Page 6 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Three

Margo Angelhart

Desert Ridge is a community in North Phoenix, west of Scottsdale. The outdoor mall was one of my favorites because it was clean, had stores I liked, a few good restaurants, and lots of parking.

I bought Mom’s favorite wine, a bottle of Herradura Reposado for Uncle Rafe, and a six-pack of a good IPA for me since I was at a discount liquor store. I left ninety dollars poorer, grateful I didn’t drink much—I’d be broke.

I locked the alcohol in the back of my Jeep and made my way to the covered sitting area outside the Barnes & Noble.

Kids played on the splash pad in the center of the courtyard.

People moved in and out of nearby shops, and a pair of older women in track suits power-walked past me, deep in animated conversation.

At the next table, a woman in shorts and a T-shirt—accessorized with a diamond tennis bracelet and a Scottsdale-sized rock on her left ring finger—chatted on her phone.

Her long, manicured red nails drummed the tile as she said, “What a prick. If Ethan ever said that to me , I’d take off for the weekend in his Beamer and see if he ever criticizes my driving again. Harumph!”

She wore earbuds, so I only heard her end of the conversation.

I spotted Josie a split second before she noticed me.

My cousin was tall and lanky, more like Tess than me.

I was your standard mix of average height and weight, while Josie had inherited the striking features of the Morales side of the family—her dad and my mom were siblings, but she got the better deal: shiny dark auburn-brown hair and big golden-brown eyes.

In comparison, I felt mousy with dark blond hair and boring hazel eyes.

It had taken Josie a while to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, but once she became a cop nearly two years ago she’d found her calling. It suited her.

“Margo!” Josie leaned over and hugged me, then plopped down on the chair across from me. “It’s been weeks.”

“Your schedule, my schedule, your boyfriend, my... schedule.”

The diamond-studded woman gave us a look as if we had interrupted her conversation. I ignored her.

“I already told my boss I have to leave on time Thursday,” Josie said.

Josie worked days, which meant 5:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. Day shift was usually coveted, but she was on the Thursday through Sunday schedule, and most cops didn’t like to give up their weekends. She’d worked nights for a year and said it threw her entire system out of whack.

“I hope you’re bringing the boyfriend you haven’t introduced to anyone in the family,” I said.

“I can’t do that to him,” Josie whined. “I’ve only been seeing Ryan for six weeks, and a family party would be like throwing him to the lions.”

“Oh, please. We don’t bite, and barely scratch.”

“I’ll see. He works forty-eight on, seventy-two off, and has to be on duty six a.m. Friday morning.”

“A firefighter? I thought guns and hoses didn’t get along.” She practically blushed, and I laughed. “You really like him.”

“Sure, well, yeah, I do,” she fumbled. “It just happened. We give Fire a ton of shit. Most of them are jerks, anyway. But the ribbing became more fun with Ryan, and then a few weeks ago we ran into each other off-duty at the Apple Store, of all places. We talked, went to lunch, just clicked.”

“I can’t wait to meet him on Thursday.” I grinned.

“On one condition.”

“No promises.”

“Come on, you have to keep the family off him. He’s an only child.”

I laughed. The Morales clan could be overwhelming for someone who didn’t have a big family, but I didn’t make the promise. If Ryan the firefighter couldn’t handle good-natured teasing, he wouldn’t fit in with our family and was thus unworthy of my cousin.

I changed the subject. “What can you tell me about the Elijah Martinez case?”

“Tragic.” Josie retrieved her Hydro Flask from her bag, drank deeply.

“My partner and I responded early Saturday morning, nine days ago. Our first call of the day, but because Mountain View Park is down the street, we rolled out right away. Park rangers found a DB. We didn’t have any info until we got there, saw that the deceased was a teenage Hispanic male.

Secured the scene, covered the body, called for detectives.

There was no external sign of injury. Detective Rachel King arrived on scene, retrieved the victim’s wallet and a baggie of small blue pills.

She determined likely drug overdose. ME confirmed. Fentanyl.”

