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

“By the registrar’s office. Same floor, down the hall and to the left.”

She speed-walked back down the hall, hoping Sam wouldn’t ask him too many questions before she got there. She was the reason they even found out about Eduardo. She didn’t want to miss a single thing he had to say.

She shouldn’t have worried. When she found them, Eduardo was leaning back against the wall, large arms folded across his sculpted chest, jaw clenched in a silent refusal to talk. Eduardo had put on at least fifty pounds of muscle since his social media profile picture was taken, and he had a fresh cross tattoo on his left forearm. No wonder he’d been trying to get straight. Must have found Jesus.

“Hi, Eduardo,” she said, her heart racing—from the rush down the hall or the excitement of talking to a possible witness, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think he was Amanda’s kidnapper, but he was the closest thing she’d had to a suspect since they let Graham Wallace go. “My name is Elle Castillo. I’m an investigative—”

“I know who you are,” he said, his deep voice annoyed. “This guy already told me. Why are you here, ambushing me at work? What did I do?”

“I’m really sorry, but Sam did try to call you several times.” She put on a what-a-bummer expression. “I’m sure you just haven’t had time to check your messages. I totally get that. I hate having to interrupt people at their jobs, but unfortunately, we just couldn’t wait any more.”

Eduardo looked at his cart full of cleaning supplies. “I’m supposed to be working, here. We’re shorthanded right now, so I’m already killing myself to get everything done on time.”

“Of course! Actually, since you mentioned it, can I ask you about that? I understand that you knew a guy who worked here until recently. Leo Toca. And possibly his friend Duane Grove. Do those names ring a bell?”

Understanding flicked on in Eduardo’s eyes like a switch. For a second, she thought he might run, but instead he just slid down the wall until he slumped in a heap on the floor, his face buried in his knees. “I knew this wouldn’t work. I knew it was pointless to try.”

Sam knelt next to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “It’s never pointless to try to do the right thing. We know about the van you brought to Duane’s shop a couple nights ago, a blue Dodge Ram 1500. Can we ask where you got it?”

Eduardo lifted his head. His green eyes were tinged with red, but there were no tears. He just looked exhausted. “I’m not saying anything else. Arrest me, if that’s what you’re going to do.”

Like Sam, Elle got down on his level, but instead of kneeling, she sat cross-legged in front of him, like they were at a summer camp trading stories by the fire. “Where did you get the van, Eduardo? It’s really important you tell us the truth.”

He didn’t flinch, keeping his lips pursed shut and his eyes focused at some spot on the floor.

“See, the reason it’s important you tell us the truth is that the van was used to kidnap a little girl four days ago.”

His eyes snapped up to hers, wide with fear. “What?”

“That’s right,” Sam said. “Amanda Jordan. She’s eleven years old. She was taken from her bus stop on Tuesday morning by a man driving a dark blue Dodge Ram 1500.”

Energy seemed to return to Eduardo in an instant. He pushed himself up to stand and pointed his finger at Sam. “I didn’t kidnap a little girl. I’m no pervert!”

“So, tell us who did take her, Eduardo. If it wasn’t you. Where did you get the van from? Did you steal it?” Sam asked.

Eduardo shook his head. “Someone gave it to me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know his name. He . . . he came up to me when I was walking out to the parking lot after work.”

“What did he look like?” Elle asked.

Eduardo gestured around his head. “He was all wrapped up in a big coat, hat—you know, the kind with fur on the inside and those flaps that go over the ears—and a scarf. I couldn’t really see his face. He was white . . . maybe fifty or something? About my height. He gave me a set of keys and said he’d pay me two thousand dollars to get rid of the van. Said he knew I had connections to a local chop shop. I don’t know how he knew that. I only knew about it because of Leo.” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head as he looked up at the ceiling. “I thought, two thousand bucks. If I can get that, plus the money I knew my guy would give me for the vehicle, I could pay off my credit card and be out of the game for good. Live aboveboard, pay my taxes, raise my kids. All the stuff I’m supposed to do, the right way.”

Elle looked over at Sam, expecting his expression to be unimpressed, but instead he looked like he felt sorry for the guy. She kind of did, too.

“And you’d never seen him before?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Elle opened her photos to get the sketch that Danika helped the police artist put together. She held it out to Eduardo. “Did he look like this at all?”

Eduardo took the phone and squinted at it for a moment. “It’s . . . it’s hard to tell. Like I said, he was all bundled up. But maybe. The nose—the nose looks kind of right.” He handed it back to her.

“This guy came up to you in the parking lot . . . here? Outside this building?” she asked.

“No,” Eduardo said. He pointed down the hall through double doors leading outside. “Two over, Building J. That’s the physics building. They have a small lot out back, maybe thirty spots or