“You think she and Livia were dating?”
“It would explain the secrecy. At fifteen, trying to figure out who they are, how they identify. Livia with her fucked-up family. Angelique with her much more traditional one.” I shrug. “None of this stuff is easy. But clearly there’s a connection between the two girls. And yet, as you say, Angelique never mentioned Livia’s name to anyone. In her world, that’s a pretty big omission.”
“Unless Livia got her involved in something criminal.”
“You really think Angelique wouldn’t talk to Marjolie and Kyra about illegal activities? Please. Best buds are by definition co-conspirators. No, this level of secrecy smacks of something more personal.”
Lotham nods slowly. “All right. But even if we assume Angelique and Livia’s relationship was intimate, it still doesn’t explain how both wound up missing, three months apart. Let alone why Angelique had thousands of dollars, including counterfeit hundreds, stashed in a ceramic lamp.”
“Details, details,” I mutter. But the detective does have a point. “Let’s back up for a moment. What do we know about each girl? They both live in Mattapan, but they didn’t attend the same high school, meaning they probably met for the first time at fashion camp. Angelique was there due to her interest in art while Livia liked to make things. Both come from very different family backgrounds. Both, apparently, are good at keeping secrets.”
Lotham nods. His hand remains next to mine on the table. Now, he idly rubs my thumb. I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it. But I don’t move and he doesn’t stop.
“What kinds of things did Livia make?” he asks.
“Her mom talked about a plastic jack-o’-lantern that Livia brought home from school. Eyes cut out, whole nine yards. Though I have no idea what kind of class teaches plastic pumpkins.”
“Livia attended a trade school. I was talking to her guidance counselor when I got the report of shots fired. Livia had courses in basic construction, metalwork, and some computer design class. I don’t remember anything involving plastic. Wait.” Lotham pulls his hand away, snaps his fingers. “Her computer design course. They have a 3D printer. That would do it. Maybe for Halloween. Design and print your own jack-o’-lantern.”
“Counterfeit money,” I murmur. “Any way you can get from design and print pumpkins to design and print U.S. currency?”
“Absolutely not. Remember that whole spiel on counterfeiting being a very sophisticated operation, involving printing presses, master tradespeople, and extremely rare and specialized inks—”
“Yeah, it’s coming back to me now. But still . . .”
“We have two missing girls with at least a personal connection, not to mention complementary skill sets in art and design.” Lotham shakes his head. “Honest to God, the more I learn in this case the less anything makes sense. But having said that, I think we should return to Livia’s school. Determine exactly what kind of mad skills she had, not to mention if she ever had Angelique with her in the classroom after hours. The fake bills have to mean something, though I’ll be damned if I know what.”
“We are going to visit Livia’s school?”
“In the interest of public safety, I think I should keep you close. Can’t have too many shootings in one day.”
He says the words lightly, but he’s tossing me a bone and we both know it. I’d like to say it’s all due to the power of my charm, but more likely it’s pity. Beggars can’t be choosers, so I don’t argue.
I push slowly out the booth. A final chug of coffee. A last cinnamon sugar Munchkin. My hands are still shaking from the morning’s misadventure. My stomach has a hollow, sick feel. But my job is my job. And given all the past mistakes I can’t change, thank God I still have this.
I rise to standing.
Lotham slings on his blue sports coat and leads me out the door.
CHAPTER 21
Mr. Riddenscail is Livia’s AutoCAD teacher at Boston Polytech. A tall white guy, he has a lanky build and an absent-minded expression. He’s dressed casually in worn jeans, a thin T-shirt topped by work flannel, and battered boots. A spoon and a fork protrude from the top of his right boot, but he doesn’t appear to notice. He moves across the room, dodging workstations with quick efficiency born of practice, as he leads us to the front. He doesn’t seem all that concerned to have a police detective and associate appear in his classroom during lunch hour. A very been-there-done-that sort of dude.
“Yes, I know Livia Samdi.” He nods as he reaches his desk, pulls open a drawer, and takes out a metal lunchbox that looks straight out of the 1950s.
“Did she make a plastic pumpkin in the course of your class?” Lotham asks him, his gold badge clearly on display.
“Sure. That’s a traditional fall assignment.”
“How would you describe her?”
“Good student. Solid. But I have a feeling that’s not why you are asking these questions.”
“When did you last see her?”
“January. I reported her absence to the administration, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No judgment here,” Lotham says, which is great because I’m full of judgment. How did you not worry about her? How did you not reach out in any way possible to this teenager who clearly needed you? Having seen firsthand the conditions of Livia’s house, the dealings of her family . . .
“Describe her as a student.” Lotham again.
Riddenscail pauses in the act of unwrapping his sandwich, obediently considering the matter. “Umm, she had natural aptitude for picturing things in an X-Y-Z plane. Can’t say the same for too many of my kids.”
“But was she a good student?”
“Excellent. But also quiet. She wasn’t one to speak up, or help out her fellow classmates. I’d describe her as a sleeper student.”
I raise my hand, unable to help myself: classroom, conditioned response. “What does that mean?”
Mr. Riddenscail turns toward me. “She had a natural aptitude but she existed in her own self-contained bubble. She knew what she knew, did what she did, then moved on.”
Detective Lotham: “How adept was she?”
“Oh, I would describe her as one of my best students.” Mr. Riddenscail hesitates. “Look, I work with a lot of at-risk kids. For many of them, discovering the right trade represents their ticket out. Meaning once they find the right fit, they go all in. Bond with me, work with their classmates, log extra hours. These kids . . . You wouldn’t believe the talent. Give them the opportunity and man oh man! Livia Samdi, on the other hand . . . I tried to engage her on multiple occasions, give her special assignments to build her confidence. But in the end, she wasn’t taking the bait. And yeah, I was concerned by that.”