Before She Disappeared(85)

Where have these girls been hidden? What the hell has been happening to them for the past year?

And why the fuck couldn’t we have found Livia in time?

Lotham downs half a mug of rum-laced coffee, his grim expression a mirror for my own dark thoughts.

“Were you able to trace Angelique’s alias, Tamara Levesque?” I ask at last, trying to marshal some semblance of professionalism. “Did it lead to a bank account?”

“Yes, I was able to trace it. No, it didn’t lead to a bank account stuffed with ill-gotten gains. What I did discover: Tamara Levesque is a college student. Enrolled in Gleeson College, to be exact.”

“Seriously?”

“Do I look like a guy with a sense of humor?”

I’m this close to fetching more rum, this time for both of us. Instead, I rub my temples furiously. “So Tamara Levesque is Angelique’s alter ego. And Angelique used the fake identity to go to college? When will the case make any damn sense?” I mutter to no one in particular. “Is it a medical school?”

“Nope. Some small liberal arts college in Western Mass. It’ll take some digging to learn more. You know how many colleges exist in Mass?”

“A lot?”

“Hundreds.”

I nod, as if any of this makes sense. “I asked Stoney about fake IDs tonight. He assures me there’s a market. But he’s not convinced it’s on financial par with say, drug dealing.”

“He’s probably right about that.”

“And yet, we now have evidence of two girls who may have been involved in producing fakes, and at least one was murdered for it. What would make such forgeries worth killing over? Especially considering they weren’t even top-quality knock-offs.”

“I have no idea.”

“You know what would be priceless and worth killing over? Green cards. Or work visas. A guy at the end of the bar suggested it. You have thousands of immigrants whose temporary status is about to expire, all of them have local roots, and none of them want to go home. Making a forged visa worth a small fortune.”

Lotham, however, is already shaking his head. “Can’t be done. Certainly not by two teenagers. Hell, we might as well go back to counterfeiting currency. It’d be about as easy.”

“Is there something in between? More valuable than a fake license? Not as complicated as a visa?”

“Off the top of my head . . .” He pauses, closes his eyes in thought, exhaustion, something. Opens them again. “Fake credit cards, I suppose. But that’s getting into identity theft, which is a whole different ball of wax. And I don’t know why anyone would need to kidnap two girls for that. There are several Russian gangs in Boston who are known for it. They already have recruits roaming the streets, internet cafés with data miners to record financial data straight out of someone’s wallet. Later, the data is transferred to a cloned card. For those operations, kidnapping would cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

I get what he’s saying. Unfortunately, it only adds to our confusion. I take it from the top.

“Angelique and Livia were abducted for a reason. First Angelique, who was most likely held hostage to force their original target, Livia, to do whatever it was they wanted Livia to do. Most likely this something involves computer design, 3D printing, parts manufacturing, whatever. But eventually, Livia disappeared, too. For the sake of argument, let’s assume it was because operations reached a point where they needed her on site, or desired more control. So now both girls are under wraps, but alive, fed, clothed, housed. Angelique doesn’t dare make a break for it or contact her family over fears they’ll hurt Livia, and vice versa.

“And the girls are working. Doing something important because otherwise why be kept alive at all? Maybe it started with the forged licenses, which showed off Livia’s skills. But it must’ve migrated to something with higher revenue potential to justify holding two kidnapped girls for nearly a year. Not to mention they’d need a space to keep the girls, plus have at least a couple of guys serving as guards, while overseeing operations . . . They wouldn’t necessarily require an entire warehouse for computer-generated forgeries, but space is still space.”

Lotham nods.

“For eleven months, the girls have been working on this . . . something. It’s gotten so intense and stressful. Livia’s breaking down, while Angelique’s terrified enough to risk making contact and dropping breadcrumbs. Except it’s still not enough. Angelique’s worst fears come true. Livia is killed . . .”

My voice trails off. “Meaning, whatever the project is, it’s nearing completion. They don’t need Livia anymore. Or Angelique.”

Lotham doesn’t disagree. “Except these are still questions, not answers. Nearly a year later, we’re no closer to the who, what, or where. Best lead we got is some mythical older brother of Livia’s who inspires fear.”

“I saw him again tonight.”

“Who?”

“Our mystery man. He was standing across the street from my apartment. When I pulled back the curtain of my apartment, he stared straight up at me.”

“Goddammit!” Lotham slams down his coffee mug. “You didn’t call me?”

I merely shrug. “And say what, he was just standing there. Except . . . If he was outside my apartment, then he couldn’t have been the one killing Livia. Could he?”