Page 118 of Before She Disappeared

“Mmm.” He seems to collect himself. “I try to keep it locked when I’m alone in the building.”

So I’m not the only one spooked by all this empty, lurking space.

“I just had a few more questions,” I start.

Frédéric nods, bending down to collect his fallen papers. “You are looking for Angelique Badeau,” he says, in his beautiful French-laced English. “I remember. Any word from the girl?”

“No. But after my conversation with you, we were able to connect Angelique with Livia Samdi. They were friends.”

He nods, straightening his long, lean form, but the statement doesn’t seem to mean much to him.

“Livia Samdi also disappeared. Eight months ago. This morning, the police found her body in Franklin Park.”

Now Frédéric swallows hard. It’s difficult to read his face. Stoic, resigned. As a man who works with at-risk kids in an inner-city neighborhood, he’s probably had this conversation before. Does it make it easier to take?

“I am very sorry,” he says at last. Then, more tentatively... “Overdose?”

“She was murdered.” I deliver the words bluntly, and am rewarded by a ripple of emotion across his smooth dark features. Then he subsides once more to stoic acceptance.

“You believe Livia’s death and Angelique’s disappearance are related? That is why you have returned?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They met here. Became friends here. During the summer program.”

Frédéric offers a shrug. “Are you sure they met here? Many of our kids already know each other. This neighborhood isn’t that big.”

“They met here. What can you tell me about DommyJ?”

The abrupt change in topic catches him off guard the second time. His face goes flat. Instinctive defense mechanism. As in he knows plenty about DommyJ, and is already mentally sorting out what he should and should not reveal. Question is, because he needs to protect himself and the program, or because he’s afraid of DommyJ?

“What do you want to know?” he asks at last. Excellent strategy. When in doubt, answer a question with a question.

“I hear he deals in fake licenses.”

“The subject came to our attention,” Frédéric allows at last, steepling his fingers in front of him. “There was an incident, toward the end of the program. Angelique was involved. She was angry with DommyJ for selling an ID to her friend. But not that he shouldn’t have coerced her friend into doing something illegal. Rather, the quality of the forgery was so poor, he should be ashamed of himself. She claimed he owed her friend a refund. Naturally, Dommy disagreed. I walked out in time to break up the altercation and order the three teens to my office. Upon further questioning, however, all parties involved denied there was a problem. You know how it is. My staff and I kept an eye out, but we never saw any more signs of trouble. Then the program was over, and the kids moved on.”

“Do a lot of your charges buy fake IDs?”

“I have no idea.”

“Come on. You work with teenagers. Surely you must have some sense of the demand?”

“Not really. The amount of illegal goods and services these kids can already get on any street corner, from drugs to guns to phones... This whole area is a black-market economy. You don’t need valid ID for those kinds of transactions.”

He raises a good point. Marjolie had wanted her ID to keep up with her club-hopping boyfriend. So there were some things the local dealer couldn’t supply. But apparently, not much.

“What would’ve happened if you’d caught DommyJ selling fake IDs?”

“We would’ve kicked him out of the program. Zero-tolerance policy, remember?”

“Like you did with Livia Samdi’s older brother?”

“J.J. Samdi? Yes, there were issues. He was banned from the rec center after a volunteer caught him selling drugs. The police were informed, though I don’t know what became of the matter. We do not hold the sins of the brother against the sister, however. Livia Samdi remained welcome.”

“Very enlightened of you.”

---