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

Duane:

I didn’t—I sent those emails because I was mad at you for getting Leo killed, not because I was actually going to hurt you.

Elle:

Keep talking.

Duane:

That’s all it is, okay? Leo died because he was giving you information on TCK . . . or someone he thought was TCK, I don’t know. All I know is my best friend emailed you about your stupid case, and an hour later he ended up dead. I thought you should face consequences for getting people involved in cases like this, that’s all. I just thought you shouldn’t get away with it.

Elle:

So, you threatened me.

Duane:

I never planned to do anything, I swear. I just thought maybe you’d take things more seriously, stop messing with people’s lives. Now, can you put the gun away?

Elle:

Okay, Duane. Say I believe you, here. I could still press charges. But I’d be willing to let this go if you can stop and think. Think really hard about everything Leo said and did in the last few days before he died. Police say that Luisa’s hair was in his apartment. They think she had something to do with his murder.

Duane:

No, no, that doesn’t make sense. She started seeing this new guy a few months ago, and Leo was pissed about it, but they were cool. She would never hurt him.

Elle:

If she was with someone new, why would she have been in his apartment?

Duane:

I don’t know. He didn’t seem to like her new boyfriend much, but I guess that’s no surprise. I got the feeling he thought the dude was dangerous. He was really high-strung about it, though. Like I think Leo followed him around a little, trying to catch him doing something shady so he could convince Luisa to dump the guy. I don’t know, I kind of wrote it off that he was just jealous.

Elle:

That sounds like something police should know about. Did you tell them?

Duane:

I’m not a snitch. As far as I know, Luisa and the guy were happy. Leo was just being paranoid. He thought everyone was out to get people because of podcasts like yours.

Elle:

Okay, Duane, fine. Do you know where Luisa is now?

Duane:

Her man lives somewhere in Falcon Heights. She’s probably with him.

Elle:

What was that?

Duane:

In Falcon Heights. Some dude her mom used to live across from. Luisa met him when he and her ma got in some fight. Leo already knew the guy; that’s why he got so mad about Luisa dating him. I think he met him at work or something.

Elle:

Work? At Mitchell University?

Duane:

Yeah, he was a janitor there. I guess her boyfriend was some professor. Now, will you fucking leave me alone? I could report you for threatening me, you know. Pointing a gun at someone is assault.

Elle:

Go ahead, Duane. I’m sure the police would love to have you visit the station again, make a statement.

Duane:

Fuck you. Get out of my apartment.

Elle:

You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.

41

Elle

January 20, 2020

When Elle got home from Duane’s, the house was eerily silent. It was after two in the morning. An officer sat in his marked car outside, watching, as Ayaan had promised. Even though she didn’t really feel that her life was in danger, she was grateful for his presence.

As soon as she was inside, she turned up the thermostat and unwound the scarf from her neck. Unbuttoning her coat, she stared at herself in the hallway mirror. Deep shadows under her eyes gave away how little she had been sleeping.

“You’re home.” Martín stood at the top of the stairs, wavy hair rumpled from a day of stressed-out fingers running through it.

She grasped the banister, looking up at him. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep without you home.” He walked down the stairs until he was standing just above her, his warm hand on top of hers. “What did Ayaan say?”

Elle sighed, fighting back a wave of exhaustion. “It’s a long story. She doesn’t believe me, but I’m not so sure it’s Duane now, anyway.”

Martín sat down on the step so they were eye to eye. He reached out and caressed her cheek, thumb brushing across the bags under her eyes. “Why do you think it’s not Duane?”

She closed her eyes, knowing he would see the lie in them otherwise. She didn’t have the energy to explain her reasoning behind going to Duane’s apartment alone, gun or not. It would turn into an argument about her being impulsive again, which she probably deserved, but she didn’t have time. “Just a hunch. Go to bed, Martín. I promise I’ll come once I have what I need.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze probing her for the truth. Then he said, “If it helps, I finally got ahold of Ms. Turner this evening. Or her daughter, actually. Apparently, she was rushed to the hospital after suffering a heart attack about an hour before Natalie’s piano lesson was supposed to happen. An anonymous caller phoned 911 and gave them her address, but she was alone when the paramedics arrived.”

Elle’s knees felt like they’d give out any second. She clutched the banister more tightly. “Will she be okay?”

“Her daughter thinks so. She didn’t have any known heart issues, so it came as a surprise.”

“Do you . . . do you think she was dosed with something?”

He rubbed his chin for a moment before sliding his hand around to the back of his neck, staring at something over her shoulder.

“You’re the one who said he might have set it up, that he would have to have known she was going to walk home alone. Well, maybe that’s how he knew. He made sure of it.” Elle rubbed her eyes.

“Possibly.” Martín watched her movements, looking concerned. “You need sleep, amor.”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight,” she said. “I’ve got some research to do.”

He let out a long gust of air before clapping his hands on his knees and standing. “Okay. I know better than to argue. Just please . . . please let me know if you need help.”

She looked up at