Page 102 of Before She Disappeared

CHAPTER 27

Three p.m., we pull away from the curb and head once more into Mattapan. I’m going to be late for work, but with a little bit of traffic luck, hopefully not too late. I’m agitated. The thought of spending the next eight hours serving drinks and wiping down tables when I have so many questions regarding Angelique and Livia right now. When I feel we’re so close to learning the truth right now.

Alcoholics are notoriously obsessive. Particularly involving something as stimulating as right now.

“What do you make of Marjolie’s fake ID?” I ask Lotham, my fingertips thrumming restlessly on my knee.

“Definitely cheap. Surprised it got them into any kind of nightclub. Then again, some places, slip a little cash into the bouncer’s hand, and the deal is done. They just want plausible deniability if things go sideways.”

“Angelique’s ID is definitely better quality than the one Marjolie had.”

“Significant step up.”

I purse my lips, angling myself in the passenger seat to better face him. “Isn’t that kind of interesting? That she complains to this DommyJ about the quality of his work—”

“About the way he treated her friend.”

“And a year later, Angelique herself is running around with a superior fake.”

Lotham nods thoughtfully. We’ve come to a red light. He glances over at me, his face hard to read. “You think Angelique made that license? Or helped someone make it?”

“I think if Marjolie’s story is true, Livia Samdi knows a lot about fake IDs, while also having the skills to do better. Fifty dollars a pop... I mean, if DommyJ can unload hundreds of dollars’ worth of shitty IDs during a summer rec program, imagine how much Livia could make off quality merchandise?”

“Of all the counterfeiting we’ve discussed, a fake ID is the most feasible DIY project. With the right software, and a specialized printer, I could see two teenage girls pulling it off.” Lotham frowns. “Unfortunately.”

“Maybe the money in Angelique’s lamp came from their own business enterprise? Livia probably enjoyed the design challenge, while Angelique had personal incentive to run DommyJ out of business.”

“Why the counterfeit hundreds?” Lotham countered, making a hard right into a stalled stream of city traffic.

“Maybe someone paid them with fakes. Maybe they didn’t know they even had counterfeit bills.”

“So they’re smart enough to see the flaws in fake IDs but not forged bills?”

He raises a valid point. But damned if I can figure out how we get from Russian-printed Ben Franklins to locally manufactured fake driver’s licenses. I’m also curious that the executive director of the rec center, Frédéric Lagudu, never mentioned a huge confrontation between Angelique and Livia and this DommyJ. Unless he came upon it at the very end and had just enough time to break it up while writing it off as another day in paradise? Because surely once Angelique went missing, her screaming match with a wannabe hoodlum would be worth noting?

“Let’s say Livia Samdi knows something about production, given her design talents,” Lotham muses. “After the confrontation with DommyJ, she and her new bestie Angelique start scheming. They’ll make their own fake IDs. Superior quality that will drive dumbass Dommy out of business, while earning them extra cash.”

“Livia is manufacturing, Angelique marketing and sales.”

Lotham nods. Cars are not moving. He gives it another ten seconds, then flashes his grille lights. The car in front of us does its best to squeeze over. Lotham threads through a narrow opening between the clogged lanes, gets to the first turnoff, and takes it. I have no idea where we are, but I like his style.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Lotham says. “Wouldn’t Angelique’s first customers be her own friends? Think of the DommyJ model. He probably signed up for the summer program just so he could sell to his fellow teens. Enter Angelique, who we’re saying sold enough to have thousands in cash but never approached her own social circle? That seems odd.”

I sit back grumpily. Then, remembering my conversation with Charlie: “Maybe she and Livia sold online. The international IDs are done that way. And these are two girls who’ve both been described as quiet. Internet sales would work, while further compartmentalizing this new criminal activity from their real, college-aspirational lives.”

“Possible. But that introduces more infrastructure. How are they getting paid? Money transfers? Bitcoin? They’d need to have bank accounts and they’re both underage.”

“Not according to Angelique’s fake alter ego, Tamara Levesque.”

Lotham eyes widened slightly. “Shit.” He bangs the steering wheel with his hand. “Of course. We examined the Levesque ID for forensic clues, then overanalyzed it with the help of Angelique’s brother for coded messages. Maybe, all along, the breadcrumb was the name itself, Tamara Levesque. A lead on Angelique’s secret life, which has clearly gotten her and her friend in trouble.”

“Oooh.” I finally get it. “As in Angelique doesn’t have bank accounts and Livia Samdi doesn’t have financial records, but Tamara Levesque... Oh, oh, oh.”

“Damn sleep deprivation,” Lotham mutters. “I’ll get on it, the second after I drop you off.”

I sigh heavily. So much happening right now. On the cusp of so many answers right now.

“We still have a problem,” Lotham says, finally able to pick up a little speed as he cuts through a maze of tiny side streets. “Assuming Livia and Angelique were doing this together... Why did Angelique go missing first?”

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