Page 101 of Don't Say a Word

I was usually good at dealing with belligerent people, but I hated doing it over the phone.

“Desi,” I said in a voice I hoped was calm and nonthreatening. “Elijah’s mother hired me to find out where he was the day he died. I have a timeline. I know when he arrived at school, when he left, when he got to work. Now I need to know where he went after work.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t friends with him. I only worked with him on Fridays.”

“He didn’t say anything about his plans?”

“Nope. We didn’t talk much. He stocked shelves and cleaned, I worked the register. We didn’t have anything in common.”

“What time did he leave?”

“How the hell am I supposed to remember what happened two weeks ago?” Desi snapped.

“Because he died that night.”

“I don’t know, probably his usual time, eight, eight thirty.” She paused. “You know, now that you talk about it, he left a little early. No big, we weren’t busy, and I got a guy who comes in eight to midnight. So I said fine.”

“How early?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes?”

“Did he have his backpack with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you find his backpack in the store after he left?”

She sighed dramatically and was muttering something in a hybrid American-Mexican slang that was supposed to be an insult, I surmised.

“No,” she finally said. “It wasn’t in the store, so he probably had it with him. I didn’t think about it. Are we done? I’msupposed to call Mr. Ramos’s admin to let him know that I talked to you.”

I ignored her desire to get off the phone. “Did anyone pick him up when he left?”

She sighed dramatically. “I didn’t see. I know he didn’t have a car, he usually walked home, so I assume that’s what he did, okay? You were in the store talking to Tony, right? You can’t see shit in the parking lot because the windows are all papered over. So he walked out, that’s it. I’m sorry the kid is dead. He was nice, did his job, never bitched.”

“Did the police come in and talk to you?”

“Police? What the hell for?”

“About Elijah.”

“No. Not me, and not Tony. He would have told me. Are we done?”

She was rushing, but I had one more question. “Did Elijah have problems with any of the customers?”

Another overly dramatic sigh. “He never said anything to me about problems with anyone. Never got into a fight, never yelled at anyone, just did his job. I worked with him a couple hours a week for, like, six months. Maybe you should talk to his friends, you know? They know him, I just worked with him. Okay?”

“Okay for now,” I said.

She hung up without saying goodbye.Piece of work, I thought. I glanced at my phone and saw I had a missed call from Harry. He would never put in text or email information he couldn’t legally give me, so I called him back; it went to voicemail. “Tag, you’re it,” I said and hit End.

Desi was right about one thing: Elijah’s friends should know more. They saw a change in behavior when they returned to school, but he didn’t confide in any of them. Over the last few months—possibly since Megan Osterman died and Elijah started his nighttime photographic surveillance—he’d changed. Change in behavior and personality was a big red flag in drug use.

But I didn’t think Elijah was using, not then, at any rate. Unless he started using uppers to stay alert while watching the store. Then downers to sleep.

That should be noticeable in the autopsy report. I called my brother Nico.

He answered with a sigh. “You want something.”