after giving her Burroughs’ number. “In the meantime, watch out. For both of you.”
“You know I will.”
<><><>
WHEN MATEO WOKE
again, the boat had come to a stop, the lurching motion replaced by a gentle rocking. He felt sick but his mouth was so parched he couldn’t even bring himself to throw up. There was the sound of a small engine then the boat’s rocking grew stronger as someone climbed on board.
“How could you be so stupid?” a woman asked. Her voice was muffled by the fiberglass walls between Mateo’s prison and the deck. He’d decided he was locked inside a storage compartment, either below deck or inside a cabin. “One simple little job, that’s all you had. And you had to go and turn it into a kidnapping? What were you thinking?”
“I don’t feel well.” A man’s voice. Not as loud, harder to make out. “Did you bring it?”
They moved away, only scattered words reaching Mateo. “FBI” was one of them—Megan’s mom, was she looking for him? Or had she and Megan gone to the house to meet him and gotten hurt?
Who did all that blood belong to? Why would anyone want to hurt the Flemings?
“Thank God for my sister. I’ve convinced her—” The woman must have moved closer to the cabin because her voice was clear again.
“You mean blackmailed her.”
“Her fault for letting all those medical bills pile up. She should be grateful we’re cutting her in, letting her help us out of this jam you created. We have one chance to get this right and the timing has to be perfect. They can test for things like that.”
“Like what?” The man sounded exhausted, his voice dragging.
“Time of death.”
Chapter 13
MEGAN WAITED IMPATIENTLY
for her mom to finish talking to her dad. She sat on her bed on the other side of the room, but didn’t need to hear a word to know how things were going.
First, Dad was mad—with Megan and with Lucy. As her mom calmed him down, Lucy’s body relaxed as well, until at the end, she was practically curled around the phone as if she wanted to reach through it to be with him. Which meant everything was all right.
Megan bounced to her feet and gestured to Lucy. She finally hung up and came back inside.
“What’s the rush?” Lucy asked. “You know, as busy as they are, we’ll just be sitting and waiting at the police station for the rest of the night.”
“Maybe they found Mateo and were too busy to call us—or couldn’t since you were on my phone.” Which her mom wouldn’t have had to borrow if she had a protective waterproof-shockproof case on her phone like the one Megan had gotten after dropping her phone one time too many on muddy soccer fields. She led the way to the door. “C’mon, Mom.”
Lucy shoved her wallet, still wet from its dunking, laptop, her gun—no worries about it getting wet, Glocks were designed for that contingency—knife, their room key, and Megan’s phone into her beach tote. She frowned at the way everything clunked when she lifted it, but it was better than her soaked messenger bag. “It’s almost six. Maybe we should get something to eat first. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Can’t we check in with the police first?” Last thing Megan could think about was food.
Lucy relented. “Okay.” Then she surprised Megan by hugging her and planting a kiss on her forehead. “That’s from Dad.”
Megan edged away and opened the door. Lucy followed her out.
“He’s mad, isn’t he? About Mateo. Why? I hang out with older guys all the time—at soccer and Kempo and when we go shooting.”
“Older guys that we know,” Lucy said as they waited for the elevator. Megan knew her mom’s ankle had to be hurting for her to take the elevator. Lucy had a cane in the car; Megan made a note to remind her mom that she was supposed to be using it. Not that Lucy would listen. And they called Megan stubborn.
They got onto the elevator. “I don’t think your dad’s as upset about you meeting Mateo as much as he is worried that Mateo might not be who you think he is.”
“I’m not one of your victims, suckered in by some psychopath. I know Mateo is innocent, even without waiting to see where the evidence leads.” She threw Lucy’s own words back at her. “This is still America, right? Innocent until proven guilty, right?”
“Megan. That’s not the issue. I want Mateo to be innocent as well. I especially want him and Pastor Fleming to be found safe and sound. But none of that matters compared to making sure you’re not hurt.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto the parking level below the hotel lobby. Megan rushed out, heading toward the Subaru. “I’m not a child,” she tossed over her shoulder, knowing that Lucy, with her bad ankle, wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. “I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to do your job and help them find Mateo before it’s too late.”
When they arrived at the police station, a tiny single-story concrete building that smelled like a dentist office, Megan was surprised to see Mateo’s family clustered around the chairs in the front lobby. There was a reception desk manned by a gray-haired man in a police officer’s uniform but with no badge, and behind him were glass doors leading into the working area of the station, what her mom would call the bull pen.
