by CJ Lyons
“I surely do.” The chief hesitated, as if performing an internal calculation. Juggling the time it would take to finish processing the scene, how many officers she could pull in off duty, estimated time for the sheriff’s department to arrive with additional manpower, hours of daylight remaining. “I’ll need an official statement from both of you. Could you wait for me at the station?”
Lucy knew that wait would be longer than expected, but she also understood the pressures Hayden faced. Two high-risk missing persons in a remote area with no leads… “Of course, Chief. Let me get some shoes on and we’ll head right over.”
“Thanks for all your help, Special Agent Guardino.” Hayden handed her a business card with the address of the police station and her phone number.
As they retraced their steps back to the drive, Lucy spotted something in one of the flowerbeds. She stopped to take a closer look without disturbing it. Megan bent over as well and Mrs. Fleming joined them, now holding a handkerchief so tightly in her hands Lucy was surprised she didn’t rip it in two.
“What’s that, Mom?”
“Don’t touch it.” Lucy glanced back at the chief. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.”
“Oh my goodness,” Shelly Fleming gasped. Before Lucy could stop her, she lunged forward and grabbed the small black box that looked like a pager. It had a short length of tubing coming from the back of it. “Robert. Without his insulin, he’ll die.” She thrust the box at the chief who hurried forward with an evidence bag. “Those monsters. They’ve as good as killed him. He might even be dead already.”
Her voice crescendoed into a shrill note of despair. Then she glanced at her hands and noticed the blood streaking them and shrieked in terror, dropping the pump to the ground. It bounced, landing face up.
Lucy glanced down and noted the model number and insignia out of habit—it was the same type of pump a friend of hers, a Pittsburgh police detective, used. The screen was flashing a warning that it was out of insulin.
“Did your husband carry extra insulin with him or in his vehicle?” Lucy asked.
“No. Yes. I mean, he always has a backup insulin pen with him, but—” Shelly’s voice trailed off. “You think he’s alive? That they’d let him have his insulin?”
While the chief bagged the pump, Megan tried to comfort the distraught wife, wrapping her arms around Shelly. Lucy felt a surge of pride at the act of compassion—Megan really was her father’s daughter, brimming over with empathy. Sometimes Lucy worried that empathy might make her vulnerable, but times like this, she truly admired Megan.
Lucy felt for Shelly Fleming, she really did. But she also knew the best way to help everyone involved was to stay focused and follow the evidence. Get too wrapped up in the maelstrom of emotions that random acts of violence brought with them and you could get swept out to sea.
“Is there someone I could call for you?” Megan asked Shelly.
“I’ll see to her,” Chief Hayden assured her. “If you could just sit with her for a minute longer.” Megan nodded and the chief beckoned to Lucy who followed her to the trunk of her Taurus where she handed Lucy back her bag and secured the insulin pump that was now evidence.
“What do you think?” Hayden asked in a low voice.
“You have an alert out for Fleming’s vehicle—”
Hayden nodded. “Black BMW with vanity plates, it should show up pretty fast. If they haven’t made it to the mainland and the highway already. Nice thing about only having one road off the island, we can control access. But that’s a lot of blood. And did you see the safe?”
“There’s no blood outside the house. From the photos I saw, Fleming wasn’t a small man. It would have taken a lot to subdue him.”
“Six-one, a good one-ninety or two hundred pounds. He was in great shape, too. Does those mini-triathlons. He would have gone down fighting.”
“It would have taken a lot to restrain a man like that. Yet there’s no drag marks.”
Hayden considered that. “The Romero kid is strong, in good shape as well. And maybe he wasn’t alone.”
“Why carry Fleming? Why move the body at all—if there is a body?”
“Not a body, a hostage,” Hayden suggested. “At least to start. Without his insulin, might still end up as a body.” She thought for a moment, staring at Mateo’s bike. “Kind of detail a panicked kid might not take into account.”
Lucy frowned. It still didn’t add up. “If Mateo is our actor and the goal was to get Fleming to open the safe, why tell my daughter to meet him here, limit his time?”
