Page 33 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cal Rafferty

DEA Agent Cal Rafferty sorted through the files on his desk and pulled out the one he needed.

He hated paperwork. Most cops did. But Cal liked to think that he detested that part of the job more than anyone.

He turned to his computer and painstakingly input the information from his last interview with a potential witness to a mid-level drug trafficking ring.

It wasn’t even his case—he was assisting his colleagues in the field by following up on the information they learned.

He loved his job in the DEA; he hated the bureaucracy.

Cal itched to be out in the field, but he’d recently finished a major undercover operation with the ASU Police Department and helped take down an Ecstasy manufacturing ring running out of a Chemistry lab.

It was a majorly satisfying bust. But George Franks, his boss, had strict rules about spacing undercover assignments.

He’d been at ASU for four months, so he had a month of what his boss called “office time.” It wasn’t that he wasn’t working—there was plenty to do.

Fielding calls. Consulting with local police.

Tracking tips. Following up on interviews.

Reviewing cold cases and online chatter.

But most of their cases were built over time, and there was no greater satisfaction than having a righteous bust after months of tightening the noose.

There was nothing Cal wanted to do more in his life than stop the scourge of drugs, especially fentanyl. The surge in the use of this deadly drug was faster than anything he or his colleagues had ever witnessed.

He had professional reasons for wanting it off the street, of course.

He had personal reasons as well.

Cal’s cell phone rang.

“Rafferty,” he answered.

“Cal, this is Officer Dave Blair down at Eyman.”

“Dave, yeah, how’re you doing?”

“Good, thanks. One of your prisoners had a visitor today.”

He straightened. He had a guard at every prison where he’d flagged a criminal. Cal didn’t flag everyone he’d put away—he’d be getting calls all day and night—but there were a few felons Cal knew who hadn’t forked over information in an ongoing case. He had two of them at Eyman.

“Who?” Cal asked.

“Bradford.”

That surprised him. Bradford had been arrested nearly three years ago and sentenced after his subsequent plea agreement.

Cal could count on one hand the people who visited him—Bradford’s parents brought his kids every few months, his brother visited monthly, and a couple friends, who Cal had vetted, visited periodically, until last year.

It felt as if everyone who knew him back when he was a popular coach had abandoned him.

Serves him right , Cal thought. He’d exploited teens, ruined lives, and showed no remorse.

His wife was just as bad. Cal wished she’d been put away longer than the six years she’d got in her plea deal. Cecilia Bradford had lied during the investigation and interviews. Cal had no patience for her, and though he objected to the plea, the AUSA went ahead with it.

“Ben Bradford,” Cal said with a whistle. “Who visited?”

“A private investigator, Margo Angelhart. Her father is incarcerated here and she visits regularly. She has an in with the visitors’ office and got her name put on Bradford’s list.”

“What did they talk about?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long was she there?”

“She was here over an hour, but only spoke to Bradford for six or seven minutes.”

“What was her demeanor when she left?”

“She was hard to read. I’d say frustrated, not as friendly as when she first entered. I’ve seen her often, because of her father, and she’s always been very polite, chats with guards. I’ve talked to her a few times, but not today.”

“And Bradford?”

“He was angry, cut their conversation short and asked to be escorted back to the yard.”

Cal wrote down her name, and then typed it into his computer. First person to visit Bradford in the last year who wasn’t family was a private investigator. Very interesting. He needed to know why.

“Can you let me know if he calls anyone in the next forty-eight?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Dave. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. Stay safe out there.”

“Stay safe in there,” Cal said and ended the call.

Cal immediately pulled up Margo’s contact information and printed her sheet.

She was a licensed private investigator for nearly nine years.

Had been an MP in the US Army, stationed in Fort Hood, with one eighteen-month deployment overseas.

Left with an honorable discharge nine years ago.

Had a concealed carry permit even though it wasn’t necessary in Arizona.

However, if she took cases out of state, it was easier to get a temporary reciprocal permit if she already had a CCW.

She had no criminal record, which wasn’t a surprise since she would have to be clean to get licensed as a PI and to get the CCW.

Small social media footprint, but big enough that he was able to piece together her connections.

Worked with her family. Grandpa a retired state judge—Cal recognized the Morales name.

Her dad had been arrested for killing a fellow doctor at the VA three years ago.

Lots of cousins all over Maricopa County, including a Phoenix PD officer, and her brother worked at the crime lab.

Why was she talking to Bradford?

Had she taken a case that was connected to him? Maybe to his supplier?

He had a tingle, that little excited twist in his gut. He’d been waiting for something like this.

Every DEA agent with more than a decade of experience had a case that haunted them, and a case that irritated them. This was Cal’s irritation case.

The AUSA offered the entire family witness protection if they gave up their supplier. They both refused. Insisted there was no supplier.

Cal would bet his pension they were both lying.

What did Margo Angelhart know? And why would she go to Bradford instead of the police?

Cal strode down the hall to his boss’s office and waited impatiently for him to get off the phone.

“What has you all riled up?” George asked.

“Bradford. He had a visitor.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Local PI. I want to see what she knows.”

“Just going to ask her?”

“Not yet. Can I have a couple days to follow her around? See what she’s working on before I talk to her? Make sure that she’s on the up and up and not working for the bad guys?”

George looked down at a chart on his desk, which gave him a one-page visual of every active case and who was assigned.

He made a small notation. “I know you hate riding a desk more than most,” George said.

“It’s all yours. But if you get a line on Bradford’s supplier, do not go after him alone, understood? ”

“Understood.”

Cal ran back to his office, grabbed his gun, and left the building.