Before She Disappeared(30)

“I can walk with you,” Charlie offers.

I shake my head. “I’m good. I don’t have far to go, and I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Charlie is clearly torn on the subject. But we’ve just met and part of being an addict is learning the importance of boundaries. His job is to take care of him, just like my job is to take care of me. We will both be the better for it.

He finally shrugs, heading in the opposite direction. I let him go first, watching his bulk shuffle into the dark. Then I set off at a much more rapid pace.

The first block is empty of pedestrians. Just cars passing by, some slowing down, some speeding up, all of which I pointedly ignore. Off the lighted boulevard now, onto a smaller, darker residential street. No shadows peel off from the dark. No footsteps echo around me.

I keep hustling, block by block. Two streets from my destination I spot four figures ahead. They are clumped near a tree at the corner of an overgrown lot. Definitely men, but other than that it’s too dark to tell. Their attention is on one another, not seeming to notice me as I cross to the other side to put more distance between us.

There is something so furtive about the group that the hairs rise instinctively on the back of my neck. One of them has his pants down around his knees. I don’t want to see more, yet I can’t look away.

Then I spy it, faintly illuminated by a distant porchlight. A needle jammed into the inside of the man’s thigh. Followed by an ecstatic look on the man’s face. His companions shift closer, one already reaching for the needle, anticipating his turn.

I pass on by. They never notice. Just five addicts sharing a brief moment that four of them will never remember.

I make it to my apartment. Close the door behind me. And remembering to leave my socks on, finally crash exhausted into bed.



* * *



—

The low rumble of an engine. I hear it, followed by a weight, solid and warm on top of my chest.

“Good night, Piper,” I murmur.

More rumbling.

Then we both fall asleep again.





CHAPTER 10




In the morning, Piper has once again vanished off the bed. Not wanting to repeat yesterday’s mistake, I climb off the end of the mattress, taking as big a step as possible onto the floor. No claws lash out. I move gingerly around the bed to the kitchen area, and notice two things at once: The water bowl needs to be refilled, and there are two disemboweled mice in the middle of the ancient hardwoods. Viv hadn’t been kidding; Piper earns her keep.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” I call out to my roommate. “And what do I do now? Throw away the corpses? Fashion the ears into a necklace?”

I find a plastic grocery bag in one of the kitchen drawers and reluctantly use it to pick up the remains. That still leaves me with a brownish red smear. Definitely gross. I jump quickly into the shower before my feline roommate can make any more statements.

Ten a.m. I have five hours before I need to report to work, and many investigative paths to pursue. I want to follow up on after-hours cell phones, though it sounds like that might have to wait for a free evening. I also have more questions for the family, now that I’m getting the lay of the land. I wonder if Guerline would let me go through Angelique’s room, till I remember Angelique doesn’t really have a room. But she must still have stuff in the living room, that sort of thing.

Most people don’t realize what a financial luxury privacy is. An individual bedroom, time alone, designated workspace—these things cost money. Angelique got to sleep in a shared family room, while probably doing homework on the kitchen table on a refurbished laptop after her brother had his turn.

Meaning that if she wanted to keep secrets, a diary might not be out of the question. The police had to have gone through her things; her aunt and brother, too. But this is where a fresh pair of eyes doesn’t hurt.

Maybe I could get Guerline to meet me at the apartment on her lunch break? Which would make this morning a good time for the rec center. Even if there aren’t kids around, it would be helpful to meet the staff who work there, some of whom may remember Angelique from the summer before she went missing.

It’s worth a shot.

I lace up my tennis shoes, throw on my olive-colored jacket, and head down the stairs and out the side door.

Where I receive my next surprise of the morning.

Emmanuel Badeau, who’s clearly skipped school, is waiting impatiently for me.

“I have something to show you,” he says without preamble, pushing away from the side of the building. “But you can’t tell my aunt.”

I don’t have time to say yes or no, before he unzips his backpack and removes a battered laptop.

I turn back around, unlock the door, and lead him into Stoney’s bar.

“You do not know my sister,” he starts. “People think because she’s a teenager she must be silly or stupid or impulsive. She’s none of these things.”

“Water?” I ask.

“Coffee,” he orders.

“What are you, thirteen?”

Emmanuel looks up at me blankly. Apparently drinking coffee at thirteen is not shocking in his world. I head to the kitchen to brew up a pot, because I certainly need a cup, giving him time to boot up the laptop. By the time I return, he’s seated at the booth farthest from the front door, frowning over the screen on his laptop. The machine is making a funny whirring noise that doesn’t sound particularly healthy to me. Idly, he lifts up the slender instrument and bangs it down on the table. The grinding noise stops. The battered case, I notice, is covered in stickers. Everything from favorite coffee shops to the Haitian flag to the Red Sox. You can learn a lot about a person from their stickers. So far, I’ve deduced that Emmanuel has the same interests as an average teenager.