I nod. I’d already inspected the framed photo during my first search of their apartment, seen the love letter tucked behind the faded picture. Neither child had seen their mother in nearly a decade, but clearly, they still yearned for her. Maybe enough that whatever was going on in Angelique’s life, she didn’t feel she could tell her aunt, so had sought comfort from her mother’s photo instead.
I take a deep breath. “Two mornings ago, Angelique was spotted at a wireless store in Mattapan Square.”
Guerline gasps, then appears outraged. Emmanuel as well. This little disclosure is going to get me into a truckload of trouble with Lotham, but I feel it’s necessary. “As she was walking away, she dropped a fake ID. They’re studying it now. I think you should look at it, too.” I point my chin at Emmanuel. “In case she used some kind of code again. You know her best.”
Emmanuel nods immediately. Despite his young age, he’s serious, even solemn. In this moment, I see shades of the older sister he described to me. Problem solvers, doers. Life hasn’t always been kind to them, but it’s made them stronger, more determined. Opportunity isn’t given, it must be made.
Which makes me wonder again what Angelique had been up to. Helping a friend made sense, and explained the stash of money as well as her deception, dressing up as Livia to head for some mysterious meeting that Friday. But what had happened next to keep Angelique away from home permanently, while still not being enough to save her friend, who’d disappeared three months later?
I think back to what Charlie had said. If they were being held against their will, but still alive, then they must have value. But what kind of value did two fifteen-year-old girls have? Beyond the obvious, of course, in the sex trade. I felt like it had to have something to do with the counterfeit money, which was our other outlier. Maybe their captors knew the girls had fake hundreds, wanted them to fetch more? Make more? Except that was a pretty tall order given it took highly skilled experts to pull off quality bills.
My mind spins through possibilities, but none of them make sense.
Livia is the key to understanding what happened in the past, I decide now. She’s the missing girl no one even knew was missing, and yet was probably also the original target. Which leave us with Angelique, given her recent appearances, as the best hope for finding both girls in the future. Before time runs out.
With that in mind, I finally organize some semblance of next steps.
“I’m going to call Detective Lotham,” I announce, rising from the booth. “Ask him to bring over Angelique’s fake license. Emmanuel, you stay here to study it.”
I hesitate, glance at Guerline.
“I must make some calls,” she volunteers. “Return to work. I can come back . . .”
“It’s not a problem. Emmanuel will contact you when we’re done.” I imagine she doesn’t get many vacation days, and after the events of the past year, she probably can’t afford to take any more.
Guerline climbs out of the booth and heads for the door.
I step away from the table to call Lotham. I update him on the morning’s developments, then hold my phone far from my ear as the yelling begins.
CHAPTER 25
Lotham seems over the worst of his tantrum by the time he arrives at Stoney’s. He skewers me with a single glare when I let him in, then stalks over to the booth where Emmanuel remains seated.
I’ve made a second pot of coffee. Wordlessly, I pour out a mug for Lotham. I take a seat next to Emmanuel, while Lotham slides in across from us.
Lotham removes a clear plastic bag from the inside of his charcoal gray sports jacket. A thick stripe of red tape screams EVIDENCE across the top. Lotham doesn’t open the bag, but sets it on the table.
I scan the bag’s contents—a single Massachusetts driver’s license. I remember Emmanuel and me studying the black-and-white photocopy of this same license, used by Angelique at the cybercafé, days ago. The real thing is much more distinct, and will hopefully provide better details.
“No opening the bag, no touching the license, no removing it from my sight,” Lotham states. The rules of engagement, which are important for preserving the chain of custody.
Emmanuel nods. His young face is once again deadly serious as he picks up the bag, peers at the front of the ID, then flips it over to study the back.
The picture is of a young African American female, black hair scraped back from her face in a tight ponytail. Dark brows, dark eyes, full face, much more heavily made up than I would’ve imagined, while huge beaded earrings provide further distraction. Mostly, I notice her eyes. They don’t gaze ahead with the deer-in-headlights stare of so many official IDs but seem to peer straight into the viewer. They radiate intelligence.
“This is my sister,” Emmanuel confirms. “But . . . I’ve never seen her with this jewelry. And . . . LiLi hardly ever wore makeup. It’s her, but different.”
“We see that often in fakes,” Lotham says. “Tricks for making the subject appear older, or to obscure her real features. On this license, Angelique is supposed to be Tamara Levesque, age twenty-one.”
Emmanuel cocks his head to the side. “She used this license to post her class essay. But why Tamara Levesque? That name means nothing to me.”
“Do you know how to check an ID to tell if it’s fake?” Lotham asks him presently.
“No, sir.”
“This is modeled after the current Massachusetts driver’s license, which involves a fairly sophisticated design. Not as high-tech as the Real IDs now required for airport security, but still, no joke. So here’s what to look for. First off, feel the weight of it. Genuine licenses are high quality, decent weight, nearly impossible to bend. Try it.”
Emmanuel fingers the license through the plastic bag. Experimentally, he squeezes the ends together. Nothing.
“In other words,” Lotham continues, “the initial structure is solid. That’s some skill right there. Now run your finger along the printing. Should be slightly raised. It’s a specialized laser technique.”
Emmanuel frowns. “I can’t feel it well enough through the bag.”
“Then trust me to tell you, they got that right, too. Which brings us to the more difficult elements. You see the watermark of the golden dome from the State House? Then we get to the embedded image of the state bird and state flower.”
Peering from across the table, I interject. “Wait, is that the brown blob in the middle? I thought that was a dragon.”
“It’s a chickadee.”
“Huh.”
Lotham gives me a look. “The hologram is off, not a true hologram if you hold it up to the light. Instead, they’ve created a visual illusion done with particularly bright inks. I’ve seen this approach before. Also, under blue light, several things should appear on a real license. But the producers substituted reflective dyes for the proper UV ink in this model. All in all, I’d consider this a drinking-class license, so to speak, not flying-class.”