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.”
And that was it. Except for the final frames when the person manning the cell phone went to stop the recording and swung the phone just enough that a mirror on the back of the bathroom door came into view. Along with Mateo’s face and upper body. His eyes were wide—Gant would probably assess him as “crazed,” but Lucy thought the kid looked scared and confused.
“This whole scenario doesn’t make sense,” Lucy argued.
“Of course it doesn’t. What would you expect from a teenaged perpetrator? Maybe it started out as a crime of opportunity that went wrong. Mateo knew he’d be the first person suspected—especially with your daughter coming any minute—so he made it look like the type of crime scene you’d only find on TV. Things just went too far, he lost control.”
Hayden paused. “I’m grateful to you. Your suggestion that we test all the blood was very helpful. We found a second blood type in addition to Pastor Fleming’s A positive.”
“Where?”
“B negative. Pretty rare. Same type as Mateo, according to his mother. And we found it exactly where you’d expect it if he did attack Fleming.”
“On the knife.” It was common for attackers wielding knives to cut themselves as their grip on the blade slipped.
“Not something a subject faking a crime scene would be likely to know or think to do. So far, that’s all they found. It’s a lot of blood to process and I told them to check every area, not just take a random sampling.” She grimaced. “I’m pretty much blowing my department’s budget on this one case, so there’d better be some answers.”