Before She Disappeared(97)

I want to say something, press the advantage, but I’ve got nothing. Abruptly, I feel stupid, standing in front of a classroom, making a grown man cry.

“Did you ever see Livia with a tall, skinny guy, prone to retro fashion statements?”

Mr. Riddenscail looks right at me. “Older guy? Definitely. At the rec center. He met up with her several times when she was done. I assumed he was her father, come to walk her home. I thought it was sweet.”

“He wasn’t her father,” I inform him, “but her recently paroled half brother. If you see him again, please contact the police immediately.”

“Okay.” Mr. Riddenscail’s voice has dropped again, clearly getting overwhelmed.

“Have you ever heard of Gleeson College?” I press him, trying desperately to gain some shred of data from this conversation. “It’s located in Western Mass.”

“No. But then, I can’t even begin to list all the colleges in Boston.”

“Can I show you something? On your computer. It’ll only take a minute.”

He nods, pushing back from his desk as I take over the keyboard. I load up the website for Gleeson College, scrolling through till I find the picture with Livia in the background. Then I gesture for Riddenscail to join me.

“That certainly looks like Livia. On a college website. Huh.” He frowns, grabbing the mouse and scrolling down the page to view more photos. Then he clicks on various options from the drop-down menu, surfing the site, with its photo after photo of laughing, happy kids sitting before rolling green hills. “Hang on. I may have something for you. I swear I’ve seen this before . . .”

More internet navigation. Riddenscail flies across the screen, clearly a guy comfortable with technology. He opens and closes a series of pages in rapid succession. I barely have time to note the names of colleges before he’s moved on, one after another after another.

Then: “Got it.” He steps back, indicating for me to move in closer. I study the screen, then frown at him. “You have the website open in two different windows.”

“Look at the title bar.”

I read the headings. Gleeson College, says one. Lannister College, says the other. The photos are the same. Smiling kids in classrooms. Laughing kids hanging out in front of rolling green hills. They aren’t similar; they’re identical.

“Give me a sec.” Riddenscail grabs the keyboard, his fingers flying. He’s back on the page for Gleeson, clicking on links at the bottom. Again, too fast for me to follow.

“Okay, you need a computer forensic specialist to be sure, but this website for Gleeson, it’s months old. As in, this whole college magically sprang to life over the summer. With most of these photos lifted from other colleges’ websites. At least the outside shots and pictures of buildings. And I’m going to guess from several different schools, now that I’m studying it more.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Let me put it this way. I don’t know if Livia was faking licenses, but to judge by this website, she definitely faked a school. Though why you’d invent an entire college . . .” Riddenscail shakes his head at me. “Your guess is as good as mine.”





CHAPTER 34




I exit Livia’s school feeling befuddled and overwhelmed. I need to get back to Stoney’s for my work shift. I need to call Lotham and let him know about Gleeson College. I need . . . magic answers, the secrets of the universe, an X that marks the spot. I rub my forehead, squinting against the bright sun as I pull my phone out of my pocket.

I’d just flipped it open when it starts ringing. I answer it in surprise. “Hello?”

“This is Emmanuel. They say the police found a girl’s body. In Franklin Park. Is it . . .”

“Oh, honey. It’s not Angelique. I’m so sorry, Emmanuel. You didn’t need to be worried. If it were Angelique, your family would be the first notified, not the morning news.”

Emmanuel doesn’t speak right away. I can hear his breathing, hard and ragged. He must’ve been terrified. And why the hell hadn’t Lotham or Officer O’Shaughnessy contacted Guerline and her nephew?

“What . . . what about the other girl?” Emmanuel murmurs. “LiLi’s secret friend?”

I wince. I’d hoped he wouldn’t connect those dots. I’m not sure how much I should say without his aunt present. But my general policy is to start with the truth.

“The body was identified as Livia Samdi.”

Loud swallow. “How was she killed?”

“The police are still investigating.”

“And LiLi? Have there been any more sightings? Now, with her friend dead . . .” His voice edges toward fresh panic.

“No new sightings. But that’s good, Emmanuel. It means she’s alive. We’re going to find her.”

Long pause. Then, very softly: “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared, too.”

“You said you found people. Why can’t you find her? Why can’t anyone find LiLi?”

I give him a moment to deal with his grief. Of course he’s frustrated and terrified. I’m the professional, and I feel the same way myself. So I treat Emmanuel how I would like to be treated. I give him something to do.

“Emmanuel, have you ever heard of Gleeson College?”