Page 102 of Don't Say a Word
“Hi, Nico. How’s my favorite brother?” I said brightly.
“You call when you want something, text when you don’t.”
“Testy.”
“I’m busy.”
“I need you to explain an autopsy report to me.”
“You have it?”
“Not with me. You can look it up.”
“Now?”
“Two minutes, pretty please?”
He grumbled, but I heard his fingers on the keyboard and grinned. “Name, if you don’t have the case number.”
“Elijah Martinez. Drug overdose at Mountain View Park in Sunnyslope. Josie was the first responder.”
“I remember it,” he said, his voice softening. “Tragic.”
“Yep.”
“What’s your interest?”
“His mom hired us. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you everything at the party tonight.”
Nico typed, paused. “Cause of death asphyxiation due to fentanyl poisoning. Likely accidental overdose, not suicide.”
“Is there anything in the report that shows whether he had a history of drug use? Wouldn’t that be obvious in an autopsy?”
“Habitual drug use would be obvious; occasional drug use not without additional tests.”
“And?”
“None of those tests were conducted. There was no need. He wasn’t a habitual user—there were no impacted organs, such as the lungs or liver, that indicated he was a regular user.”
“Would you be able to tell if he started using sporadically two to three months ago?”
“Where are you going with this, Margo?”
“I’ll give you the details tonight. I just want to know if he used drugs at any point from July on.”
“I don’t know what evidence is logged, and if I don’t have hair samples, there’s no easy way to determine.”
“Please?” I begged.
“I can’t get blood from a stone.”
“Just see if the stone is there.”
“You are the bane of my existence.”
“You love me anyway,” I said.
“I’ll see what we have. No promises.” He hung up without a goodbye.
