“Well, it’s in the hands of the police now,” Audrey said. “Looks like you can turn in your private detective license, Dylan.”
“No hundred grand either,” added Randy.
But I’m like, “That’s okay, I don’t care. I owe Beto.”
“But what can you do?” Audrey asked.
“I don’t know. I’m still thinking.”
We all picked up our glasses and took sips. That Thai iced tea was delicious.
“So,” Randy said, looking at Audrey. “On a different topic—have you and Trix done the nasty yet?”
Audrey’s mouth dropped open, but Trix just calmly goes, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yeah,” Randy said. “As a matter of fact, I would. It’s just natural curiosity.”
Then Audrey’s like, “You’re such an ass, Randy. I ought to punch you right in the mouth.”
In response, Randy ripped a fart worthy of a crosstown cabdriver.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I have an idea. We could pay a visit to Beto’s grandma, maybe see if she knows of an alibi for him. After all, wouldn’t it be more fun to see Tres or Nash go down for this thing than a guy like Beto?”
Audrey’s like, “Give it a break, Andromeda Man.”
But I wasn’t about to let it go. “Think about it. I can’t buy it that Beto had any kind of motive to kidnap Ashton—there wasn’t even a ransom—but like Rowan said, Tres had plenty of reasons to get rid of his sister, mainly that she got all the attention.”
“There’s one problem with that,” Trix said. “He didn’t really get rid of her, and now she’s getting more attention than ever.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s look at Nash. He used to date her, and maybe their breakup didn’t go as friendly as he makes out. He’s probably had a grudge against her this whole time. Taking her would’ve given him all sorts of leverage at Gangland. And he definitely has a motive for setting up Beto to take the blame after Beto knocked him on his butt. Maybe he took her and said he’d kill her whole family if she tried to get away or rat him out.”
“I don’t see it,” Trix said. “Sure, Nash is evil, but he’s not cartoon-villain evil. Besides, where would your friend Hector Maldonado come into this?”
“He just got in the way. And if Nash knew she started dating Hector—this Hispanic dude whose dad’s just a tile layer instead of a millionaire—that might’ve been too much for such an egomaniac.”
“Come on,” Audrey said. “Face it. The case is over. I know you wanted to solve it and get the reward and be a big deal and everything, but really there never was much of a chance of that happening. Just be happy with what you got—some good articles for the school paper. Now it’s time to move on.”
“Yeah,” Randy said. “I don’t see the point if there’s not going to be any reward.”
“But Beto didn’t do this,” I insisted. “I know him. He couldn’t have done it.”
“Do you?” Trix asked. “Do you really know him? You thought you knew Nash too, but look how that turned out.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Maybe you couldn’t ever really know anyone, not deep down. Not what they were truly capable of.
“So that’s it, huh?” I said. “It’s all over?”
Audrey patted my arm. “Sorry,” she said.
CHAPTER 41
The case wasn’t the only thing that was over. It looked like my series of articles on Ashton was finished too. With all the news coverage everywhere you looked, what did I have to add? That is, unless I took a whole new direction and wrote about how Beto couldn’t have really had anything to do with the kidnapping.
That idea excited me. I could go on a crusade. Save an innocent man. Up to now my motives for doing all this investigating weren’t so stellar. Audrey was right—I wanted the reward, the fame, the mojo. I wanted to stop being Body Bag. I wanted a future where I wouldn’t be just a speck of plankton whirling in the ocean. I never would’ve done anything to find out what really happened to Hector Maldonado because there wasn’t anything like that in it for me. I could change that now, though.
The problem was, sitting in front of the computer, I knew I didn’t have any real proof. I met Beto at Hector’s funeral, then again at their grandmother’s house, then again at Gangland, where he could’ve beat the hell out of me but didn’t. None of that would get him off. In fact, the cops might even use it against him. No, I’d have to find out more about Beto before I could write anything that would help him.
Tattoo-head Oscar might be a good candidate to talk to, but I didn’t know how to get hold of him or even what his and Beto’s exact relationship was. Were they friends? Cousins? Brothers? I decided to call Beto’s phone in case maybe his family had possession of it now, but nobody picked up. The phone was probably ringing and ringing somewhere in the police station where the cops stashed it along with everything else they had Beto empty from his pockets before throwing him in a cell.
All stalled out, I was sitting aimlessly looking over the different numbers I had stored in my phone when one jumped out at me—the number for Franklin Smiley. As Mr. Browning’s private detective, he would no doubt want to make sure the police had the right guy—unless, of course, he was part of the conspiracy to put the blame on Beto. Even then, I might find out something useful by talking to him. Or I could also get myself into a whole lot of hot water.