Page 24 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Eighteen

Margo Angelhart

In a private study room in the Central Library, Angie told me about her interview with Detectives King and Chavez.

It angered me that they’d talked to her without an advocate, even if the vice-principal thought she was Angie’s advocate.

It was a dicey legal area that I wasn’t well-versed in, but it was probably allowed because Angie wasn’t a suspect or detained.

At least, that’s how it started. Based on Angie’s description, Detective King was suspicious of her.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I lied.”

“To the police?”

“No—to Mrs. Villines. In the office yesterday. I told her I had a meeting with Mrs. Clark, but I didn’t. She let me in. Then I told Mr. Borel that I was picking up something she left me.”

“But he saw you leave.”

“He saw me leave her office. What if they think I, like, I don’t know, hid? The way they were talking to me—I know they think I killed her. I didn’t, I swear to God.”

“They can’t arrest you without evidence. They can, however, ask you more questions. Do you have the receipt from the Cactus Stop?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even take it.”

“Still, they could have security cameras somewhere between the Cactus Stop and the school.”

“Benny!” Angie exclaimed. “He saw me there.”

“Who’s Benny?”

“Benny Vallejo, he’s a junior at Sun Valley. And, um, he’s my ex-boyfriend’s brother. He started working at the Cactus Stop last week, after Elijah...” Her voice trailed off.

“Good,” I said. “He can give you an alibi. But listen to me—do not talk to the police without a lawyer.”

She snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’m serious. If they want to talk to you again, call me. I have friends, and my Aunt Rita has a whole team of lawyers who often work pro bono. It won’t be a problem.”

She didn’t look like she believed me.

“Why’d you leave campus in the middle of the day?” I asked. “It’s not a good look.”

“Because I don’t like Detective King, and they were acting all don’t leave town .”

“They said that?”

She shrugged. “Attitude. You know. Disapproving and stern.”

I was trying to understand what the cops were thinking, but realized that the only way I could ferret out their theory would be to talk to Rachel King myself.

“Angie, keep your head down, go to school, and do not talk to the police without a representative.” I pulled out my business card and wrote Rita Garcia and her number on the back. “If you need her, call. Tell her I referred you, but I’ll also send her a message to give her the heads-up.”

“She’d really help for, like, no money?” Angie shook her head in disbelief.

“She will,” I said.

With teens like Angie, actions spoke louder than words, so I pulled out my phone and called Aunt Rita.

After a minute of pleasantries, I said, “I’m sitting here with a seventeen-year-old high school student who was questioned by police at her school about the murder of one of her teachers.

They claimed it was perfunctory, but said they might want to talk to her again because she had an argument with said teacher shortly before she was killed. Should she have council with her?”

“I would advise so.”

“What if she can’t afford it? Her mom can’t pay, and she doesn’t have her own job.”

“Margo, are you trying to make a point with this young lady?”

“Yes.”

“Let me speak to her.”

I handed my phone to Angie. “Rita Garcia, my aunt.”

Angie hesitated, then took the phone. “Hello?” she said nervously, then she listened. She answered a few questions either “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know,” then said, “Thank you,” and handed the phone back to me.

“Thanks, Aunt Rita.”

“You don’t know what I said.”

“You told her why she needs an advocate, that you’d make sure someone was with her should the police want to talk to her again, and that under no circumstances should she answer any more questions from the police related to this crime, even if she’s innocent and just wants to help.”

Aunt Rita laughed. “Still a brat, Margo.”

“Love you, Auntie,” I said and ended the call.

“It’s for your protection,” I told Angie. “The police aren’t generally the bad guys, but they can make your life difficult, and I don’t want that for you. Lawyers protect the innocent as well as defend the guilty.”

“Do you really, honestly believe that Mrs. Clark was killed because she was asking questions about Elijah?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s suspicious that she was killed less than two weeks after Elijah died, and that she had been vocal in trying to find out what happened to him. Which is why I think you should lay low and not ask questions.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop cutting school. Don’t put yourself in a position where you’re cornered—just in case Lena’s murder is somehow related to Elijah. And call me anytime.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Investigate. It’s in my job description.”

