Page 63 of Don’t Say a Word (Angelhart Investigations #2)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Margo Angelhart

I didn’t know how I got stuck with the fed in my Jeep, but at least he didn’t complain about my driving as I floored it all the way up Central and prayed that I didn’t get pulled over.

I didn’t drive down Hatcher, but turned up the side street from Dunlap and parked in front of Edith’s home.

Two patrol cars were in the Cactus Stop parking lot, blue and red lights going around and around.

Edith was on her porch. Cal and I approached her.

“Edith, are you okay?” I asked.

“I was sitting out here smoking like I do. And—oh, Lordy.”

I reached out for her. She was shaking.

“You need to sit.”

Edith sat in her chair and lit a cigarette. “Three men. Masks. I called you when I saw them because you were asking about odd things, and this was odd. I thought they were being robbed. I was on the phone with 911 when I heard gunfire. So many shots. I lost count.”

“Are you okay?” I asked again.

She nodded. “Go. Find out. So much violence,” she whispered.

I looked at Cal. He had pulled his badge out and put it around his neck. “You with me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

Jack and Hitch pulled up behind my Jeep and the four of us walked over to the parking lot. Immediately, an officer tried to stop us, then he recognized Hitch.

“Detective, we haven’t even called it in.”

“I heard on the wire. This is one of my cases. What happened?”

I was beginning to like Hitch. He certainly commanded authority.

“We just got here, cleared the place. Three bodies, all deceased.”

Hitch nodded to Cal, and they both went inside, leaving Jack and me just inside the crime scene tape.

“They’re cleaning house,” I said to Jack.

“It could be a robbery.”

“You don’t believe that. Not after tonight.

” I thought back. Lena Clark was asking questions—then she was murdered.

Dwight Parsons wanted to talk to me—then he was murdered.

I told Manny Ramos what I thought Desi Jimenez was doing—and now she was likely dead.

It was Friday, her regular night. Cleaning house because he feared she’d talk?

Once he launched the audit— no , I thought.

Once the police investigated, she would talk.

John Brighton wasn’t the man in charge. He wasn’t even at the house tonight. Ramos called the shots. He may have called his nephew to clean up the problem. Brighton may have pulled the trigger.

But I knew in my heart and my head that Manny Ramos ordered these murders.

Maybe Desi didn’t know her brother had been killed, maybe she did. Maybe she knew Ramos was in charge, maybe she didn’t. But Manny Ramos wouldn’t want his favored nephew, the boy he raised as his own, to go to prison.

“Manny fucking Ramos is running the whole thing,” I said. “I told him about Desi. Either he ordered this hit, or he told Brighton who ordered the hit. He’s dirty.”

Jack didn’t say anything.

“I know, I know, we can’t prove it—yet.”

Cal came out. “Hitch is talking to the cops. Three bodies. One woman, two men. A bloody mess. The woman is Desi Jimenez. One of the men is a customer, in a janitor’s outfit, shot and killed next to the beer cooler.

The other guy I don’t know, his head was near blown off.

The back door was open and there’s evidence one of the gunmen ran out that way.

Maybe someone got away, or he was clearing the alley, I don’t know.

Cameras, destroyed. Cash register, busted. It wasn’t a robbery—it was a hit.”

My phone vibrated.

I glanced down, not intending to answer anyone this late, when I saw the message.

They used Benny’s phone to set me up. I ran. Help.

I immediately hit Call and headed toward my car. “Angie, where are you?”

She was sobbing and panting, clearly out of breath. “I—I—I’m running. The canal trail. They followed me, but I lost them. I think. I don’t want to die!”

“I’m coming for you. Where?”

“I—I passed. Nineteenth. I’m stupid!”

“Listen, Angie—listen to me. Take the path up to Twenty-Fifth, near Rose Mofford Park. I’ll be there. I’m coming.”

I got into my car and Cal climbed into the passenger seat.

“Out,” I said as I turned the ignition.

“Backup.”

I looked out the window at Jack as if to say, Why aren’t you coming? But he just motioned me to leave.

“Well, shit,” I said and made a U-turn since the police had blocked off Hatcher.

“Trust me,” Cal said.

“Like hell,” I said. “You were stalking me.”

“Not stalking. That’s a crime. I was following you in the course of a legitimate investigation. Is this the Angie you told me about?”

“Yes. I told her to stay away from here.”

I wove through the neighborhood until I hit Seventh Avenue, then turned west on Dunlap and floored it until I hit Twenty-Fifth, turned north too fast, my tires squealing as we crossed over the canal.

There was a jogging trail along the north side of the canal.

I didn’t see Angie, so parked the car and jumped out.

I heard a gunshot from down in the canal and ran toward it. Cal was right behind me. Then he passed me. I sped up.

I saw a body lying on the path and wanted to scream.

“Freeze! Federal Agent!” Cal shouted and that was when I saw a man in black running toward the fallen figure, his gun raised to fire.

The shooter turned his gun toward us, and Cal fired with a calm, cool efficiency that I didn’t have time to admire.

The shooter went down, and Cal ran over to him, fifty yards down the path, as I knelt next to Angie.

“Angie, talk to me! Are you hit? Are you hurt?”

Angie sat up and started crying. She clung to me tightly, tears streaming down her face, her body convulsing.

“Are you bleeding?” I asked as I held her.

“N-n-n-o. I fell. My ankle. B-broke. I thought—oh, God, Benny.”

“Benny wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the Cactus Stop.”

“He texted me, told me to meet him there, but he wasn’t there. I don’t know why! He said he didn’t text me.” Her hands were shaking as she handed me her phone. I read the exchange between her and Benny.

“They spoofed his phone or used a VPN.” I sounded smart, but I wasn’t. It was something I heard Luisa talking about.

I sat with Angie, her head buried in my lap, and watched Cal handcuff the suspect, who looked dead to me.

But I guess it was protocol to restrain dead guys.

Cal got on his phone, walked back over to me.

He ended the call and said, “Police are on their way. You okay?” he said to Angie, but was looking at me.

“She doesn’t appear to be hit.”

“I looked over my shoulder,” Angie said. She was still shaking, but her voice was calmer. “When I saw him, I tripped and fell and my ankle snapped. Then I heard the gun and I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Your broken ankle saved your life,” I said. “Angie, you should have called me when Benny texted you.”

“I’m sorry.”

I handed her phone to Cal. “Someone spoofed Benny’s phone to lure Angie to the Cactus Stop,” I told him.

I caught Cal’s eye. His face had hardened, but when he squatted and spoke to Angie, his voice was kind. “You’re a tough kid. I hope you’ll let me sign your cast.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Smart kid too,” I said.

“I’m DEA Agent Cal Rafferty. And I think you know something that will send all of these people to prison.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You do. Otherwise, they wouldn’t want to kill you.”

I frowned at him. “Kick the puppy while she’s down,” I muttered. But I did appreciate his bluntness. It’s what I would have said, if I hadn’t thought she’d been shot. My heart was still racing.

I nodded toward the shooter. “Dead?”

“Unfortunately,” he said.

“Sorry—probably a headache for you.”

“That, but mostly, dead men don’t talk.”

“I don’t know anything,” Angie insisted.

“Well, how about if you go to the hospital, get that ankle looked at, and we can have a chat. See what you think you don’t know.”

“Only if Margo’s there,” Angie said. Then she looked at me and seemed so small. “Please?”

“I’ll be there,” I said.