Page 20 of Don't Say a Word

“It’s only been the last week.” Lena had always felt protective of Angie. She’d achieved so much academically even with no support at home. “If Ms. Angelhart finds something, the police may reopen the case.”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “At least someone is looking for answers. Angie needs to know that we support her, that we’re here for her.”

“She’s lucky to have you on her side,” Dwight said.

“I’ll connect Angie with the PI,” Lena said. “And we really need to push the school to implement the Silent Witness program.”

“I thought you were trying to avoid getting on Melissa’s bad side,” Dwight said.

He had a point, but on this subject Lena was willing to fight for what she knew was right.

Dwight kissed her lightly. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Do you really think I should?”

“If it’s important to you, I’ll back you with the faculty.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

“You can make me dinner as a thank-you,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

She laughed. “I have some work to finish up. Do you want to wait? Or we can meet at my house around—” she glanced at the clock “—five-ish?”

“I’ll wait. There’s a volleyball game,” Dwight said. “I haven’t been to one this year, and I hear the team is play-off bound.”Dwight touched her cheek. The warm affection always made her grateful for this man and what they had together. “I know you care about Angie, but remember, she has to meet you halfway. At leastpartof the way. You can’t fix everyone. I know, I know—I do the same thing with some of the kids who need that extra push. But if she doesn’t refocus on what’s important, she’s going to lose opportunities. Text me when you’re wrapping up.”

“Enjoy the game,” Lena said and closed the door behind him.

Lena responded to dozens of emails, which took nearly an hour. Then she proofread her proposal about the Silent Witness program. It wasn’t the same program that law enforcement had, but instead was modeled after several successful school programs in major cities to provide a portal for students to report on serious campus crime. Before she could change her mind, she sent the proposal to the administration.

They needed to be proactive.

Lena sent the email and hoped the idea took hold. For all her issues with Melissa Webb—and Lena had many—the vice principal was an effective administrator. Thus, Lena focused her argument on how the program would save time and money, plus reduce disciplinary actions. The principal deferred everything to his three VPs, so Lena had to convince them before Principal Borel would sign off.

Lena didn’t enjoy school politics, but she understood how they worked.

Her cell phone rang; it was Dwight.

She hit Speaker as she started filing reports. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe I can catch the last match.”

“Angie’s here in the gym,” he said.

She slammed shut her file cabinet. “I’ll be there in five.”

Chapter Seven

Margo Angelhart

I drove by Angie’s apartment on Nineteenth Avenue south of Dunlap. Since she’d cut school, maybe she’d stayed home.

Central Phoenix had its fair share of run-down apartment complexes, especially near the freeway, and Angie’s was no exception. While it wasn’t the worst, it was definitely sketchy. The complex consisted of clusters of two-story white rectangle buildings, each crammed with tiny apartments and small windows—no balconies, no patios. There was some grass, a few trees, and rows upon rows of identical buildings, all enclosed behind fencing that resembled a prison more than a place to call home. Half the gates were broken or wide open, and any window large enough for someone to crawl through had bars.

I didn’t leave my gun locked in my Jeep; I concealed it with a lightweight jacket that covered my holster. First, I wasn’t confident that my car was safe here even during the day, and second, the police call log showed sixty-nine calls for service to the complex in just the last two months—averaging more than one a day. I didn’t want to be one of those calls.

Angie’s apartment was on the ground floor of Building D. Thedoors were painted black, half had missing numbers, but I figured out D-10 was the second door from the east. Downstairs were even numbers, upstairs odd.

I smelled an excessive amount of chlorine, but couldn’t see a pool. After knocking on the door, I stepped back. The street traffic masked any sound coming from the apartment.