“Shit,” I mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“Signs of a party?”

“No sign of anything—no beer bottles, no trash, no drug paraphernalia. He was lying against a tree, in a fetal position. As if he laid down and fell asleep. I’ve seen it before, but never someone so young, so smart—he was in all honors classes.”

“How’d he take the drugs? Ingested? Smoked?” I knew fentanyl could be taken in several ways.

“Ingested,” she said. “ME stated time of death between one and three a.m. Saturday morning. His body was found after five by the rangers, we rolled up at five forty-five. Nico was there.”

“My brother?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, staffing issues at the lab.”

The Phoenix Crime Lab handled forensics for multiple police departments, including the Maricopa County Sheriff and Phoenix PD.

While there were specialty units, most of the staff moved seamlessly from one department to another.

My brother usually worked in toxicology running all the fancy machines, but I wasn’t surprised to hear he was picking up the slack in crime scene response.

Josie continued. “He collected trash from the can—the cans are emptied every evening by park rangers because of javelinas and coyotes, so anything in there was deposited after eight p.m. the night before. There was one of those generic thirty-two-ounce soda cups.”

“Did the detective try to figure out if it was Elijah’s?”

Josie shook her head. “It’s listed as evidence, but no tests have been run because the ME determined accidental OD.”

“Wouldn’t it be important to know if there was fentanyl in the cup? Or if it was even his?”

“If it’s accidental, that means he voluntarily ingested the drugs.”

“But if it was in the cup, maybe he didn’t know.”

Josie’s face twisted and she didn’t look directly at me. I wondered what was going on.

“Jos—” I began.

“I can’t get involved,” she said, lowering her voice.

“Last week, I spoke at a Sun Valley High assembly. Talked about the dangers of drugs, how many ODs can be reversed with Narcan, how if you’re in a situation where a friend is unconscious, call 911, the whole nine yards.

After, a girl approached me and said she was friends with Elijah.

Emphatic that he didn’t do drugs. They studied together every day.

She absolutely believes he was drugged without his knowledge but shared no evidence.

When I tried to explain it only takes once, she stormed off, spouting a few choice words about cops in general, using both middle fingers as emphasis. ”

I could picture it.

“The guidance counselor—Lena Clark—apologized for the kid, said she saw no signs of drug use, but that Elijah was under a lot of pressure to do well. Competing for scholarships, taking a full load of classes, an outside job.”

“Which means?”

“She didn’t want to believe he did drugs, but implied it was possible. She wanted us to investigate further. Lena conceded that if Elijah had used drugs, she felt it was important to know the who and where to make sure it didn’t come back to the campus.”

Not what I wanted to tell his mother, but truth was better than a lie.

“That gives me a place to start,” I said.

“Though fentanyl is a depressant, and if you’re trying to study, you’d be taking a stimulant, right?

Like amphetamines.” I knew about drugs, didn’t do them.

When your dad is a doctor and your mom is a prosecutor, you learn pretty quick that even casual drug use could destroy careers and lives.

Didn’t mean that I was oblivious to what my friends did.

“Sometimes smart kids striving for perfect grades use drugs to alleviate stress,” Josie said. “Uppers to study, downers to sleep. Gracie had a problem in high school.”

Josie didn’t have to remind me. Our cousin Gracie, who was a year younger than us, would have been valedictorian her senior year if she hadn’t spiraled into drug use.

She ended up postponing college for a year and going through rehab, but it took a family intervention.

Now she’s married and runs her own small business.

If someone really doesn’t want to get clean, you can’t force them.

Josie continued. “I put the information I learned from Elijah’s friends and the guidance counselor as a follow-up to the original police report, then emailed King about what I added and asked her when the final toxicology report would be available.”

“Which would tell you if he was a habitual user.”

“Exactly. Some drugs pass through the system quickly, and if he was an occasional user, they wouldn’t be in the initial screening—which showed only fentanyl. Anyway,” Josie continued, “King wasn’t happy with me. She threatened to have me suspended.”

