AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Trust me, Sophia.”
“I don’t know you. Sergio confessed. There’s nothing anyone can do. Henry said—”
She stopped herself.
“Sophia, I’m going to tell you what I know. Sergio cooperated with the police and he wasn’t a suspect. Then the police had more questions and became suspicious when he wore a hoodie that looked like the shooter’s. The one you gave him for Christmas. They arrested him, tested the hoodie—it had gunshot residue. He confessed. The physical evidence backs up his confession. He’s going to prison unless I can find out who really killed Greg Rodriguez.”
She stared at me, tears again in her eyes. “Sergio didn’t kill anyone.”
“Do you know who did? Any theory, any direction you can point me—I want to find the truth.”
“I can’t.” Her voice was barely audible.
“On Monday, the prosecution is going to offer him a plea deal. It looks like he’s going to accept whatever they offer. He’s looking at twenty to thirty years.”
Her eyes widened in shock, but she didn’t say anything. She also wasn’t looking me in the eye.
“What do you know, Sophia?”
“I don’t know anything. I don’t.”
She was lying, but she was also scared. How could I convince a scared thirteen-year-old girl to trust me?
“Do you know who wore Sergio’s hoodie the weekend of the shooting?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Was it Henry?”
She blinked rapidly and looked terrified, and I thought I’d gone too far, or was way off base. Then I noticed she was looking over my shoulder.
I turned, made a point to stare at the three boys walking down the street toward us. The short one was Henry—I recognized him from the photos in Sergio’s apartment. The other two were the same height, about five foot nine, thin. Together, the three looked like Trouble with a capital T.
And I suspected it was these three who were the gang of thieves.
Except, the shooter was wearing the hoodie, and the shooter was taller than Henry.
“Go,” Sophia said. “Please.”
I opened my car door, but didn’t get in.
“You harassing my sister?” Henry said as they came up to us.
“Just needed directions,” I told him.
The other two glared at me. One looked younger than I first thought, just tall, and I wondered if he was Henry’s age. The other was definitely an older teen—and it was his eyes that told me he was the shooter.
Nothing I could take to court. Nothing I could even take to Andy Flannigan. But I had seen the eyes of a killer before, and it’s not something you forget.
Sophia said to Henry, “I waited for you after school. You can visit, but they can’t.” She was trying to keep her voice calm, but I heard a hitch that made me pause.
“Come on, Sissy, we’ll just hang out on the porch.”
“No,” she said. “You can, they can’t.”
“Whatever,” the oldest of the three boys said. “I’ll catch ya at home, Henry.” He gave Sophia a long, lecherous look. She visibly stepped back, her hands shaking as they grasped the straps of her backpack.
Then the kid looked at me. Sized me up and decided I was no threat.
