Page 46 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Margo Angelhart

I drove to the O’Reilly house and convinced Christina’s mother to call her for me.

We had a good ten-minute conversation where Christina confirmed everything Megan’s mother said, and added more details about Megan’s relationship with Scott Jimenez.

She was completely attached to him. She visited him every week while he was in jail, and they planned to move in together when he got out.

Christina also remembered seeing Megan near the end of the summer after graduation.

She seemed to be doing better, and said she had a part-time job.

That was news to me—her mother hadn’t mentioned it, and I hadn’t seen anything about a job in her room.

“Rumor was,” Christina said, “Scott was supposed to be released right before Christmas, when he turned nineteen. I heard through the grapevine that he bailed on Megan. She was already on thin ice, and that broke it.”

Christina didn’t know where Scott was or who I could talk to about him, other than his sister Desiree.

I thanked her for her time and left. Eric McMahon had texted me while I was there and said he was leaving for work at four.

I had fifteen minutes. I texted him that I would be there in five minutes.

I glanced around, noticed an older model black 4Runner I thought I’d seen turn into the neighborhood after me. The driver was still in the car, looking at his phone. I made a mental note, but when I pulled away from the curb, he didn’t follow.

It took me five minutes to get to Eric’s house.

Eric refused to let me inside. We stood on his porch, him with his arms crossed, glaring at me, even after I explained who I was and what I was doing.

He was a lean six feet and would have been attractive if he didn’t have a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, and eyes that looked older than his years.

“I can’t help you,” he said.

“What I’m trying to understand is how Coach Bradford’s drug distribution network operated.”

“Why do you care?”

“As I told you, an honors student died of a drug overdose, and I don’t think it was an accident. I think someone poisoned him.”

Eric didn’t say anything, just continued to glare.

I said, “I know the basics. You were Bradford’s right hand. You recruited others. But you were the only one who knew that Coach Bradford was in charge.”

He gave a very small nod.

“When Bradford was caught, Scott Jimenez tried to kill you.”

“I remember.” He lifted up his sleeve to reveal a scar.

Definitely a bullet wound.

“Bradford swore in his plea agreement that he never told or asked Jimenez to kill you.”

“Right. And you believe him?” Eric shook his head.

“It makes more sense to me that he was telling the truth. I’m thinking that someone picked up where Bradford left off. Do you remember a student named Elijah Martinez?”

Eric shook his head. “Should I?”

“He was a freshman at the time.”

“If he wasn’t a jock, or dealing for me, I didn’t know him.”

“What about Lena Clark?”

“Of course. She’s the guidance counselor.”

“Was the guidance counselor,” I said. “She was stabbed to death on Monday.”

He blanched. “Oh, my God. Who did it?”

“The police don’t know, but she was asking questions about Elijah’s overdose. And I think Elijah was killed because he was investigating the overdose death of Megan Osterman.”

“Megan,” he said with a whisper.

“You know her?”

“She died?”

“She had a drug problem for the last three years.”

“I thought she cleaned herself up,” he said. “Fucking asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jimenez. He got her hooked. Megan was a sweetheart, a year younger than us. Always came to our games. Very shy though. Fell hard for Scott. He was obsessive with her, and I thought when Scott went to prison, she’d turn her life around.”

“She died the Fourth of July weekend behind the veterinary clinic on Hatcher, across from the Cactus Stop. Scott’s sister is the manager there.”

He blinked rapidly, but didn’t say anything. He knew something.

“Two months later, Elijah Martinez died,” I said.

“Drugs kill,” he said. “Even when I was dealing, I never touched the stuff.”

“Someone poisoned him with fentanyl.”

“Like I said, drugs kill.”

“Eric, help me. A name. A teacher. An administrator. A student who didn’t get caught up in the sting.”

“I don’t know any specific person,” he said, “but yeah, there was someone else. Someone that Coach took orders from. I told that to the police when I agreed to turn state’s evidence.

If I knew who it was, I would have told them because my immunity deal required it.

I suspected, but I had no knowledge. I couldn’t even guess who.

Just like I didn’t know where he got the drugs.

