Before She Disappeared(104)

“You set her up to manufacture fake IDs.”

“Rough start . . . these new state licenses. Not as easy as they look.”

I nod, stroking his damp cheek. His eyes are closed. His breathing rougher.

Paul: “I’m glad you called tonight, Frankie.”

Me, crying hysterically.

“I’m happy you still trusted me that much.”

“Livia brought in a friend. After school. Worked on it together. Got to a point . . . Product wasn’t half bad. I brought the fakes to my suppliers . . . went into business. But soon . . . not enough. These guys, real counterfeiting pros . . . wanted Real IDs. Something bigger, better.”

Deke coughs wetly. More blood, dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

Paul: “I’m thirsty. So thirsty. Do you have any water, Frankie? Can you get me some water?”

“What happened, Deke?” I stroke his cheek.

“They demanded a meeting . . . with my source. But Livia, too scared. Angelique showed up in her place. She had . . . a new plan . . . not Real ID. Couldn’t”—he breaks off, coughing again—“be done. Visas. Student visas.”

“Angelique figured out,” I provide for him, “that forging a visa would be just as difficult as a Real ID. However, she could create an entire fictional college that would issue the application documents needed for a real visa.”

Short nod.

“Why a college for student visas, versus green cards?”

“Student visas . . . less scrutiny. And so many colleges. Easier place . . . to start. Plus, Angelique’s idea. She wanted. For herself. Her brother.”

“So this was the initial offer. Get these documents right and not only make huge sums of money now but set the stage for larger money later. Except they didn’t let Angelique come home from that initial meeting, though, did they?” This much Lotham and I had already figured out. “Angelique’s grand idea put more at stake. So big bad associate guys decided to protect their investment by keeping her. Which also provided leverage to force Livia to engage.”

Faint nod. Deke’s breathing is ragged. I can hear the beginnings of a rattle.

Paul: “Hold my hand, Frankie? Please. Just hold my hand.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I know. And I love you anyway. I’ve always loved you anyway.”

“But progress wasn’t happening fast enough?” I push now. “So they grabbed Livia anyway. Forced her and Angelique to work day and night?”

“Livia wasn’t doing . . . so good. The pressure . . . They got nervous. Worried she’d tell. Took her, too. Stuck ’em both in an abandoned building. One leaves . . . The other suffers . . . Couple of guys standing watch. I tried . . . when I could. Give them some breathing room. Let Angelique out . . . but she had to come back. She always came back.”

“For Livia,” I supply.

“She . . . she loves Livia.”

So he knew, then. How much Angelique and Livia meant to each other.

“What happened?” I asked, stroking his cheek. Not much longer now.

“I thought I could keep Livia and Angel safe. I thought . . .”

“You could control the situation?”

“Couldn’t. Everything harder than it looked. Guys, panicking. Girls, freaking out. Month . . . into month . . . into month. Took so long. Livia . . . poor Livia. Then you came. Rocking the boat. So I tried to . . . scare you off. Stop questions.”

“You shot at me, outside J.J. and Roseline Samdi’s house.”

“Thought better . . . if you gone.”

“But I didn’t leave,” I murmur. “And it didn’t get better.”

“Angelique thought, if they cooperated, everything’d be . . . okay. She got college website, registry documents . . . done. Had our first trial.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” I fill in for him. “Heaven help you all. Angelique’s master plan succeeded, meaning suddenly, they didn’t need any of you anymore. Not Livia, not Angelique, not even you?”

“I tried to warn Livia . . . wanted to get her out. But . . . caught us. He killed her. Right in front of me. What happens if you try to run.”

“You got away. You came to Stoney’s bar. I saw you, outside my window.”

“Wanted to talk to you . . . But then . . . saw the cop arrive. Didn’t know who I could trust.”

“Where is Angelique, Deke? Tell me. I’ll protect her for you. I’ll save her, and I’ll be sure she knows it was because of you.”

Deke’s breathing is definitely ragged now. Suddenly, his body convulses. He winces, grabs his stomach, then heaves sideways just in time to vomit up blood.

“Please, Paul, just hang in there. Help is coming. Paul, Paul. Please God. Paul!”

“Housecleaning now,” Deke whispers. “No loose ends. I gave Angelique my phone. Told her to warn her brother. They knew . . . about her messages to him. But her call . . . not in time. They grabbed him. Threw him . . . in the van. I went for the gun. Enough . . . is enough.”

And there it is, the final death rattle I know all too well.

Me, clutching Paul’s hand. Keening, keening, keening.

Sirens in the background, still way too far away. They won’t be able to save him. No one can save him.