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“From what I’ve heard, three kids are responsible for the earlier robberies. No weapons. Ran if confronted. Vandalism and petty theft. Completely different M.O. from the Cactus Stop homicide.”
“What if I told you I think they are the same three people.”
“The police have the killer in custody.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Margo, he confessed.”
“Can you find out if any of those other robberies have been printed?”
He stared at me for a long minute, then turned to his computer and typed. “Yes, there were prints taken from three of the crime scenes that could be from the suspects. None matched any active cases.”
“If I get you prints, can you run them?”
“No. You need to go through Detective Villines. However much I might want to, I can’t do it for you.”
I understood his restrictions, I just didn’t like them.
How could I get Henry, Javier, and Bruno’s prints? Maybe if one of the robbery victims identified them, Villines would have cause.
“Are you working for one of the victims?” Nico asked.
“Sort of,” I said. “One of Millie’s friends was a victim.” I wasn’t working for Julia Henderson, but Nico didn’t have to know that.
“So you’re not making any money. You’re a softie.”
“Bite your tongue, little brother,” I said.
He smiled. “Margo the Marshmallow.”
I laughed. “Anything else interesting?”
“I didn’t know PIs were ambulance chasers.”
“Wow, two insults in a row. Now you’re just being mean.” I got up, needing to work through some ideas. “I’ll reach out to Villines.” Again. “Thanks for the info. It helps.”
Nico walked me to the elevator and punched the first floor. “See you Sunday at dinner,” he said as the doors closed between us.
I drove toward the middle school but realized I wouldn’t be able to check out the yearbooks. I would rather have a physical copy to show Julia, though as a last resort pictures might work.
I took a chance and turned to go to Sophia’s house. Maybe I could sweet-talk Mrs. Edgar into letting me see old yearbooks. I wondered if she would have them going back a few years.
After I knocked, I sensed I was being watched though I didn’t see anyone. Through the door, an adult female asked, “Are you a solicitor?”
“No, ma’am. Margo Angelhart, private investigator. I have a couple questions.”
She opened the door. “I’m Evelyn Edgar. Sophia told me you spoke with her. She is a minor.”
It wasn’t a crime, but I thought if I was snippy she might not talk to me. Evelyn Edgar was middle-aged, thin and graying, dressed in practical slacks and a thin sweater.
“Yes, ma’am. Evelyn? I’m trying to help Sophia’s brother Sergio, and I think Sophia also needs help.”
She was hesitant to let me in, but finally opened the door. She locked and bolted it behind me.
“Did something happen?” I asked as she peered out the window, looking up and down the street, her brow furrowed in concern.
“I kept Sophia out of school today. We called the police yesterday afternoon and gave a report. They said they’d send an officer out but no one has come yet.”
