Page 30 of Don't Say a Word
I remembered what the vice principal said earlier. “Is it going to be a problem if I come to campus? I can meet after school, if that would be easier for you.”
“I’ll handle the administration,” Lena said. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I called Theo Washington and gave him a heads-up that I might need his help in the morning.
“So don’t stay up all night playing video games,” I added.
“As long as the check clears, you’ll have me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed anytime in the a.m., Sugar.”
I rolled my eyes and hung up without saying goodbye. Theo had a dozen nicknames for me. I didn’t particularly like or dislike them, but he seemed to enjoy trying to irritate me.
I did sort of like when he called me Boss.
Theo had worked for me part-time for the last two years, and now he worked part-time for Angelhart Investigations. He took classes at Paradise Valley Community College two days a week, but he was free tomorrow and I’d use him all day if I needed him.
I wanted to help Alina Martinez, but pro bono cases didn’t pay the bills, so the faster I found answers, the faster I could go back to cases that paid.
When Theo was seventeen, I’d gotten him out of a jam. Now he wanted to work at the crime lab. He’d just finished a summer internship with my brother Nico, had two more semesters at PVCC, then he’d be certificated for a job in the lab. It was a great program for kids who either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to goto a four-year college. Theo was a smart kid and determined to do something productive with his life.
Driving downtown during rush hour was not my idea of fun. Even though I was driving opposite most of the traffic, cross-traffic slowed everyone down. Thirty minutes later I let myself into the office and disabled the alarm system. I suppose I was more upset that Jack had left the files on my desk because he was having dinner with his bitch of an ex-wife. Jack was a big boy; he knew what he was doing—and he wouldn’t go down that road again. I hoped.
Whitney had hurt my brother deeply. I would never forgive her.
I decided to go through the files Jack left me now, instead of sitting in traffic going home. I grabbed some cheese and crackers and sat at my desk. The first file was the Elijah Martinez death investigation, which Josie had already sent me. Jack had summarized it on a sticky note. He’d learned nothing new.
The second, thicker file was a DEB bust from nearly three years ago. It made for fascinating reading, and I planned to ask Lena Clark about it tomorrow; she’d already mentioned it in passing.
Sun Valley’s head football coach, Ben Bradford, and his wife, Cecilia—a stay-at-home mother of three—had run a drug distribution network using several of his players. The kids recruited others in a pyramid-like scheme, and only one—backup quarterback Eric McMahon who never played in a single down—knew the coach was at the top of the pyramid.
An anonymous tip to Phoenix PD kicked off a deep investigation using21 Jump Street–style infiltration. That would have been fun, I thought. I used to love reruns of that old Johnny Depp show. Josie and I both had huge crushes on young Johnny.
The sting lasted three months and culminated in multiple arrests. All the teens involved got probation except for Scott Jimenez, who was sent to juvie for attempted murder. Coach Bradford pled guilty and cut his sentence to fifteen years. Cecilia lied to police. Forensic auditors found she’d been laundering money through an in-home daycare, claiming nine thousand a month in income on their taxes.
Investigators estimated the Bradfords were pulling in more than thirty grand a month, but no cash was ever recovered, and there was no sign they spent the money on luxuries or travel. Police suspected a third party. Neither Ben nor Cecilia ratted on their supplier. Ben claimed he made monthly runs to Mexico, but there was no evidence of border crossings. Later, he stated he met a contact in Yuma, but wouldn’t name them.
Cecilia was offered WITSEC if she flipped, but she refused. They offered probation. She still refused. Thus, she got six years in federal prison, and her three kids were sent to live with their paternal grandparents in South Dakota.
I read the report twice, noted all the names, including the officers. The Bradfords lived in the 900 precinct and my ex-boyfriend, Sergeant Rick Devlin, had executed the search warrant on their home. I wondered if he might have insight.
Was I thinking about calling him because I thought he could help or because I missed him? And even if he did have something useful to share, would it matter now, three years later, with the involved kids out of school and the Bradfords behind bars?
I shelved that thought for now.
Scanning my notes, I wondered if something similar might be happening again at Sun Valley. Lena had worked there at the time, she might know more. I tried calling her, but her cell went to voicemail. I left a message for her to call me back.
While the Bradford bust might shed light on how a school-based drug operation could work, it seemed only marginally relevant to what happened to Elijah. Still... the police suspected a third party, and Elijah had been a freshman at the time. Maybe therewasa connection I wasn’t seeing.
Angie likely knew more—about Elijah, his friends, his job. Maybe she knew if someone was harassing him or if anything had been weighing on him. And maybe, just maybe, she knew whether anyone from the Bradford drug ring had ties to Elijah.
For five seconds, I debated trying to catch Angie at home tonight, then dismissed the idea. The jerk who wasn’t her dad wasprobably there, plus maybe her mother, and I didn’t know how much Angie would talk around them, if at all.
Tomorrow morning was soon enough.
I wrote up a memo for Tess to pull the files from the courthouse about the Bradford case, then decided to print out the memo and stop by her house on the way home. I probably owed her an apology for the burgundy dress argument, though it wouldn’t be sincere because the conversation had been silly. Still, it mattered to Tess, and therefore I needed it to matter to me.
Three years ago I walked away from the family business I helped create, angry and upset. I expected Angelhart Investigations’ first case to be proving my father, Cooper Angelhart, innocent of the murder he pled guilty to—a crime he refused to explain. I couldn’t imagine my kind, intelligent, responsible dad killing anyone in cold blood. But my mother had other plans. Her reason for starting the business, like everything else she’d done—from prosecutor to defense lawyer—was to help those with no one else to turn to. I agreed with the mission, but why couldn’t we do both?
Initially, my brothers and sisters had sided with me, but one by one, my mom convinced them to stand down, that we had to listen to what Dad wanted. Everyone complied—except me. I stood alone.
