Before She Disappeared(98)

“No.” Shuddery sigh. He’s regaining control, caught off guard by my question. Which is exactly what I wanted.

“It appears Livia or your sister created a website for a fake college. Can you think of any reason why? The website is new, as in from this summer. I’m guessing you’ll be able to determine that much. Most of it appears to be derived from stock photos copied from other, existing universities.”

“I . . . I don’t know why anyone would do that. Gleeson C? I’ll look it up.”

Perfect project for the internet junkie and a legitimate task. Our assumption had been that Angelique and Livia had been kept alive for their skills. Though forging a college had never entered our thoughts. And still confused me. But still. The college was a forgery, as Riddenscail had revealed. Completed this summer. With Livia now dead just months later. Because that had been the task and it had been completed? Though again, what could be so special about a college website?

I momentarily change gears. “What about the name Deke? Or, have you seen a tall skinny guy in a tracksuit and gold chains hanging around your house?”

“No, no. I don’t know any Deke. Is he another new friend of my sister’s?”

“He’s a person of interest in the investigation,” I say, sounding so much like a cop I’m worried Lotham has contaminated me.

“A suspect?” Now Emmanuel is excited.

“Not necessarily. But close. We’re making progress. I promise, Emmanuel. There is nothing more important to me right now than your sister. Me, Detective Lotham, Officer O’Shaughnessy, we are on this. Full time, all the time, completely obsessed. Now, shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I was. But then I heard the news. And I couldn’t . . . I just couldn’t. I am outside now. There’s a no-cell-phones policy in the classrooms.” Emmanuel pauses. “I found something.”

“With the fake license? You decoded the number?” My turn for excitement.

“I can’t figure out the license number. It is something, but I’m not sure what. I have a friend with a computer program for algorithms. I’m taking it to him. But the other things, my mother’s birthday, the year of Haiti’s independence. LiLi misses my mom.”

I nod into the phone. He had mentioned this before.

“So . . . I got down my mother’s picture. And I opened it up.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him I already tried that trick.

“There’s a piece of paper in the back. With a note from LiLi and a drawing from me. It is our offering to our manman. But this time, when I unfolded it, another slip of paper fell out.”

Now he has my attention. I’d just noted the sweet picture, never realizing it was on a folded scrap of paper. I’d been focused on locating evidence of more obvious crimes.

“It’s a receipt to an electronics store. Written across the top is a number. A phone number, in LiLi’s handwriting.”

“Emmanuel, do you have the receipt on you?”

“Yes.”

“Look at it. What did she purchase?”

“I already saw. A Tracfone.”

And just like that, I’m beyond excited. “Emmanuel, this is perfect! We know your sister had been using a burner phone, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But the police haven’t been able to do anything without a phone number. There’s nothing to trace, track, et cetera.”

“You can trace a Tracfone?”

“If it has GPS technology, yes you can. And these days, most of them do. It also has to be on at the moment of tracking.”

Emmanuel is getting it now. “The police, they could ping this number? Locate my sister? Just like that?”

“Assuming she has the phone on her.” I hesitate, just now seeing the flaw in my plan. “Which . . . may be a long shot. I’m assuming she bought the phone last fall?”

“August thirty-first.”

“I would guess it’s the one she used to communicate with Livia. Once Angelique disappeared, I don’t know if she would’ve kept the phone.” If she would’ve been allowed it, assuming she was being held against her will.

“Oh.” Emmanuel’s voice grows small. He’s a smart kid. He already understands what I’m not saying. What kind of kidnapper lets his victim keep her cell phone?

“But.” I do my best to rally. “There’s other information the police should be able to access, including previous calls, copies of texts, saved voice mails. There’s no telling how much we’ll learn from those alone. Including exactly what Angelique and Livia were up to.”

“Livia is dead,” Emmanuel says. His voice has definitely changed. He sounds flat, almost grim. Like a thirty-year-old man, versus a teen. “If she’s been killed . . .”

“We’re going to find your sister, Emmanuel. And you finding this receipt, that’s huge. Your sister’s talking, but you’re the one hearing. You get her messages.” My voice grows thick, despite myself. “You’re doing right by her, Emmanuel. I can’t . . .” My voice trails off. I have no words to tell him the power of this bond. I just hope he understands. Whatever happens next, it’s not his fault. It’s on me. And Detective Lotham. And neither one of us wants that kind of regret.