All I did was what he told me to do, and I regret every single minute. ”

I believed him. “Who was Scott close to?”

“You mean, like a teacher?” He thought on it.

“Other than Coach? No one. He wasn’t a good student, always in trouble, got detention practically every week.

I swear he spent more time in the vice principal’s office than he did in class.

He didn’t have friends outside of the football team either. Except Megan.”

I handed him my card. “If you think of anyone, call me.”

“I don’t think you understand who these people are. If I were you, I’d walk away.”

“Elijah’s mom deserves to know why her son was killed.”

“Is the truth worth losing your life?”

“I’ve been a PI for eight years,” I said. “I’ll find the truth and turn it over to the police.”

“To be honest, I’m glad I didn’t know anything more than I did. You know why? They would have sent someone better than Scott to kill me.”

“They?” I asked.

“Whoever was in charge. Whoever Coach answered to. I have to go to work. Don’t come by here again. I don’t know anything else that will help you.”

I walked to my Jeep. Eric had turned all the information over to the police—probably Hitchner, the head of the task force. I still wanted to talk to him, but didn’t know how to convince him to talk to me.

If there was someone above the coach, it might not be someone at the school.

It could be someone he knew in his personal life, his neighborhood, his family, a parent, hell, it could have been a local drug dealer.

God knew Phoenix had plenty of them. It would make sense that they would set up a completely new operation.

At the school? Maybe. He drove down to Yuma at least once a month, ostensibly to pick up his supply.

Hitchner believed his supplier was somewhere along that route.

.. and the supplier could have recruited another dealer.

As all this was going through my head, I didn’t notice the older model black 4Runner until I pulled away from the curb.

It was the same vehicle I’d seen when I left the O’Reilly house.

Someone was following me.

I pretended I didn’t see him as I drove away.

The driver was white with dark hair, probably thirties, but it was hard to tell because he was smart enough to park down the street and wear dark sunglasses.

When I passed him, he was looking at his phone as if he wasn’t following me.

Just like he had been doing outside the O’Reilly house.

I didn’t believe that for a minute.

I headed toward the Cactus Stop on Hatcher, though I didn’t intend to go in. I was just trying to see what Mr. 4Runner would do.

He didn’t follow me. Okay, maybe I was paranoid. Maybe there was a reason for him to be outside Sunnyslope Middle School, then the McMahon house.

My phone vibrated, but it was an unknown caller, so I sent it to voicemail. I needed to stay alert in case the 4Runner showed up again.

Maybe I’d gotten on someone’s radar. Questions had a way of doing that. I considered Eric’s warning, and a chill went down my spine. I needed to stay on alert.

I headed down the side street past Edith Mackey’s house, toward Sun Valley High School. A girl up ahead with long dark hair half dyed pink looked just like Angie.

Dammit. She was Angie.

I pulled over and honked.

Angie jumped, then recognized me. I motioned for her to get in my car.

“Were you at the Cactus Stop?” I asked as soon as she closed the door.

She hesitated.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep a low profile?”

“I just wanted to talk to Benny for a minute.”

I hit the steering wheel. “Your friend was killed because of something going on at his work, and you wander in there and ask questions?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Who was working there with Benny?” I demanded.

“Um, Tony.”

“What was so important that you’re willing to risk your life?”

Angie was angry and trying not to cry.

“You didn’t tell me what happened yesterday!”

“Because I haven’t kept you clued into my investigation, you think it’s okay to start asking questions, putting yourself on their radar. I don’t fucking believe it.”

I was angry as well as worried. I was being followed, Eric was still scared of the people Coach Bradford had worked for, and people were dead in what I believed, but couldn’t prove, were two connected murders. And Elijah’s murder was because he had been investigating Megan Osterman’s drug overdose.

“We talked about this,” I said, forcing myself to calm down. “I told you to go to school and lay low. I have been making progress. It might not be fast enough for you, but I don’t really care.”

“The police are doing nothing to find out what happened to Mrs. Clark. No one has been arrested, no one knows anything . I talked to Mr. Parsons today and he’s depressed—he asked for your name, he couldn’t remember it.”

“Oh?” I asked, shifting gears. “What did he want to talk to me about?”