Girl, 11 by Amy Clarke (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Elle wasn’t holding her breath that they would hear back. Eduardo was supposed to start his shift at six that evening, so they agreed to kill a few hours until they could pay him a visit.

Rather than driving across town to get back to the station, Elle suggested they set up shop in a diner while they waited. She was relieved when Sam agreed, although Ayaan could call him at any moment to check in and realize what Elle was doing. Once they settled in a booth with two black coffees, Sam pulled his laptop out and started looking into Eduardo’s background—low-level criminal record, mostly petty crimes and a few misdemeanor robberies—but he’d avoided trouble for the last six months, at least.

After a while, Sam pushed his stuff to the side and they ordered an early dinner. Grief and guilt turned Elle’s stomach when she thought about Natalie, but she picked at her sandwich anyway. It was the first thing she’d eaten since the day before.

She was halfway through her food when Sam set his fork down, spine straightening. “Leo Toca was a janitor at Mitchell University.”

“Wha—?” Elle asked around a mouthful of turkey club.

“Leo Toca. I knew there was a reason that job sounded familiar. He and Eduardo must have worked together.”

Elle wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin and picked up her phone. “That’s right, I remember seeing that when I was looking at Leo’s social media.” She went to his profile, turning the screen to show Sam. “He and Eduardo are Facebook friends.”

“Maybe that’s why Eduardo knew to bring the van to Duane’s shop.”

“Maybe.” Elle studied his profile picture—a young Latino man with a soft smile and glittering brown eyes, laughing at the camera with one hand out, like he was trying to stop the photographer from capturing the moment.

Sam took a long drink of coffee. “So, you think Eduardo is the guy who took Amanda?”

Elle shook her head. “He doesn’t fit the description, if he looks anything like his Facebook photo. If nothing else, Danika said the man was pale, and Eduardo has medium-brown skin. And it doesn’t look like he’s bald. But if that van he brought in was used to abduct Amanda, then he has to know something about it. And if he knows Leo, maybe he has information on who might have killed him.”

“Even more reason to visit him, then,” Sam said, shoving the last bite of food in his mouth.

“Definitely.” Elle stared out the window, trying to think about what the connection between the two cases might mean. It wasn’t just a possible tie between Amanda’s kidnapping and the chop shop—Leo himself might have known the guy who brought the van in. But he was already dead before Amanda was kidnapped. As much as she hated coincidences, this might just be one.

She tried to focus, make the pieces form together in her head, but something kept bothering her. Finally, she asked, “Hey, Sam? What made you change your mind? About me?”

His full lips pursed in thought, and then one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. “I listened to your podcast.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Even though she had thousands of listeners, it embarrassed her to know that this detective was one of them. It felt intimate.

“You have good instincts. You ask good questions. And it seems like you actually are helping people. Ayaan is the best commander in the precinct. Don’t tell my commander I said that. But if she trusts you, then I guess I trust you too.”

Shame heated Elle’s face and snatched the breath from her chest. After a moment, all she could mumble was, “Thanks.” His respect felt good, but it wouldn’t last. Soon enough, he would find out that Ayaan had kicked her off the case. He would know she lied, even if it was just a lie of omission, and he would look back on this moment as a betrayal.

Unless . . . unless they could come up with a lead big enough to make it all worth it. She was the one who had realized the van was headed for Duane’s shop, after all.

After the darkness descended outside, they got back in Sam’s vehicle and drove toward Mitchell. Red brake lights lit up Elle’s face as cars inched by, threading through the city streets. People passed them on the sidewalks, hustling in tight, quick strides with their coats zipped to the throat. A horn beeped, and the sound of a young woman’s laughter pierced the night. Elle glanced down the block at a line of young people waiting for a theater to open its doors, no doubt after rush seats for the seven o’clock show. Even on the coldest weekends, Minneapolis had an active night life. It was impossible not to think about Beverly Anderson, leaving her friends behind on a night like this twenty-four years ago. The man responsible for ending her life was still free.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot abutting a stately brick building and got out of the car.

“The woman I talked to in security said the janitor would be cleaning in the administration building tonight. Apparently, there was some big conference today.” Sam led her through the unlocked main doors. “How about we split up? Call me if you find him, and I’ll do the same.” They exchanged cell numbers, and then they each picked a direction and started off.

The halls looked like Elle’s old university. Beige walls occasionally hung with mismatched artwork and poetry created by students. Message boards covered with flyers calling for roommates or experiment volunteers or new members for the Christian union, tabs of paper with phone numbers and web addresses hanging off like confetti. Closed, dark blue office doors with a large square of glass that allowed you to see the rooms lit only by computer monitors inside.

It was creepy being in a university after hours, when all the buzz and life of students was gone.

Her