“Guess we won’t know until we find him and ask.”
“If I were you, I’d have crime scene techs carefully analyze the blood—not just what’s on the knife and safe, but all of it. Do spatter analysis as well as a DNA profile.”
“That’s going to take time. Maybe more than Fleming has.”
She was right. “You’re tracking Fleming’s phone?”
“I called it—it’s in the house, slid under the sofa.”
“How about Mateo’s?”
Hayden shrugged. “No answer. As soon as I have a few more warm bodies, I’ll get someone over there to ask permission from his family and get his carrier information. Right now, it’s just me and Gant.”
“Would it help if I did that for you?” Lucy hesitated to make the offer—she really didn’t want to get more involved than she already was and lord knew she wanted Megan far away from an active investigation into a possible homicide, but this entire scene made no sense. She hated that, knew it would bother her until she figured out what really happened.
Hayden frowned. Lucy wasn’t too surprised—local authorities often resented the FBI intruding upon their turf even when they invited the FBI in to help. But a case like this, two high-risk missing persons, violence involved, and one of them with a critical, time-sensitive medical condition—it would strain the resources of a large, well-funded police department, much less a small force like Harbinger Cove’s.
“Thanks, but I’m sure we can handle it,” Hayden said.
Lucy turned away, almost relieved Hayden hadn’t taken her up on her offer. Then she glanced back to the garden where Megan had gotten Shelly situated at the table once more. She blew her breath out. She really didn’t want to get tangled up in a case that was already a complicated mess, she absolutely did not want Megan more involved, and she understood Hayden’s reluctance to allow an outsider to trespass on her case. But…
“Chief.” She turned back to Hayden. “I know the pressure you’re under. I’m sure your guys are totally up to the job. But there are two men’s lives at stake. And this is what I do. High-risk missing persons.”
Hayden squinted and it wasn’t because of the afternoon sun. “What exactly is your assignment, Special Agent Guardino? Back in Pittsburgh?”
“It’s Supervisory Special Agent and I run the Sexual Assault Felony Enforcement squad. We’re a multi-agency, multi-jurisdiction task force working sexual predators, human trafficking, child abductions, serial killers, and—”
“Missing persons.”
“And missing persons. Let me help. Until you can get more boots on the ground. You know the first few hours are the most critical.”
Hayden nodded. She pursed her lips, turning her gaze on Lucy. “If you deal with sexual assaults, then you must be good at talking with victims and their families.”
Every law enforcement officer’s least favorite job. “Yes.” Lucy glanced past Hayden to Megan and Shelly Fleming.
“I can handle Shelly,” Hayden said to Lucy’s relief. “But I’ll need someone to work with Romero’s family—without compromising the integrity of the investigation.” Her tone was one of warning.
“I can do that.”
“First I need their phone carrier info and permission to get a trace on Mateo’s cell. That and an objective assessment of their reaction. Any hint Mateo might be involved—or anyone else along with him.”
Basically, she was ask
ing Lucy to spy on Mateo’s family.
“Let me collect Megan and I’ll head over there now.” Lucy joined Megan and the pastor’s wife. “Mrs. Fleming, we have to go now. So sorry about this.”
“The good lord will see Robert home safe and sound, I just know it.” She sighed dramatically and patted Megan’s hand. “God bless you both for your help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Megan said. “We’ll keep you in our prayers.”
Lucy glanced at her daughter—they weren’t the most religious of families, but Megan seemed sincere. More of Nick’s influence, no doubt.
She led Megan back down the drive and past the cars. As soon as they were clear, Megan turned to her. “Mom, there’s something not right about this. We’ve got to find Mateo and get to the bottom of it.”
It had been so very long since Megan had trusted her enough to ask for anything that Lucy couldn’t say no. Besides, if she left Megan behind at the hotel, who knew what kind of trouble she’d end up in. Megan was headstrong—if she thought it might help find Mateo, Lucy wouldn’t put it past her to play amateur sleuth on her own. Better to keep Megan with her.
