“Nah.”
“He also worked at the rec center. Part of the after-school programming?”
“How many times can I say, I don’t know!”
“It’s okay, J.J. I understand. You had your life, and your sister had hers. And part of your life was to get her out of here. Part of your life was to ensure she could do better.”
He doesn’t answer, but his silence tells me enough.
“Your sister met her teacher, Mr. Riddenscail, here.” I gesture to the rec center behind us. “Your sister also met your older half brother, Deke, on this property. Why, J.J.? I need to know why.”
But J.J. can’t answer the question. I can see it in the growing wildness around his eyes. He loved his sister, but he hadn’t spent time with her. He didn’t know her as well as I needed him to know her right now.
Had anyone?
“I fucking hate you,” J.J. whispers.
“I understand,” I assure him softly. “Some days, I hate me, too. But I’m going to find out who killed your sister, and you’re going to help me. Because she deserved better, right? Because... She was Livia Samdi. Bright and clever and alive. And the world should mourn her. All of us should know your pain. She is worth it.”
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.”