Before She Disappeared(20)

Detective Lotham says nothing.

“She could’ve caught a bus or walked to the T stop,” I continue musing out loud. “But you would’ve tracked that, too. Her path to the station, then standing around, backpack free, wearing her new clothes. Of course once she boarded and swiped her student pass, that would create yet another trail of breadcrumbs to follow.”

“Assuming she swiped her card.” Lotham appears bored with the conversation. “It’s possible she used cash for a single-use ticket. Then again, we got cameras on buses, subways, and trains as well. And a whole MBTA police force well versed in studying such visuals. Boston is clever that way.”

He’s being sarcastic, but I take the assessment seriously. “In other words, Angelique didn’t take mass transit because you would’ve spotted her. Likewise, she couldn’t have walked away and she couldn’t have driven away. Which leaves . . .”

I frown. Consider. Frown again.

“The sidewalk didn’t just swallow her up,” I say at last, frustrated.

“At this time, we’ve ruled out the sidewalk as a suspect,” Detective Lotham intones. Wise-ass.

“Then you missed something.” I announce firmly, never one to avoid a fight. “Technology is great, but it’s not foolproof. Maybe fucking Boston, the world’s cleverest city, has grown too dependent on its toys. I don’t know. But a fifteen-year-old girl didn’t just disappear off the face of the earth. There’s an answer to this puzzle. There always is.” I pause, then nod vigorously. “I’m glad I came. Whether you know it or not, you need me.”

“Excuse me—”

“According to you, you have plenty of resources and experience, not to mention a shitload of technology at your disposal.”

He glowers at me again.

“And eleven months later, how has that worked for you?”

“Listen—”

“I don’t understand half the crap you do as a big-city cop; I’ve only ever read about LPR, let alone the other bells and whistles the BPD brings to the party. But it doesn’t matter. Your best practices have failed you.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“An outsider. But that’s what it takes to find most of our missing children in the end.”

“Stay away from my investigation,” Detective Lotham warns.

“No.”

“Screw with the family, mess up our case—”

“What case?”

“Fuck you!” He closes the gap between us, his arms out, posture aggressive whether he means it or not. He’s bigger than me. Stronger, angrier. But it doesn’t scare me. As a matter of fact, I like that about him. He should be pissed off. He should be protective of the family. It proves he cares. Though it worries me, too. Because police incompetence would’ve been an easy answer to this puzzle. And so far, Detective Lotham doesn’t strike me as either burned out or lazy.

So what happened to a smart, shy teenager? She’d once stood right about where I am standing now. And then?

“I’ll be in touch,” I inform Detective Lotham.

His dark eyes nearly bulge out of his head with outrage. I smile. I’ll be the first to admit that these kind of high-conflict moments aren’t always fun for other people. And yet, they’ve always been fun for me.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” I say now, stepping back. “But you also can’t stop me. So the real question is, do you want me running around on my own, or do you want to assert some control by offering a level of cooperation? That choice is yours. Either way, I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do. And that’s find Angelique Badeau.”

“You’re nuts.”

“A little bit of crazy never hurt.”

“Asking the wrong questions can.”

He has a point there. Another bell, ringing from inside the technical institute. This one is followed by more noise. The stir of hundreds of kids, squeaking back chairs, popping open doors, stomping down halls. Lunch break. Which brings me back to my original task, and yet another reason to ditch official police presence.

I signal my departure with a wave, then head back toward the street corner. Detective Lotham stays where he is, watching me go.

I disappear into the student traffic as it expels from the academy’s front doors and pours down the steps. I count to five. When I look back, the detective is no longer in sight. Just as I’d hoped.

I allow myself a single smile. Then I go back to work.





CHAPTER 7




Teenagers are loud. It feels to me like there are hundreds of them, swarming across the street, forming smaller pools on the sidewalk, then flooding into the corner grocer. No school uniforms. The kids wear ripped jeans or spandex tights, paired with sports tops, flannel shirts, or long fall sweaters. All in all, I’m not dressed that differently. Which, given the age gap, is probably not a good thing.

I try to focus on the girls, parsing out individual faces. Guerline listed Angelique’s BFFs as Kyra and Marjolie. Unfortunately, I have no idea what they look like. Detective Lotham and his cohorts have most likely vacuumed Angelique’s social media accounts for every crumb of information by now. They should know her life inside and out, from her family and friends to her favorite foods, zodiac sign, and nervous habits. I have none of that. At least not yet.