“You can come with me to talk to Mateo’s family. But that’s the end of it. We’re only going to facilitate things for Chief Hayden and the sheriff.”
“That’s okay. I just need to do something to help.”
Lucy hugged her daughter close. “You are so much like your father.”
Megan didn’t pull away from the words. Which stung. Because Lucy knew full well that right now the biggest insult anyone could give Megan was to tell her she resembled her mother.
Chapter 8
THE ROMEROS LIVED in the center of the island, about a mile between the beach and the sound, in a modest development of older wood-frame homes that reminded Megan of their own Pittsburgh neighborhood. More so than the mansions that dotted the waterfront lots and which seemed to be competing against each other like actresses walking a red carpet—the stars wearing the designer gowns were less noticeable than the dress.
This morning when they’d walked the beach, Mateo had pointed out the variety of architectural influences. He’d said one of the reasons why so many people paid to have a house on Harbinger Cove was because they had less design restrictions than places like Hilton Head. “That and the fact we get so few tourists. People who want to protect their privacy appreciate that—and my uncle says they’re willing to pay extra taxes to keep the island that way.”
“We only knew about Harbinger Cove because my dad’s family has been coming here for decades,” Megan had told him. “Grandpap still complains his father missed out by not buying a lot down here back in the sixties.”
He’d paused and smiled at her, squinting as the sun hit his eyes. “So which house would you have built? Pick any one you want.”
He spread his arms wide, indicating the endless possibilities and they’d both laughed, continuing their walk and “shopping” trip. Eventually there was only one house Megan had wanted.
“That one.” She pointed to a small cottage with peaked roofs, gingerbread, and a widow’s walk. It was sea glass-green with cream-colored trim. Much smaller than the mansions on either side, it was what her mom called a “jewel box” of a house. The others were all spectacular in their own right, but this one felt like a home.
Mateo had grinned. “Good choice. That’s the Smithstone house. One of the oldest on the beach. I helped them re-do their garden last year.” He gestured to the bougainvillea draped moon gate leading to the path that protected the dunes. “It’s my favorite as well.”
Now, as her mom pulled into the gravel driveway leading to the two-story house where Mateo and his family lived, Megan smoothed her palms over her legs, trying to soothe the anxiety she felt any time she thought of Mateo… please, God, she prayed, don’t let that be his blood. Let him be okay, keep him safe and sound.
Lucy parked between a pickup truck with ROMERO LANDSCAPING printed on the side and a van with a WELCOME PROPERTY MANAGEMENT logo. They walked to the front door but didn’t make it there before it was opened and a cluster of concerned adults and children emerged.
“I’m Lucy Guardino and this is my daughter, Megan.”
“Have you heard anything?” “Is Mateo all right?” “Megan, the girl from this morning?” “Chief Hayden called, said to expect you.”
“How can we find Mateo?” Everyone else fell silent as the last was asked by a petite woman around Lucy’s age. Mateo’s mother, Megan knew instinctively. Only a mother would look so worried yet be able to push her feelings aside to do whatever it took to help. “Please. Tell me what happened to my son.”
Lucy gave them all an edited, sanitized version, not mentioning the blood at the scene, only that it appeared Mateo had been at the Flemings’ house and had vanished from there.
“What do you need from us?” his mother asked, her lip trembling. She seemed determined to help—as if she could provide the magic answer that would bring Mateo home safe and sound.
“Let’s start with Mateo’s phone,” Lucy said. “Did he have GPS tracking or a finder app?”
A man, the uncle, Jorge, Megan assumed, stepped forward. “Yes, everyone on my crew has it.”
“Okay, let’s go see where Mateo’s phone is.” Lucy and the man entered the house, leaving Megan behind on the porch, still surrounded by the rest of Mateo’s relatives. There were a few school-aged kids, his mother, and a woman who looked just like her only she was a little younger.
