Page 26 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

“The investigation started after an anonymous call on September seventh, and culminated in an arrest on January thirteenth.

A four-month-long investigation, which included four undercover cops, two on staff with the school and two posing as students.

They gathered extensive circumstantial evidence, but no smoking gun—until Eric McMahon asked the undercover female out.

“Law enforcement suspected that McMahon was the primary go-between for Bradford,” Tess continued.

“The undercover female—her name isn’t in the records, she’s known as UC3 in the files—had access to McMahon’s car, home, and locker.

She gathered extensive evidence. McMahon was smart, and he didn’t talk about his illegal activities, but had money to flash, took her on expensive dates, and multiple times brought her when he delivered packages of what they later learned were drugs.

“She set up a sting where law enforcement swooped down on McMahon and offered him a plea arrangement—give up Bradford and he’d get probation. He took it without hesitation—provided his girlfriend got the same deal. I don’t think he even knows now that she was an undercover cop.”

I was impressed. It wasn’t easy going undercover. I don’t know that I could do it. As a PI, I sometimes pretended to be who I wasn’t, but I didn’t have to fake it for long so wasn’t worried about getting caught up in a lie.

“What happened to the kid who got juvie? Jimenez, I think. Attempted murder, right?”

Tess flipped through her legal notepad. “Scott Jimenez. I don’t have much yet, it’s probably in the records we pulled, but what I deduced was that Bradford became suspicious that McMahon was talking to the police and paid Jimenez to kill him.

Bradford denied it, and Jimenez said no one paid him to, quote, ‘kill a rat.’ But when police raided Jimenez’s house and searched his car, they found a large sum of cash and McMahon’s home address written on a sticky note that only had Jimenez’s prints. ”

Theo said, “I think someone higher up than Bradford, someone in the know, realized McMahon was working with the cops, and Jimenez was tagged to kill him.”

Maybe, but that seemed a bit too cinematic to be real.

“Is Jimenez still in juvie?” I asked.

Tess shook her head. “He was released a year later and given three years’ probation. I have his last known address.”

“Send it to me?”

Tess nodded and made a note.

“What happened to McMahon?” I asked. “Jimenez got attempted murder, did the plea deal hold with McMahon?”

“Jimenez pled down to aggravated assault,” Tess said. “According to the report, Jimenez shot McMahon when he was leaving his house. One of three bullets hit, but McMahon wasn’t seriously hurt. He was with UC3, who identified Jimenez as the shooter. The gun was found in his locker at school.”

“Dumbass,” Theo muttered.

“They don’t have lockers at Sun Valley,” I said.

“Not for the general school population, but athletes use lockers in the gym. Jimenez played for Coach Bradford as well.”

“I read that his wife got six years, Bradford fifteen?” I questioned.

“Bradford got fifteen to twenty,” Tess said. “He pled guilty to multiple counts of drug dealing, child endangerment—because the kids were minors—and money laundering.”

I frowned.

“What?” Tess asked.

“I’m just working through a few things... Both Bradfords pled, the police believed they were protecting their supplier, but they don’t know who that person is.”

“They don’t even have a suspect,” Tess said.

“There are two opposing theories. One is that the supplier was local and Bradford used someone else, possibly his wife who wasn’t under surveillance, as the go-between because Bradford never met with anyone suspicious.

Second theory was that of the lead investigator, DEB Detective Mike Hitchner, who thought that Bradford’s semi-regular trips to the border was him meeting with his supplier.

But they followed him and never came back with any suspects and never witnessed any exchange.

After Jimenez shot McMahon, they didn’t have a choice but to shut down the operation even though they didn’t have evidence to nail the supplier. ”

“The Bradfords were scared shitless,” Theo said. “You don’t give up your supplier if you know the supplier will whack you.”

Blunt, but accurate.

“Is there a transcript of the anonymous call?”

Tess grinned. “I can do you one better.”

She typed on her computer and a moment later a staticky recording started.

“I’m calling because, um...” The voice—young, female—trailed off.

“I don’t know who to call. I don’t want anybody to know I called.

It says Silent Witness and I don’t have to give my name.

But. Um. My, um, Mr. Bradford at Sun Valley High School is dealing drugs.

I don’t know what to do. I saw him do it last year, and then again yesterday and I can’t sleep and I don’t want anyone to get hurt again. I hope you can stop it.”

The call ended.

Tess said, “The Silent Witness program is usually when law enforcement asks citizens for help in solving a crime and offer a reward. They promise anonymity. This call, however, went to Phoenix PD. Maybe the girl didn’t understand how the program worked.

