Lisa Gardner - Before She Disappeared

Right now, that lifestyle involves locating Angelique Badeau.

I don’t have a time machine. There’s nothing I can do that will ever change what happened ten years ago. No amount of handwashing that erases the blood, no amount of repenting that eases the guilt. I screwed up. Paul died. It is both that simple and that haunting.

And now? Now my life is about helping others, serving victims.

I already failed Livia Samdi. Meaning now, more than ever, I need to get this right.

Angelique Badeau, here I come.

I take a taxi to Livia’s school. I don’t have the time or energy to figure out the maze of buses it takes to get from here to there. Class is in session when I talk my way through the front doors and head to Mr. Riddenscail’s room. I let myself in, standing in the back. He’s not lecturing, but drifting from workstation to workstation, checking each student’s designs, offering comments here and there. He spots me immediately, pausing as he inspects a male student’s drawing on the computer monitor. His guilty conscience? Does he already know why I’m here or at least suspect he couldn’t get away with it forever?

I’m not the police, but I don’t need to be. I want answers. After that, Lotham can have at him.

I wait. Riddenscail continues to focus on his class. Twelve computers, I note now. The same number as at the rec center. This is where it started, I think. Whatever it is that got Livia and Angelique in so much trouble. The idea to design their own fake IDs? If a jerk like DommyJ could do it, why not them? Livia would be the design team, Angelique marketing. Both had the brains to think bigger, better. Livia would knock off near-perfect fakes. Angelique would sell them. Given the number of underage college kids in Boston looking to join Marjolie’s club-hopping and pub-crawling ways . . . That would certainly explain the amount of cash in Angelique’s lamp, while Livia would’ve contributed the counterfeit hundreds from her own household.

Had they thought if they mixed the fake Franklins with real bills it would improve their chances of being able to spend the money?

Which is where I started to get lost again. Why the college pics? No way two teenagers ran off to attend a college under an alias. Let alone, why would Angelique have dressed up as Livia to do so, and why would Livia appear so terrified?

Then there was Livia’s meeting with her long-lost half brother. Not to mention Livia’s body, discovered just this morning, laid out in a tranquil park environment . . .

Running out of time. Livia dead, Angelique soon to follow. What happened, what happened, what happened?

I had so many questions for Mr. Riddenscail. And no more patience for lies.

A bell finally rings. The students rise, pack up their stuff. Several of them eye me curiously. Mr. Riddenscail and I are the only white people in the room. Maybe they think I’m his girlfriend or an acquaintance coming to meet him. No one asks. The kids simply shuffle out the door, some already deep in conversation as they head to the next classroom.

No kids file in to take their place. I must’ve caught Mr. Riddenscail on a break.

He’s already moved to the front of the room, where he’s pecking away at his keyboard. Lotham should get a warrant for that computer. He probably will. He’s thorough that way. Looking up Paul . . .

I order myself to focus.

“I assume you have more questions about Livia?” Riddenscail says at last. “Or would you like to learn more about 3D printers, the AutoCAD platform, design basics?”

“I’ve come from the rec center,” I say, watching him closely for his response.

He taps a few more keys, then glances up. He regards me patiently, as if waiting for me to say more.

“I know about the grant. The computers and 3D printer you got for the after-school program. The class you taught there that also included Livia Samdi.”

He continues to stare at me blankly.

“Why didn’t you tell us that earlier?”

“Honestly? I didn’t think of it. You were asking questions about Livia in this class, so that’s what I focused on.”

“You made it sound like you didn’t really know her. Yet you had her for multiple classes at multiple locations. That doesn’t sound like a distant relationship to me.”

“Actually, I told you I’d pushed her to sign up for a spring competition. That’s what she was working on at the rec center. Preparation. That location was more convenient for her, as it was walking distance from her house. Plus, she needed my help to figure out some of the newer tricks involving the software. So when I was running the after-school program at the rec center, it made more sense for her to join me there. I said she was gifted and I was trying to get her to come out of her shell. I’m sorry if I missed some of the details.”

“Livia Samdi is dead.”

Now I get a response. His face goes pale. He sits down heavily in his desk chair.

“When?” he asks softly.

“They found her body this morning.” I peer at him closely. But I don’t see any evidence of guilt. Just shock, and maybe even grief.

He swallows hard. “What happened?”

“Someone strangled her, then dumped her body in Franklin Park.”

“Oh my God. That poor girl.” He trembles slightly, wipes at his eyes.

“What was she doing here? What had she gotten herself into? It’s time to talk, Riddenscail. Before you find yourself hauled in on murder charges. What the hell did you have her doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I certainly didn’t kill anyone. She had such promise. I was sure she was going to get out, go off to college. I already hoped . . .”

He shudders again, swipes his eyes with the back of his hand. If I didn’t know any better, I would say the man is crying.

Maybe I don’t know any better. I finally move away from the door and approach. “Look at me.”

Riddenscail drops his hand. His cheeks are wet with tears. He looks devastated.

“Don’t you think this is a bit much for a student you claim you didn’t even know?”

“I knew enough. I saw enough. What, you think I’m doing this job for the great pay?” He waves his hand around the tired classroom, with its beat-up linoleum floor and stained drop ceiling. “I show up each day for kids like Livia. The ones who sit in front of those computers, and for the first time in their lives can see their own futures. The software clicks for them, 3D design makes sense. And just like that, they have college potential and job opportunities and an entirely new track to follow. Those kids make everything else worth it. Those kids are why people like me become teachers in the first place.”

I continue to regard him suspiciously, but I’m finding less and less justification. So far, this conversation isn’t going anything like I’d thought.

“Could Livia have forged a driver’s license? Did she understand design and computers that well?”

Riddenscail stares at me. Abruptly, he reaches into his pocket. I’m just stiffening in alarm when he withdraws a small key, inserts it into the lock on his desk drawer, and opens it. He pulls out his wallet, from which he takes his driver’s license. For inspection, I realize. Because how many of us truly pay attention to such things.

“You were asking about forgeries and stamps earlier. Could Livia forge something. But I thought you were looking at currency.”

“We’re now thinking fake IDs.”

He nods slowly, turns his own Massachusetts driver’s license over in his hand. “The background, definitely easy. I bet you can find a template online. The hologram, that’s specialized technology, ink. I don’t think she could do that. Certainly, I don’t know how.”