Page 23 of Don't Say a Word

“Would you do me a big favor?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“I would like a printout of all Elijah’s calls for at least the last thirty days. Three months would be great.”

“I call the phone company and ask?”

“You should be able to log into your account and print out the bill.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have a computer.”

“Do you get a paper bill?”

She brightened. “Yes. I can get that for you.”

“Before you do, one more question. What color is Elijah’s backpack?”

“Dark gray. It has a football patch, the Arizona Cardinals, that he ironed on the front pocket. His uncle took Elijah and his cousinto a game for their sixteenth birthdays last year. So expensive, those tickets. I told Donny it was too much money, but he said you’re only sixteen once. Ever since, Elijah loved the team, even when they lose.”

Which lately was often, I thought. They seemed to either start strong, then fall apart, or start poorly, only to win when it didn’t matter anymore.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

“Maybe I can track it down.” Work, school, a friend’s house—all possible. The contents could be enlightening.

“I’ll get the phone records for you.”

I waited in the kitchen and looked out the window at the small park in the center of the complex. A couple of the moms were trying to wrestle their kids inside. Did the squeals of laughter comfort Alina? I hoped so.

She brought me a folder. “Here,” she said. “These are everything for the year. His number ends in 1719, the other number is mine.”

I looked through the file. It cut off ten days before he was killed.

“I need you to do one thing that may help me piece together Elijah’s last few days. I need his phone records up until the day he died.”

“They will be on the next bill, won’t they?”

“Yes, but according to this, we’d have to wait another eight or nine days. The sooner I get it, the better. If you call, as the account owner, they’ll send it to you.”

“I can do that.”

She looked out the window and observed the children. “I don’t know what I will do without Elijah,” she said quietly, more to herself than me. “I miss him so much.”

The pain in her voice tore at my heart.

I would find out exactly what happened. It wouldn’t bring Elijah back, but maybe I could give his mother some peace.

It was after five by the time I was back in my car. I called Luisa,my youngest sister, the computer whiz. Like me, she’d done six years in the military after high school—she picked the Marines—and now she was starting her second year of college on the GI bill.

Luisa didn’t answer, so I left a message to call me.

I wished I could just go home and analyze these phone records, but Jack left files at the office—the opposite direction from my house.

I was going to be stuck in traffic. I considered waiting until tomorrow to grab the files, but what else was I going to do tonight?

I headed toward Seventh Avenue for the long drive back downtown.

Chapter Eight