The file says the call came from Sun Valley High School, but that’s it. ”

“Play it again,” I said, and listened very carefully, eyes closed. When it was over, I said, “My... she said my before Mr. Bradford.”

“Hitchner believes the witness is a softball player. Bradford coached football in the fall, and softball in the spring. There were sixteen girls on the team that spring, six graduated, which leaves ten girls who were still at the school in the fall.”

“So she was going to say my coach,” Theo deduced.

“What day?” I asked.

“The call came in on a Friday morning, 7:15 a.m.”

“Before school,” I said. “So maybe she saw something on Thursday and put it together with what she saw before. She said I don’t want anyone hurt again . It sounds like she or a friend had trouble with drugs.”

“That is going to be next to impossible to determine,” Tess said. “But I ran a list of all Sun Valley students whose deaths were drug-related in the last five years.” She slid over a printout for me.

“You are amazing.”

Tess smiled proudly. “I know.”

It was an unfortunately long list. Twenty-seven students died from a drug overdose—six of those were determined to be suicides. Nine more died in DUI-related accidents.

“However,” Tess continued, “I can’t get complete information about kids who survived a drug overdose or kids who are addicts—which a student might consider being hurt . The school could possibly provide a list of dropouts, but I don’t know that they will. It would be considered confidential.”

“This all helps.” Even if we don’t know where it fit yet. Investigation was about gathering as much information as possible and figuring out how to put the pieces together to see the whole picture.

“How do you see the Bradford case connecting to Elijah Martinez’s overdose?” Tess asked.

“I don’t,” I admitted. “It was a major investigation and Elijah was a freshman at the time, so I need to keep it on my radar. But Lena Clark was killed because she was looking into Elijah’s death, of that I’m nearly positive.

Could be someone picked up where Bradford left off.

Someone who worked at the school then..

. and now. Or Elijah stumbled onto a different criminal conspiracy.

” I felt like the more I learned, the less I knew.

.. because nothing that I had learned told me where Elijah was those five hours before he died.

Tess said, “I’ll get started on what I have.” She looked hopefully at Theo.

He sighed. “I have classes tomorrow morning, but I can be here after lunch to help.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” To me, she said, “If I find anything, I’ll ping you.”

“Thanks, sis.”

I went into my office and closed the door.

Eyman State Penitentiary was an hour south of Phoenix, in Florence. I had been there dozens of times over the last three years to visit my father, and because I was preapproved, I didn’t have to jump through hoops to visit.

I was hoping I could finagle my way into seeing Ben Bradford. Because I had that little tingle in my gut that said there was unfinished business there.

Fortunately, the guards liked the Angelhart family.

I gave my mother credit for that good will.

Not only had she been the county attorney, but she had a good relationship for decades with the Department of Corrections because she’d first been a prosecutor.

So the Angelhart name had certain clout with the Bureau of Prisons.

I called the assistant warden directly. This wasn’t proper protocol, but sometimes there was a good reason to circumvent the rules.

While on hold, I logged into the prison portal and scheduled a visit with my father tomorrow in the ten-to-noon window. As soon as I hit Submit, Assistant Warden Chuck Boxer picked up the line.

“Hi, Mr. Boxer, it’s Margo Angelhart.”

“How are you, Margo? Your family?”

“Good, thank you. I’m visiting my dad tomorrow late morning, and I would like to speak with another prisoner if possible.”

“You know how to request visitation.”

“Of course, but it takes time. I was hoping because I’m already going to be there, that there might be a way to cut through some of the paperwork?”

“Who, and what is the purpose?”

“Ben Bradford,” I said and opened the file Jack had given me.

I read off his prisoner number. “I’d like to ask him about something related to Sun Valley High School.

” I was trying to keep it as vague as possible.

“I don’t know if you know much about his case, but he pled on a drug case—using high school students to distribute for him.

I have a different case I’m working on for the family of a victim of an overdose, and I wanted his insight. ”

“Will he cry for his lawyer?”

“No. And if he doesn’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I get it. But it would help me, and I’m looking at his file and he doesn’t appear to have any visitation restrictions.”

“Let’s see...” I heard clicking on a keyboard. “Well, he’s been a model prisoner, no dings, appears to be doing his time, and keeping his head down. It won’t be a problem to visit. I’ll put you on the list and when you’re done visiting with Dr. Angelhart, just tell the guard on duty.”