She didn’t find my joke funny. I continued, “I’ve been avoiding Detective King all day, so I’ll reach out to her and see what she’s thinking. You should go home.”

“Not now,” Angie said. “I’m going to hang here for a while.”

I remembered that I wanted her to help me identify the phone numbers on Elijah’s bill.

“I have Elijah’s phone records, up until ten days before he died. Do you recognize these numbers? I already identified his mom’s and yours.”

I pulled out my phone and showed her the screenshot of the numbers I’d consolidated from his records.

“Why don’t you just call them?” she asked as she scanned the list.

“Because if one of these people is involved in his death, I don’t want them to know I’m looking for them—at least not yet.

So I have to go to my office and use a private line that won’t share my number, which they will likely decline, and then I’ll cross my fingers that they identify themselves in their voicemail. ”

“There’s not a lot here.”

“I figure he texted more than he called people.”

She smiled just a bit. “Yeah. I don’t think he called me more than a couple times over the last year. Why don’t you just look at his texts? His passcode is his mom’s birthday.”

“His phone is missing.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t the police think it was weird?”

“I don’t know.”

She frowned, looked at the six numbers I hadn’t yet identified. “This one—ends in 1455? That’s Gina Martinelli’s cell phone. And this one is Andy, and this one is Peter.” She pulled out her phone and typed in the other numbers.

“Don’t save those,” I said.

“I won’t do anything, just looking to see if I have a contact. Yeah—this one, that ends in 2239? That’s Mr. Parsons. Mr. Parsons was helping Elijah with college applications. I don’t know the others.”

I wrote down the contact information. “This is good. Do you know when Benny works?”

“I assume after school every day, like Elijah.”

I stood, looked at her again. “Do what I say, Angie. Okay?”

“I will,” Angie assured me.

I walked out, drove my car out of the parking garage, and called Detective King on the number she left for me.

“Rachel King,” she answered gruffly.

“Hi, Rachel, it’s Margo Angelhart. You left a message for me to call.”

“I left a message this morning,” she snapped. “And I’ve called you multiple times.”

“Sounds important, how can I help you?”

She didn’t say anything for a second. “You know I need to talk to you about the Lena Clark homicide.”

“Now I do.”

“Your brother must have called you.”

It wasn’t a question so I didn’t comment.

“I’m at police headquarters,” Rachel said, “if you’d like to come in.”

“What do you need to discuss?”

I was playing dumb and she knew it and it irritated her. I smiled, enjoying the conversation.

“I have questions about your relationship with Lena Clark.”

“I don’t have a relationship.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You should be more specific. What do you want to know?”

“I’d like to talk face-to-face. I’ll be here until four.”

“If you’re going to insist on speaking to me in person, I’ll be at my office in ten minutes. I don’t know how long I’ll be there, but I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”

“It would be better if you came here.”

“Not going to happen. It’s your case, I’m willing to help, but I’m not going to jump through hoops and pay for overpriced parking to make it easier for you.”

“Fine,” she said, more than a little irritated now. “I’ll be there at three thirty.”

“Great,” I said, but she’d already hung up.

Yes, I definitely knew how to make friends and influence people.

Unfortunately, meeting with Rachel King would delay me tracking down Danielle Duran.

When I arrived at the office, no one was there except Iris.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Tess and Theo went to the courthouse to pull files, and Jack is serving a subpoena. Your mom is meeting with Carmen de la Rosa about a retainer contract with her firm.”

Carmen de la Rosa was a shark of an attorney.

I had worked for her a few times over the years.

I didn’t have retainers with anyone, but my mom was a better business manager than me.

Retainers meant steady income, but once you were on retainer, you couldn’t turn down work because you didn’t like the assignment—which is why I didn’t accept retainers.

I hope my mom knew what she was getting into with Carmen. I also wondered where she was with the potential capitol case we might be working.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out of here by now?” I asked. Iris generally left by 2:30 p.m. because two of her kids—a freshman and senior at the same Catholic school we had all gone to—got out at three. They were in a bunch of activities. Her oldest was in college.

“Maddie is auditioning for the Christmas musical, so JJ will drive her home after football practice. But I’m on my way out—it’ll be nice to go to the grocery store without having to rush.”