“What the hell? Because you asked for information? Bitch.” I had never met King, but now I didn’t like her.

“I went to the funeral on Friday when I heard it was at St.Dominick’s.

Offered my condolences to the family. Talked to Lena again, who was there with another teacher.

The girl was also there, but left before I could talk to her.

Lena was upset about the disposition of the case, and I told her that squeaky wheels get the grease. ”

“Oh.” Meaning, Josie couldn’t put pressure on the detective, but the school could. Yep, that would piss off the detective , I thought.

“Apparently, Lena called the detective and asked why the case was closed, said I was the one who told her. According to my boss, she used some colorful and insulting language. She’s a spitfire, as Pop would say.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she said something to make it seem like King or the police didn’t care.

That’s probably why King is mad at me. My boss told King not to threaten me—he’ll always back us up— but he told me to let it go.

If I found something in the course of my regular duties, he’d run it up the chain. So don’t think he’s a jerk.”

“I don’t. He’s protecting you.”

“Exactly. I’ll help you any way I can, unofficially. But if you uncover anything actionable, I’ll take it to my boss and he will follow-up.”

Police rules, procedures, and office politics were three big reasons I never wanted to be a cop. “Do you remember the name of the girl who flipped you off?” I asked.

“No, and I didn’t put her name in the report either.” She thought, then shook her head. “I heard it, but didn’t write it down. I have Lena’s contact information.”

Josie pulled up her phone and scrolled through. Tapped a couple buttons and said, “Just sent.”

“Thanks. I’ll follow up with her first. Was the girl named Angie Williams?”

Angie was the only girl Alina Martinez mentioned as a friend of Elijah’s.

“Angie sounds right, but I can’t swear to it.”

“What’s your theory?” I asked. Cops had good instincts, but they also saw a lot of crap, which could make them jaded.

“I don’t know,” Josie admitted. “Let’s say King is right and the drug overdose was accidental.

Where did he get the drugs? Who was with him?

How did he get to the park more than two miles from his home when he doesn’t have a car?

Where was he before he died? All we know is he worked that afternoon, left at approximately eight that evening, and OD’d in the park between one and three in the morning.

That’s at least five hours where King has no idea where he was, who he was with.

So yeah—I think we should find answers for the family, but Detective King closed the case because there was no sign of foul play. ”

“That’s messed up,” I said.

“She could have passed it to the DEB, but she didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” The inspeak was a bit over my head, but I knew DEB was the Drug Enforcement Bureau and I surmised they generally worked drug-related crimes.

“Like I said, no sign of foul play. And besides, they’re also understaffed. Still,” Josie added, “DEB is better positioned to determine if Elijah’s death fits into a pattern. They could launch a larger investigation.”

That doesn’t help Elijah’s mom , I thought.

“If I find something, can you get it to the DEB without getting slapped?” I asked.

“No problem,” she said without hesitation. “Like I said, my boss has my back. I just need something tangible—a witness, catch someone in a lie, even a rumor, if it’s something we can follow up on. If you have a suspicion about where Elijah got the drugs, I’ll get it to the right people.”

“That helps,” I said. “I don’t want you getting in trouble, but if you can send me a copy of the police report that would be great.”

“I’ll swing by the Desert Horizon station and email it to you.”

“But I’m supposed to fill out forms and get the report weeks later, right?” Police reports were public information, but there was a bureaucratic process I usually had to use.

“I’ll fill out the form for you. Dot my i ’s and all that, but there’s no reason I can’t give it to you as long as I document that you requested it.”

“It’s nice having friends and family in high places.”

Josie laughed. We chatted, but my mind was only half there. I wanted to talk to the guidance counselor and then to Elijah’s friends. Find out everything they knew... and then retrace Elijah’s steps.

Out of everything Josie told me, those five missing hours seemed to be most important. Where had Elijah gone after leaving work?

Someone saw him. Someone talked to him.

Someone had given or sold him the drugs.

Finding out where Elijah had been during those missing hours would tell me if he OD’d accidentally... or if someone killed him.