“I am Mateo’s aunt, Hildy, and this is his mother, Anna. Tell us,” the aunt ordered, shooing the children away as she settled Megan on a porch rocker. “What really happened? Everything. We need to know.”
The mother sat in the chair beside Megan. Megan glanced over, saw the way she was blinking fast, trying not to cry, and reached out and grasped Anna’s hand. “I’m so sorry. We’re going to find him. I know we will.”
Her mother would have disapproved of giving false hope, but what good was any hope if you didn’t share it when it was most needed? Anna squeezed Megan’s fingers tight. “Thank you.”
Megan took them through what little she knew, trying to downplay the gory details. “They said there was a safe that was empty, so I guess it was a robbery.”
Mateo’s aunt leaned forward. She was obviously the talker of the two sisters. “Pastor Fleming was robbed? And Mateo was there?” She exchanged a glance with Anna. “He must have been trying to save our money.”
“Your money?”
“Yes, the whole town’s. Pastor Fleming, he ran a financial service, providing micro-loans to ministries in third world countries. We help them and they pay us back with interest. Our money was going to fund a mission in Rwanda.”
“You were sending money to Rwanda and Pastor Fleming was helping?”
Both women beamed and nodded. “He’s such a good man, has friends all over the world. Of course we couldn’t do much, but we gave what we could—all our savings, ten thousand dollars. That was a year ago and tomorrow he was going to pay us and the others back. We made eighteen percent interest!”
“Who could have robbed Pastor Fleming?” Anna asked. “It must have been an outsider.”
How would a tourist have known the money was in the safe? Megan thought. But instead she asked, “How many people were going to be paid tomorrow?”
They shrugged. “Everyone. Practically the entire island contributed.”
“Pastor Fleming was going to pay you all in cash?”
“Yes. The churches are so tiny and in small countries, plus the banking laws—the government taxes and regulations are so complicated. This way we kept it simple for everyone.”
Megan thought about the offering plate passed at Mass each week. Churches and cash, it did kind of make sense.
“Most of us were going to put it all right back in,” Hildy continued. “Let our money keep doing the Lord’s work. But Pastor Fleming said the bookkeeping was taking too much time and energy and he wanted to enjoy his reti
rement.” She shook her head. “Poor man.”
Anna squeezed Megan’s hand again. “If the thieves got the money, then where are Pastor Fleming and Mateo?”
Chapter 9
LUCY LIKED MATEO’S Uncle Jorge. He was a man of few words, but answered her questions easily and gave her permission to track the company-owned cell phones, including Mateo’s.
First, he showed her the room Mateo shared with two of his younger cousins. A set of bunk beds, a twin bed, two bookcases—one overflowing with children’s picture books and toys, the other filled with a stack of used paperbacks, mainly action-adventure and sports figures’ biographies—and a single dresser were crammed into the small space. The walls on Mateo’s side of the room were filled with surfing posters, Ansel Adams’ prints, and photos of interesting-appearing buildings and houses.
After showing her Mateo’s room, Jorge led her to the rear of the house, past a carport sheltering two more landscaping trucks and a mountain of pine straw stacked in bales. They entered a toolshed that also served as an office with a laptop and phone perched on a workbench across from racks of carefully arranged gardening tools.
“Mateo must be all right.” Jorge sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact as he leaned over the computer—there were no chairs. Lucy had the feeling the Romeros were the type of family who rarely sat while they worked.
“The police are doing everything they can to find him. Did Mateo have his own computer?”
“No. When he needed one, he used this one.”
“How’s he been acting lately? Anything strange?” She reached past him to pull up the computer’s browsing history. Nothing exciting there.
“No. He gets good grades and is a hard worker. He’s a good boy.” Jorge’s jaw clenched and Lucy intuited that he rarely gave anyone such praise in person. He turned away, typed for a few moments, then the screen filled with a map. “There. He’s there. At the marina.”
Not far from them—a mile and a half, on the Intracoastal Waterway. Across from their hotel and the shopping center at the southern tip of the island. “I’ll call the police, let them know,” she told Jorge.
