That wasn’t right, was it? He remembered being on his bike. Had to hurry, he was meeting a girl. Pretty girl. Young but interesting.
Fear surged through the fog and he sat up. Was she here, too? “Megan,” he called, his voice muffled and barely carrying. “Anyone there?”
No answer, just the boat bouncing as it slowed. Think, he told himself. Remember. What happened?
Megan. He was going to meet Megan. But first… his mind sloughed through muck thicker than pluff… first… What had happened first?
A vicious roll, as the boat spun, sent him reeling, headfirst against the compartment wall. The pain flashed red against the black that smothered him.
Blood. That’s what happened. He couldn’t remember how or why or where or who but he remembered blood. Lots of blood.
Fear spiked through the drug-induced haze that held his mind captive. All that blood. Someone was dead.
He shuddered. And he might be next.
Chapter 11
Lucy knew she had many faults—leaping before looking being among the top ten—but an easily bruised ego wasn’t usually one of them. Of course that was before she’d let their subject get away with two hostages, at least one potentially gravely injured. Not to mention needing to be hauled out of the water and ferried to shore sopping wet.
She was surprised Officer Gant didn’t burst out laughing when she stepped back onto solid ground. But he was too busy grilling Megan.
“You couldn’t see anything? Freddy said you had his binoculars.”
Megan was shaking she was so upset. “I’m sorry. The sun was in my eyes and the windows were tinted. I couldn’t see his face. Only that it was a man.”
“Well, at least we can narrow things down. It was a man, not a little green monster from Mars.”
Lucy rushed forward to defend Megan. “She’s a minor. You’ve no right to question her without me present, Gant. Give her a second. She’ll tell you everything she knows.”
Megan gripped Lucy’s hand and took a breath. “I only saw one man. His head was obscured by the top of the cabin, so I’d guess he was close to six feet or taller. He wasn’t black, but wasn’t pale. Either very tan or brown-skinned.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if he had dark hair or if he was wearing a dark colored ball cap. I just saw a flash of black when he leaned forward.”
Gant took notes, stopped when Megan went silent, and turned his glare onto Lucy. “And you? Sounds like you got fairly close to the boat.”
“Too close—all I could see was the hull, I couldn’t make out the man at all. Does it have GPS we can track?”
“Already checked. It’s turned off.” He narrowed his eyes. “Go change into dry clothes. The chief wants you both down at the station for formal interviews.”
Lucy fished her car keys out of her sodden messenger bag—thankfully, she’d had all the compartments zipped shut before her unscheduled swim. The only thing that might be permanently damaged was her phone. “We’ll be there.”
Mateo’s uncle followed them to the parking lot. “Thank you for trying.”
“I only wish I’d been more help.” Lucy thought for a moment. “Are you going back to the house?”
“Yes. The police want us there in case—” He faltered, obviously thinking of the worst reason on earth why the police would want a family handy.
“I’m sure Mateo’s all right,” Megan said, touching Jorge’s arm.
His worry didn’t ease. “They were talking like he might somehow be involved. When I gave them his phone, they said it was evidence.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean evidence he committed any crime,” Lucy hastened to reassure him. “But he worked at the Flemings’ house on a regular basis. He might have seen something before today and not even know it was important.”
Jorge frowned. “I guess. Maybe.”
“I know you said Mateo didn’t have a computer, but what about social media? Did he have any favorite sites?” Usually, kids Mateo’s age, their online activity provided a more complete picture of who they were and what was really going on in their life than any interview with parents.
“He posted photos—loved taking pictures with his phone, especially of houses. Wants to be an architect some day.”
Photos often had geotagging embedded in them. Which would give some idea of Mateo’s movements. Not much to go on, but in a case like this, you never knew what might help. Jorge gave Lucy Mateo’s access codes, so she should be able to take a look at his emails, texts, and any remotely stored images even though his phone was in evidence. After all, he’d already given her permission to go through everything on the cell. She made a note to grab her laptop from their hotel room. She had a feeling they’d be doing a lot of waiting as the night went on and she could work from the police station as well as anywhere.
“Thanks,” she told Jorge. “I’ll call if I find anything helpful.”