Before She Disappeared(102)

“Did you try calling back?”

“I couldn’t. The number is blocked.”

“What about the cell number you found on the receipt?”

“Nothing. I don’t think it’s turned on.”

“Okay, we’re headed toward you right now. Give me ten minutes, I’ll be there.”

“Where is my sister!”

“I’m working on it. I swear to you—”

“You are lying! You don’t know anything. You’re lying!”

“Emmanuel! Listen to me! Your sister needs you. The license number code. Think. Where are you with the license code?”

“All I got was another string of numbers. Maybe a code within a code? I’m still working on it.”

“Give me what you got, right now.”

He starts rattling off numbers. I repeat each one out loud. Charlie reaches into his massive coat, pulls out a pen, and writes the string of numbers across the palm of his hand, as if we’d been working together for years.

“Stay where you are,” I order Emmanuel. “Keep your phone on. If she calls again, do everything you can to keep the connection, okay? Maybe the police can trace it. I’ll call Detective Lotham, right now.”

I hang up with Emmanuel, dial Lotham. Charlie doesn’t say a word, just keeps on trucking beside me as I strike a furious pace toward the Badeaus’ apartment.

Lotham doesn’t answer till the fourth ring. “Not now—”

“Emmanuel just called me. LiLi phoned him five minutes ago. Screaming for help, call disconnected, number’s blocked. He can’t call back.”

“Shit.”

“Charlie and I are headed there right now.”

“No! I’m sending uniforms. Go home. Right now, Frankie. I mean it.”

“Not to sound childish, but you are not the boss of me.”

“Goddammit!” Deep breath. He’s clearly struggling for control, but I could give a flying fuck. This is my case, and I’m not backing off.

“Frankie, I’m outside the Samdi residence. He’s dead.”

I falter, miss a step, glancing up at Charlie. “Who’s dead?”

“J.J. Samdi. Gunned down. Probably in the last thirty minutes.”

“The website,” I whisper.

“What the fuck, Frankie?”

“That was the last project. The final piece of the puzzle. They needed the girls to finish the virtual college so they could graduate from fake IDs to fake documents for real student visas. Now that everything is in place and online, they’re cleaning up shop. Deke Alarie is cleaning up shop.”

“Go home.”

“Angelique’s family could be in danger as well.”

“Which is why officers are on the way.”

“Good, we’ll meet them there.”

I disconnect the call, turn to Charlie, who’s clearly heard every word.

“How do you feel about running?” I ask him.

“Knees don’t love it, but given the circumstances . . .”

We both take off down the sidewalk.



* * *



—

We hit the final block where Emmanuel and his aunt live and I register two things at once. The sound of distant sirens. And the wailing of a nearby woman.

“They took him,” Guerline screams the second she sees me. “They took Emmanuel!”

“Who, where?”

“Some man. I came downstairs to fetch Emmanuel. This white van pulled up in the middle of the street and a man jumped out. He had a gun. He pointed it at Emmanuel and told him to get in before anyone got hurt. I tried to grab Emmanuel’s arm. I tried to stop him. But then the man . . . He leapt up the steps and smashed Emmanuel over the head with his gun. My boy . . . He collapsed. And blood, so much blood. I started screaming at him to stop, but the man just looked at me. Then he put Emmanuel on his shoulder and threw him into the van.

“As it drove away . . .” Her voice broke, dropped. “I heard a gunshot. I saw it . . . a flash through the side window. They shot Emmanuel. My baby. Oh my God, what have they done?”

I grab Guerline’s arm as she starts to collapse. “Did the man say anything?” I demand, doing my best to anchor both of us.

“No.”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall. Skinny. His hair was all these tiny braids tied back. And he was wearing gold chains.”

“Deke Alarie.” I exhale.

“Ma’am.” Charlie’s turn. “The van, which way did it go?”

Guerline points down the block. I can hear the police sirens, finally drawing closer.

“Emmanuel’s cell phone, did he have it on him?”

“He dropped it. When the man hit him.”

“Damn.” Because the phone would’ve given us a way to track him. Which no doubt Deke also knew. “Mrs. Violette, can I enter your apartment? Emmanuel was working on decoding a cipher we believe Angelique may have left for us. I need his notes.”

Guerline appears too shocked to answer. I leave her with Charlie’s comforting bulk while I pound upstairs and burst into the apartment. There, the open laptop on the kitchen table, surrounded by piles of paper. I don’t bother to look. Laptop, loose papers, I grab it all, shoving it into a rough pile. I spot a dark blue backpack propped on the floor against the wall. Probably also Emmanuel’s. I dump everything inside, slinging the pack over my shoulder.