Page 124 of Don't Say a Word

“You’ve taken this case personally. Why?”

I wouldn’t talk to Mom about Bobby. She knew what happened and what I suspected, but I wasn’t sure if she remembered the details after fifteen years, and I didn’t want to revisit it. My obsession with Elijah’s case was driven by my anger at how someone might get away with murder. It was about Elijah’s lost future, the pain in Alina’s heart, and Angie’s anger at the system that had shelved Elijah’s death. Then there was Megan Osterman, the drug addict who died alone in an alley, and her grieving mother. Murder didn’t just affect the victim; it rippled out to everyone around them.

Mostly, I couldn’t stand it when criminals got away with violent crime.

“Margo,” Mom said, “you need to be cautious. We don’t know what’s going on here, we don’t even know where the threat is coming from. Your questions are making someone nervous, and nervous people are unpredictable.”

Aunt Rita waved at Mom from across the yard. Mom acknowledged her and rose. “I need to break up the party. It’s after ten and no one looks like they want to leave.” She hesitated, then said, “I know you saw your dad yesterday, as well as Ben Bradford.”

“Jack,” I said. It wasn’t like I was keeping it a secret, but I hadn’t wanted to discuss it.

“Your dad called,” Mom said. “Even when you were little, you always jumped first, asked questions later. It’s a great trait—if you have someone who can help you up if you fall.”

“I know when to ask for help.”

Mom nodded. “Usually. We’re a team now, Margo. Please don’t keep me in the dark.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling guilty. Mom was right. I should havetalked through my idea to interview Bradford. If I’d thought it through better, I might have yielded more information.

“Don’t look chastised,” Mom said. She gave me a tight hug. “I’m on your side, Margo. Always.”

I wanted to believe that. But I couldn’t forget three years ago when I wanted to investigate the murder that put dad in prison and she said to let it go.

Still... three years was a long time. And Mom had given me a lot of freedom this week to investigate the way I wanted. I think she meant it.

And that meant everything to me.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cal Rafferty

Cal was both irritated and impressed that Margo Angelhart had slipped his tail. Partly impressed. It was his fault for not being more careful. He should have known she was good. She’d been in the Army and had been a PI for the last eight years.

After her meeting with Bradford down in Eyman, he had assumed she was working a wrongful death case for one of the kids who OD’d during the time Bradford was selling drugs through Sun Valley High, or perhaps a school liability issue. But after meeting with Hitch, he realized it was an active case. Maybe it started with a wrongful death, but she was talking to people who knew Bradford and the kids involved in Bradford’s criminal organization.

Was she looking for the supplier? And if so, why? Because a kid died? Had she uncovered something more, something that would lead Cal to the supplier? Maybe she had an informant. If so, why hadn’t she passed intel on to the police?

He looked up Elijah Martinez’s death investigation—it was an accidental overdose, but he wished they’d bumped it over to DEB. Because of the Bradford case, Hitch was interested in anything associated with Sun Valley High, even though they had no reason tobelieve they hadn’t caught everyone involved on the campus. Cal had been deep cover. It was one of the best covers he’d ever had. And the supplier wasn’t part of Sun Valley High.

Yet... the guidance counselor was killed on Monday. If that had been the only thing that happened, Cal wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Phoenix was a violent city. But the woman was stabbed with her own letter opener, there were no suspects, and that in and of itself seemed odd. He had already reached out to the detective in charge to find out more about the case, but so far he hadn’t heard back.

He might need to pull in the big guns to get answers. But he’d start by going through Hitch.

Following Margo around had initially seemed like a waste of time... until she’d rolled up in front of Eric McMahon’s house—and Eric was waiting for her on the porch.

Eric McMahon washiswitness. When the DEB couldn’t convince him to turn state’s evidence, they brought in Cal—and the deal was done.

Why the hell was she talking to McMahon? What did she know?

So now, close to midnight Thursday, he leaned against Eric’s beat-up Honda waiting for his shift to end.

At 11:52 p.m., Eric stepped out of the elevator in the parking garage of the Scottsdale Quarter and swore when he saw Cal.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eric said.

It was late, and there wasn’t anyone around, but voices carried in the garage. He motioned to his car, which was parked next to Eric’s—a basic sedan, one of many vehicles he used, all registered to the DEA—and Eric threw his hands up in the air, then slid into the passenger seat.

Cal got in and said, “What did Margo Angelhart talk to you about?”