Lisa Gardner - Before She Disappeared

He nods miserably.

“I need you to tell me where I can find Deke.”

“Oh, I’ll find him—”

“No, no, no. We need him alive. I have questions only he can answer. For your sister’s sake, no killing your half brother. Promise me, J.J.”

“Livia’s dead,” he says. And I can tell from the look on his face that it’s the first time he’s spoken the words out loud. The permanence of them is like a knife, slashing across his face. What it leaves behind . . . Even I have to look away.

I smooth my hand one last time across J.J.’s shoulder, then pull back. I’m sorry for his loss. All these years later, I’m sorry for my loss, too.

“Your sister loved Angelique Badeau. Whatever happened this past year, they were in it together. I know it. We find Angelique, we discover who killed your sister. We do right by both of them. Okay? So Deke. Where can I find him?”

J.J. doesn’t answer right away. Finally, he takes a deep breath. Straightens up. Returns the gun to the waistband of his jeans.

He picks up my phone from where it dropped on the ground, flipping it open. His fingers fly across the tiny keys. Then he folds it closed, hands it back to me.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “When the time comes, I’ll find you.”

I feel like I have my breathing relatively under control by the time I dial Lotham, but I must not be as good as I think because in a matter of seconds:

“What’s wrong? Where are you? Is it the guy in the tracksuit?”

“The guy in the tracksuit has a name. Deke. He’s Livia and Johnson Samdi’s older half brother.”

“What?”

“I ran into J.J.”

“What?”

“This would go faster if you’d stop interrupting.”

“Are you okay? Tell me that much.”

“I’m fine. I visited the rec center. Now I’m walking home having made some progress.” I’m not walking home, but I don’t feel like telling Lotham that particular detail. “From the top?”

“Christ,” Lotham says. He sounds exhausted. “From the top.”

“Roseline Samdi has an older son named Deke by another man. Apparently, Deke has been in prison for armed robbery, but he’s clearly out now, and he’s the one who was watching Livia at the rec center.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. According to J.J., his own mother would have nothing to do with Deke, he’s such a cold bastard. But get this. Shortly after Deke went to prison, young J.J. stumbled upon a shoe box filled with counterfeit hundreds. He was working his way through spending them all when he got caught passing forgeries. After that, he tucked the rest away, where I’m guessing Livia discovered them years later.”

“Older brother Deke had a stash of counterfeit hundreds?”

“Apparently he was an aspirational criminal. Wanted to get into the big leagues. Armed robbery was a means to buy his way into another, larger criminal enterprise that offered better career advancement.”

Lotham doesn’t talk right away. It’s a lot to take in, so I don’t blame him.

“You think Deke knew his half siblings were peddling his pre-prison counterfeit stash?”

“I don’t know. Deke is clearly out now and had some kind of interaction with Livia. Livia had clearly discovered the counterfeit bills and passed them along to Angelique. Which leaves us with? Half brother and sister comparing notes on forgeries, bigger criminal enterprises, future career opportunities? Hell if I know. But Marjolie links Livia to Deke, and according to J.J., anything involving Deke is bad news.”

“You got a last name?” Lotham asks.

“I didn’t think to ask that,” I admit.

“Can’t be too hard to track down. One paroled armed robber named Deke. Vice or gang taskforce probably has him on file.”

“But wait, there’s more.”

Another silence. This one radiates tension. As if Lotham is angry at me. Which gets me huffy, because what does he have to be pissed off about? I’m the one doing all the work here.

“Go ahead,” he says at last, and there’s definitely a cool edge to his voice. Big bad Boston cop frustrated that the civilian is making all the cool discoveries? Fuck him, I think. But my feelings are hurt.

“I went to the rec center,” I hear myself say, “to talk with the director again. Turns out, in addition to the summer program, the center offers after-school activities. Including a class in computer design taught by none other than Mr. Riddenscail. Who wrote a grant gifting the center with twelve computers and one 3D printer.”

Lotham manages not to exclaim what this time, but I can tell he’s thinking it.

“Livia Samdi was in that class,” he states.

“Yep.”

“Angelique?”

“I didn’t ask. Livia’s attendance is grounds enough for a warrant, right? I mean, she goes missing, then turns up dead. Surely some judge somewhere will grant you access to the rec center’s computers.”

“I think I can manage that much.”

“Don’t hurt anything.” Now I’m the edgy one.

“I looked up Paul,” Lotham says abruptly. “I found the case, Frankie. I know what happened.”

I don’t say anything. It’s not a question and doesn’t deserve an answer. Besides, it’s none of his business. It’s no one’s business but mine and Paul’s. And yet all these years later, ten long years later, I can feel my throat closing up and my eyes starting to sting.

I think of J.J. and his feral grief. I know exactly how he feels.

“What are you doing?” Lotham asks me quietly. “Between you and me, Frankie. What are you doing here?”

“Finding Angelique Badeau.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“And if you get yourself killed in the process? Is that what you want? You don’t have the courage to do it yourself, so you’ll just keeping chasing this madness till someone does it for you?”

“Fuck you.” But there’s no heat behind the words. He’s not saying anything I haven’t wondered myself. “Don’t you have a murder to investigate?”

“As I believe you told me once, I can multitask.”

“Then what do you have to show for the morning, because I just gave you plenty.”

“I have bags of trace evidence and piles of security feeds to watch. I can tell you a plain white van pulled into Franklin Park shortly after midnight. I know the license plate was smeared with mud to obscure the numbers. I can tell you the driver’s face is hard to make out, but height and profile is about right to be a tall, skinny Black male. I can also tell you, there was a passenger in the van. She was wearing a ball cap.”

“Deke and Angelique,” I murmur. But then I catch myself. “Except it can’t be Deke, because he was standing outside my window last night.”

“According to the time stamp on the video . . . You’re probably right, it’s not Deke.”

Which leaves me as confused as Lotham feels. Clearly there were other players involved, who’d kidnapped Angelique and Livia, who most likely took turns watching over the girls. But again, who and why? What the hell had Angelique and Livia gotten themselves into that involved both of them missing for nearly a year, not to mention a college in Western Mass?

“I have to go,” I tell Lotham.

“I need to know you’re being careful, Frankie. No chasing down this Deke. Meeting with J.J. Samdi was risky enough.”

“I’m not looking for Deke,” I say, thinking, no need. J.J.’s got it covered.

“Will you please talk to me?”

“No. This is my life, my choices. Manage your own.”

I click off the phone. I honestly don’t want to hear it. I’m well aware of my strengths, and I’m well aware of my weaknesses. And I’ve designed a lifestyle that fits both accordingly.