Page 50 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cal Rafferty

Cal was both irritated and impressed that Margo Angelhart had slipped his tail. Partly impressed. It was his fault for not being more careful. He should have known she was good. She’d been in the Army and had been a PI for the last eight years.

After her meeting with Bradford down in Eyman, he had assumed she was working a wrongful death case for one of the kids who OD’d during the time Bradford was selling drugs through Sun Valley High, or perhaps a school liability issue.

But after meeting with Hitch, he realized it was an active case.

Maybe it started with a wrongful death, but she was talking to people who knew Bradford and the kids involved in Bradford’s criminal organization.

Was she looking for the supplier? And if so, why? Because a kid died? Had she uncovered something more, something that would lead Cal to the supplier? Maybe she had an informant. If so, why hadn’t she passed intel on to the police?

He looked up Elijah Martinez’s death investigation—it was an accidental overdose, but he wished they’d bumped it over to DEB.

Because of the Bradford case, Hitch was interested in anything associated with Sun Valley High, even though they had no reason to believe they hadn’t caught everyone involved on the campus.

Cal had been deep cover. It was one of the best covers he’d ever had.

And the supplier wasn’t part of Sun Valley High.

Yet... the guidance counselor was killed on Monday.

If that had been the only thing that happened, Cal wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

Phoenix was a violent city. But the woman was stabbed with her own letter opener, there were no suspects, and that in and of itself seemed odd.

He had already reached out to the detective in charge to find out more about the case, but so far he hadn’t heard back.

He might need to pull in the big guns to get answers. But he’d start by going through Hitch.

Following Margo around had initially seemed like a waste of time... until she’d rolled up in front of Eric McMahon’s house—and Eric was waiting for her on the porch.

Eric McMahon was his witness. When the DEB couldn’t convince him to turn state’s evidence, they brought in Cal—and the deal was done.

Why the hell was she talking to McMahon? What did she know?

So now, close to midnight Thursday, he leaned against Eric’s beat-up Honda waiting for his shift to end.

At 11:52 p.m., Eric stepped out of the elevator in the parking garage of the Scottsdale Quarter and swore when he saw Cal.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eric said.

It was late, and there wasn’t anyone around, but voices carried in the garage. He motioned to his car, which was parked next to Eric’s—a basic sedan, one of many vehicles he used, all registered to the DEA—and Eric threw his hands up in the air, then slid into the passenger seat.

Cal got in and said, “What did Margo Angelhart talk to you about?”

“I should have figured you’re still watching me.”

Cal wasn’t, but he didn’t tell Eric that. The kid had gotten his life mostly together, but it was easy to fall down the same dirty path. If he thought the DEA was keeping an eye on him, all the better.

“I’m waiting.”

“She was asking about how Coach’s network operated.

I told her to fuck off. She kept pushing, wanted to know if I had an idea of who he was working with at Sun Valley.

I said if I had, I’d have told the police, but he wasn’t working with anyone there.

I told her what I told you three years ago—that he had a supplier, that guy called the shots, and I don’t know who it was.

Never saw him, never talked to him, wouldn’t know him from Adam.

But she pushed, said Mrs. Clark was killed, and that surprised me.

She also asked about Scott Jimenez.” He frowned.

“What aren’t you telling me, Eric?”

“I’m telling you everything! I tried to block it out because I don’t want to go back there. I nearly died.”

Slight exaggeration, but Cal didn’t correct him.

“Okay, okay,” Eric said, thinking for a second.

“She asked if I knew Megan Osterman, said she died of a drug overdose this summer. Around the Fourth of July. I knew Megan, told her that. The PI already knew that Megan had been dating Scott. Then she asked about Scott’s sister, Desi, who I barely know.

I honestly don’t know what she thought I knew, because I swear to God, I told you everything about Coach and his network. I didn’t hold out. You know that, Cal.”

Cal didn’t think Eric withheld information on purpose, but he had been working for Bradford for more than two years. He could have forgotten something, or seen something he didn’t realize was important.

Why did Margo think there was another player at Sun Valley? Was there something about Lena Clark’s murder that had Margo thinking Bradford?

Had Cal and Hitch been so tunnel-focused on Bradford and how he got his drugs that they’d missed something?

The supplier had been their key focus, who they believed was the only operative they hadn’t caught.

They didn’t even have a name. The Bradfords stuck to their story of how they bought and packaged the drugs even when confronted with evidence that they were lying.

They hadn’t budged, and Cal always believed that the supplier held something over them.

Because why would they be so loyal to someone who would remain free while they went to prison?

“Okay,” Cal said.

“That’s it?”

“For now.” He slipped him a phone. “Call me if you remember anything else. Call me if you get in trouble. Call me if Angelhart or anyone else talks to you about Bradford or Sun Valley. And answer the phone if it rings. I’m the only one with the number.”

Eric reluctantly pocketed the flip phone. “I thought this was over.”

“So did I,” Cal said.