Page 24 of A Life Betrayed

Frances waited several beats before stepping out. She kept her distance, staying a block behind Rayan as he continued down the street. She hadn’t been following him long when he stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to her, his brown eyes narrowing.

“Mr. Nadeau.” As she approached, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. “I’d like to speak with you, if that’s all right.” She’d spoken in English, but he gave no indication that he’d heard her request. “Would you prefer Quebecois?” she asked, this time in French.

“I’d prefer if you kept walking,” he said quietly in English, stepping to one side to let her pass.

She didn’t move. “I believe we share a mutual acquaintance. Tell me, how do you know Mathias Beauvais?”

Rayan’s expression didn’t change. He stared at her with a blankness that disguised his obvious intelligence. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Then maybe you can help me with something else,” she said, undaunted. “Nothing official, just a few quick questions. There’s a coffee shop around the corner. Why don’t we get out of the cold and have a chat?”

Rayan turned and continued walking, pulling the strap of his satchel higher up on his shoulder.

“Or I could come by one of your classes instead,” Frances called out to his retreating back. “Tomorrow morning’s lecture on divergent thinking sounds like a real barn burner. I don’t mind stopping by your apartment, too, if that’s easier. It’s a nice building. Summerhill’s a great neighborhood.”

Rayan stopped. When he looked at her, she could see that he knew he was cornered. “Fine,” he said in a voice devoid of polite sentiment. “Lead the way.”

They took a seat in the far corner of a nearby Second Cup, which was teeming with students tapping away at their laptops. Rayan sat across from her at the table, refusing to remove his jacket. He looked like he was seconds from bolting.

“Quite an interesting life you’ve had,” she said, cracking open the lid of her takeout cup and tipping in a packet of sugar. “Can’t seem to catch a break.” She blew across the lip in an effort to cool the molten liquid.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s a pretty comprehensive record of you on file up until age eighteen, and then you just disappear. And I mean comprehensive—not a lot of government departments you didn’t touch. Want to tell me about that?”

“Why I slipped through the cracks, or what a shitty job child protection does looking after the kids in its care?”

“How you managed to disappear.”

Rayan gave her a cold smile. “Walk the streets any given night, and you’ll see how easy it is for a person to disappear.”

“Is that when you started working for the family?” She pulled a folder out of her bag and placed the photos she’d found of him with Mathias and with Antonio Giraldi at Russo’s funeral on the table. “Look familiar?”

Rayan’s eyes briefly skimmed the images before returning to her. “Seems you’ve already made up your mind, so why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“How rude of me,” she said, taking a card from her pocket and sliding it toward him. “I’m Inspector Frances Allen, with the RCMP Organized Crime Branch. We’re taking down your boss, Mathias Beauvais, and we’d very much like your cooperation.”

Rayan picked up the card and studied it carefully, his face giving nothing away.

“It’s a common tactic. I see it all the time,” she continued glibly. “Throwing a subordinate under the bus to escape conviction. Suddenly, everything was your idea. If I were you, I’d stay one step ahead and get your statement in first.”

“What makes you think I have anything to say?”

Frances took a sip of her coffee, biding her time. “Don’t you think it’s strange the cops never pursued your brother’s murder?” She saw Rayan’s eyes widen in surprise. “I mean, looking through the police report, it’s clear they could have done more.”

Rayan crumpled her card in his fist, and Frances suppressed a triumphant grin. It had been a shot in the dark, but she’d found it—the man’s exposed nerve.

“Didn’t that make you angry? Or maybe…” She paused deliberately. “You were relieved they didn’t look too closely into what happened.”

This time, Rayan wasn’t able to hide the horror from his face. “What?”

“In the next-of-kin section on the coroner’s report, you’re listed as missing. And sure enough, your records seem to drop off right around the same time. Awfully convenient, isn’t it? I wonder what else we’ll find when we start digging.”

Rayan shook his head wordlessly.

“It was lucky the police were able to identify him at all,” she remarked. “He was in rough shape when they found his body. Turns out one of the officers remembered taking a mug shot of a kid a couple months before. Had a rather unmistakable tattoo.” Frances reached into her folder and slid another photo toward Rayan.

The man stood bolt upright, knocking the table and sending her coffee splashing to the floor. His face had gone slack, his eyes fixed, unblinking, on the image between them. Then he grabbed his bag and pushed his way out of the café.

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