Page 22 of Don't Say a Word
I went first to his computer. Password-protected. Alina might know the password, but I didn’t want to call her back in right away.
Nothing of interest in his drawers—no drugs, no drug paraphernalia, no weapons, no wads of cash. I found a file folder with pay stubs from the Cactus Stop. He had direct deposit and these were pay summaries he’d likely printed from his computer. After taxes, he took home just under $550 every two weeks, though during the summer it went up to $800. That was working roughly twenty hours a week during the school year, and about thirty hours during the summer. A decent job for a teenager.
His closet was messier than his room, but it was mostly stuffed with clothes, sports equipment that hadn’t been used in years, worn shoes, an empty laundry basket.
On his dresser were LEGO figurines—maybe a remnant of his childhood. Sticky notes from his mother about chores, reminders of family events. No pictures, but I’d bet he had some on his phone.
I looked around but didn’t see a cell phone. A charger sat next to his computer, but no phoneandno backpack. I couldn’t imagine a studious kid not having one. He’d gone to school Friday,then went to work directly from school. His backpack would likely be either at work or wherever he went after.
I pulled up the police report on my phone and skimmed through it. No backpack found in the park.
And no phone logged into evidence.
I was about to leave, frustrated that there seemed to be nothing of import in his room—other than the missing phone and backpack—when I spotted a bright green sticky note in the small wastebasket.
Wastebasket. Private Investigation 101: Always Check the Trash.
I had failed. Well, did I actually fail because I thought of it last minute? I’d give myself a pass this time.
I picked up the small plastic bin and put it on the desk. The sticky note was from his mom.
Going with Aunt Nina to Kelsey’s baby shower, leftover chicken in the blue container.
No date.
There wasn’t a lot of trash—a few other sticky notes from his mother, a couple pieces of crumpled binder and graph paper, a flyer for a job fair in the courtyard of the Central Library. The fair had been held on the Saturday his body had been found.
Had he been looking for another job? Or tossed it because he liked his job?
I put it aside and smoothed out the other papers. Math. Just looking at the numbers and letters brought on the beginning of a headache. Some of the letters didn’t look right, and I had a flash of my brother Nico doing calculus homework. Greek letters, or something like that. There was something disturbing not only in mixing numbers and letters together, but throwing around Greek symbols to really confuse someone.
I left his room and found Alina in the kitchen slowly washing a pot.
“I’m done,” I said.
She turned off the water and dried her hands, leaving the pot in the sink.
“Did you find anything that helps you?”
“Do you have Elijah’s computer password?”
“I never thought to ask him.”
“Would you mind if I borrowed his computer? My sister may be able to get in.”
“You think there’s something there? Something about what happened?”
“I won’t know until I look. I might be able to check his calendar, maybe emails he sent to a friend. Did Elijah have a cell phone?”
“Of course.”
“Did the police tell you if they had it?”
She frowned, shook her head. “They didn’t say. I didn’t ask. I should have asked.”
“It wasn’t on his body,” I said, then inwardly winced, hoping I didn’t sound too callous. “He could have lost it or left it somewhere.”
The police should have asked her about it, since it was unusualnotto find a phone on a teenager.
