I have no idea what to say to this. It’s okay. In the way Boston works, a random street has appeared ahead, forking a right diagonal, not to be confused with the three other diagonals flaring out around it. Lotham hits that turn as hard as he hit the others. Apparently, he’s in a temper this morning.
“Did you sleep last night?” I ask him.
“Does at a desk count? Minute I logged those bills into evidence, my phone started ringing off the hook. And then my sergeant called me into his office . . .”
“So it’s your sergeant we’re running away from?”
“Don’t be a wise-ass.”
“I’m more worried about becoming a soon-to-be-dead dumbass. Why the bells and whistles?”
“We have a sighting.”
“What?”
“A teen matching Angelique’s description just tried to purchase a fresh burner phone using a fake ID. The ID bears the same name, Tamara Levesque, as the one given to the cybercafé clerk two weeks ago. Officer O’Shaughnessy is already there, fanning out with a few other units, hoping to get lucky.”
“We’re joining the hunt?” I don’t know which surprises me more: that there’s an active search after all these months, or that I’ve been invited to participate.
“We are not doing anything. I’m interviewing the sales specialists. You.” Lotham blew out a hard breath. “Heaven help me,” he muttered.
“I’m there for moral support?”
“No. You’re there because one of the witnesses, some guy named Charlie, asked for you.”
* * *
—
By the time we come to a screeching halt, the scene in front of the wireless company is a pile of blue uniformed officers, a crowd of gawkers, and, if I’m not mistaken, a number of corner dealers backpedaling furiously down the street.
Detective Lotham spares the retreating youths a look but doesn’t acknowledge or pursue. Today is their lucky day: The police have bigger fish to fry.
I spot Charlie almost immediately. He stands outside the storefront, his large size and authentic army jacket making a statement. Next to him stands a female beat cop, clearly waiting.
Detective Lotham ushers me through the crowd. Once on the other side of the madness, he pauses long enough to state, “When you’re done talking to your friend, remember who drove you here.” Then he disappears into the store, leaving me to cross the remaining space to Charlie.
I feel suddenly awkward, unsure of what to say. We’ve met only once, at an AA meeting. In the midst of this hoopla, why ask for me?
Charlie doesn’t speak right away, but nods his greeting.
Then he stares at the female officer. She gives me a look as if to say he’s all my problem now. She drifts off five feet. Still monitoring, but allowing some privacy.
“Detective Lotham said you asked for me.”
Charlie stares at me. He has his hands in his coat pockets. It makes him look bigger, broader. I don’t think he’s trying to appear intimidating as much as he simply can’t help it. But I still don’t find him threatening. The man joined the service because he has an instinct to protect. And some things, no matter the trauma, can’t be shaken.
“You asked about cheap cells,” Charlie says now. “You asked about the missing girl, Angelique Badeau. Just last night, you asked these questions.”
I nod.
“I stopped by the store today, to take care of some business. But as long as I was here, I started thinking, I started wondering. About you and your questions. Then I look up and I swear to God, there she is.”
“Angelique Badeau.”
“And she’s trying to buy a phone. I couldn’t help myself. I stared straight at her. Next thing I know, she’s snatching back her ID, tossing the new phone on the counter, and booking it out the door. Then the damn salesman starts yelling for security and the idiot runs right into me. By the time I get out onto the street, I can’t see her anymore. But she was in there. I swear it. Trying to buy a phone.” His eyes narrow. “How? You tell me. How did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” I tell him honestly. “Not that she’d buy a new phone. But I’d read in the paper that the police had recovered her original mobile eleven months ago. Figuring no teenager can be without a cell, stood to reason she’d bought a replacement along the way. That’s why I was asking about cheap burners. If I were a teenager with secrets, at least that’s what I’d buy.”
“You’re no teenager,” Charlie tells me.
I smile wanly. “But I do have secrets.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Frankie Elkin. I’m an alcoholic. I work as a bartender at Stoney’s, having just moved into the area. But I also have another passion—I work missing persons cases. Particularly cold cases. And yes, I came to Mattapan because of Angelique Badeau. I would like to find her.”
Charlie doesn’t speak right away. Neither does the female officer, who’s been shamelessly eavesdropping.
“Did you really spot Angelique Badeau?” I ask now.
“I’ve been looking at her photo for eleven months. Hell yes, I saw the girl.”
“Was there anyone else with her or did she appear to be alone?”
“Alone.”
“And when she exited? Anyone waiting outside?”
“Didn’t get that far. Had to drag some fat-ass mall cop off my foot before I could follow.”
Now our cop chaperone smirks.
“Did she walk away or get into a car?”
“Don’t know that either. But—” Charlie points up, to below the store awning where I can see two different cameras. “Cops should be able to answer that question soon enough.”
“What was her mood?” I ask, still trying to understand.
“Didn’t notice right away. But once I started staring, she got fidgety. Then she bolted and ran.”
“You ever meet her before, Charlie?”
“Not so much for a hot minute. This city ain’t that small, and our paths don’t exactly cross.”
“Charlie, I went to the rec center today. Talked to the director, Frédéric. You said your and Angelique’s paths didn’t cross, but she attended the summer program there, and you volunteer there.”
“I help out after school, mentoring young Black males, teach ’em skills like cooking, so they can get a job and stay out of the life. Maybe that girl was also in the center, but I never saw her. Not like she’d be in one of my groups. She in trouble?”