Page 157 of Don't Say a Word
Sam’s team made it to the final championship game of the tourney. It starts at 4 if you can make it.
An olive branch.
But there was no going back.
I responded.
I’m working. Sorry.
Iwassorry because I missed Sam and would have enjoyed watching her play. And sometimes, I missed Rick.
But even if I went, it didn’t mean anything. Because nothing had fundamentally changed between Rick and me.
Well, maybe something had shifted. Maybe we could be friends now. It wouldn’t be easy, but lunch the other day hadn’t been awkward. We had history, but we were friends before we were lovers.
Rick responded.
Ok.
And maybe we were.
Chapter Fifty
Margo Angelhart
Operation Saguaro commenced early Monday. The joint DEA and Phoenix PD operation had obtained all the necessary warrants and seemed to be working together smoothly. It was nice when agencies got along.
After seven in the morning, I went in wired to talk to Melissa Webb.
There had been intense discussion over the weekend about whether Detective King and Chavez should interview her, and Cal listened to their arguments. But in the end, he’d said it would take too much time. If it was a formal interview, Webb could delay long enough for Manny Ramos to shut down and leave the country. Already, the DEA had learned that John Brighton used his passport to fly to Mexico City on Friday night, before the Cactus Stop shooting. That meant Ramos had likely sent him south to give him an alibi, before the hit on Desi and Tony—who was the third victim of the Cactus Stop shooting.
Connecting Ramos to the criminal enterprise was going to be difficult because there was no sign the drug operation was being run out of any other Cactus Stop location. Ramos could claim itwas just Hatcher Street. That Desi and Tony were responsible, that whoever they worked with had killed them. He could throw his nephew John Brighton under the bus because John worked in the corporate office. Ramos had money and a stellar reputation. He would be nearly impossible to indict.
Unless someone turned state’s evidence.
No one wanted to let Webb walk on murder. But a reduced sentence? Federal prison? Some enticements to come clean? All on the table.
There was no evidence that Webb killed Lena Clark, and Angie’s testimony wouldn’t be enough to get a conviction. Itwasenough to get a warrant for Webb’s house, which was being executed as soon as she left for work Monday morning.
I wasn’t wearing the wire to catch Webb in a lie. The feds probably couldn’t use anything she said because of potential entrapment accusations, though I was pretty certain they would try since Arizona was a one-person recording state. The wire was for my protection, in case Webb reacted violently to what I said.
Cal had insisted.
I walked into the administration building five minutes after Cal confirmed Webb had entered, at 7:10 in the morning. I told the secretary I was a PI investigating Elijah Martinez’s death and had information for Mrs. Webb about a student who may have given him the drugs, and I wanted to tell her before I told the police.
Melissa Webb came out to greet me and take me into her office. The keys that Angie had heard were wrapped around her wrist. They jingled as she walked. It was a distinctive sound because of a large metal shamrock in the middle of the ring of keys.
She opened her door and motioned for me to sit in the chair across from her desk before she sat behind it. “Normally, I would refer you to the district, but I hope we can handle this situation before it gets out of hand.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Who was it? I’ll call them in first thing.”
“John Brighton.”
Webb froze. Every cell in her body seemed to go still. Then she said, “Excuse me?”
“He was a student here, and while I’m not positive that he gave Elijah the drugs, he was privy to the conspiracy. But that’s not the main reason I’m here. Your plan to have Angie killed failed. She wasn’t at the Cactus Stop when the hired guns came in and killed three people: Desi Jimenez, the assistant manager Tony, and an innocent bystander.”