“What happened?” Megan asked Hildy, who was perched on the edge of one of the plastic chairs, Jorge beside her, holding her hand.
“We don’t know. They called us to come in, but told us to wait here. All but Anna. She’s back there now.” Hildy nodded to the door behind the reception desk.
“Do you think your mother can find out for us?” Jorge asked.
Lucy was already talking to the man at the desk. A reserve officer or civilian worker, Megan guessed. Maybe retired police or military from the way he kept his posture so straight despite his age, at least in his sixties. The man examined Lucy’s credentials, eyed Megan, then picked up his phone. After a moment, Officer Gant appeared at the door.
Megan hastened to join her mother. Hildy and Jorge stood and stepped forward, but Gant waved them back. While he was focused on them, Megan slipped past the doorway on her mom’s other side, figuring it’d be harder for them to kick her out once the door locked behind her.
Gant frowned at her but let her stay. “You can wait in there.” He gestured to the open door of an interview room. “The chief needs your mom first.”
Megan hesitated but Lucy nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Megan crossed the bullpen to the room Gant had indicated. There were four desks all covered with evidence: crime scene photos, the note with the safe combination, the knife. Why weren’t they at the state crime lab? Had the techs not arrived yet? Gant led Lucy to a small office on the far side of the desks.
There was one more interview room beside the one Megan stood outside of—empty and with the same reinforced steel door and window as her room. Multipurpose, interview and lock them up, made sense for a small town. The chief had the only proper office, glass walls like Lucy’s office back home.
Chief Hayden was there now along with Mateo’s mother, who sat in a straight-backed chair, face buried in her hands, shoulders heaving. Gant and Lucy joined them and the Chief turned her computer monitor around so they could all watch something. Whatever it was, it made Mrs. Romero even more upset.
Finally, Gant escorted Anna from the chief’s office to the room beside Megan’s. He stood, facing both of them, arms crossed over his chest as if he were guarding maximum-security prisoners. Megan didn’t care. It was obvious Mrs. Romero needed help, so she strode out of her room past Gant, flinging him a glare that dared him to stop her. He surprised her by giving her a small nod of approval as she joined Mateo’s mother in the room next door.
“What’s happened?” she asked, crouching beside Anna’s chair. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“They’re saying he did this. That tape—” She broke off, choking on tears. “It’s fake. It has to be.”
“What was on the tape?”
“It’s a ransom demand. One million dollars or Pastor Fleming dies.”
“And Mateo?” It was clear the Romeros didn’t have that kind of money. “What will happen to him?”
She shook her head. “No. You don’t understand. They didn’t ask for any money for Mateo.” She raised one hand to her mouth then lowered it again, wrapping it around her other hand on her lap. “On the tape. There’s a few seconds where you can see a mirror. And Mateo. As if he’s the one filming Pastor Fleming. They say he’s the kidnapper. They want to arrest him.”
Chapter 14
“WHAT CHOICE DO
I have but to get an arrest warrant?” Hayden asked Lucy. “I have the kid’s fingerprints in the victim’s blood at the crime scene on the paper with the safe combo and the knife. Not to mention on the Pastor’s insulin pump. And now this.” She gestured to the computer screen where she’d frozen it on the frame that caught Mateo’s face reflected in a mirror.
“Play it again for me,” Lucy asked.
Hayden was rushing things, letting her emotions drive her rather than the facts. Lucy glanced around the office. On a credenza behind the desk were several photos: Hayden in uniform, with her officers, accepting an award, and several photos of Hayden with what Lucy supposed were prominent residents including one of Hayden and Shelly Fleming laughing out on a boat, the open water behind them. Hayden wore a wedding ring but there were no photos of a husband or family. In such a small community, where everyone knew each other, why did she find it necessary to keep her personal life so conspicuously absent from her office?
The video resumed, grabbing Lucy’s attention. It centered on Fleming, duct tape over his eyes and restraining his wrists, sitting on a toilet in a tiny bathroom—probably on the cabin cruiser, Lucy thought. It looked like that kind of tight space. The Pastor’s color was gray, his lips parched, speech strained. No obvious cuts or blood and his clothing didn’t appear damaged, but the camera was shaky and mainly focused on his face.
“They want a million dollars. Deliver it and my insulin tomorrow or they’ll let me—” His voice broke. “I’m going to die.”