This gives me pause. “He didn’t suspect his sister was dead?”
“No. More to the point, he was enraged. Whatever’s going on with that family, I would bet my shield Johnson didn’t want his sister harmed. If he even knows what happened to her.”
“You ask about an older brother?”
“I know my job,” Lotham speaks up sharply.
He’s had a rough night, so I let it slide. He takes another gulp of spiked coffee. “Fuck,” he says at last.
I can’t disagree with that, so I say nothing at all.
“J.J. had already taken off by the time I broached the subject of an older Samdi sibling; I thought being alone would make it easier to talk with Roseline, but she shut down. If she hadn’t kept sucking the life out of each cigarette, I’m not sure I would’ve believed she was even there. I’ll take another run at her later, but given her love of the police . . .”
Lotham isn’t asking for me to get involved. As a detective he would never ask for a civilian to insert herself in an investigation, let alone visit a residence where she’s already been shot at. And yet, that’s my mental takeaway. Mrs. Samdi doesn’t talk to cops. Meaning if we want to learn about Livia’s mysterious other brother . . .
“Red baseball cap?” I ask.
“Not with the body.”
In other words, Angelique is still wearing it. “Something’s changed,” I murmur.
“No shit.”
“Seriously. Angelique disappeared eleven months ago. Livia a couple of months after that. But it’s only been in the past few weeks that Angelique’s resurfaced. Sending a coded message for her brother. Dropping a fake ID. The girls were clearly being kept alive for some purpose. Producing semi-decent fake licenses, I don’t know.” Though even as I say the words out loud, that sounds like a dubious master plan. What kind of criminal enterprise kidnaps two girls and holds them against their will to manufacture less-than-brilliant forgeries? I don’t get it.
For now, I press on. “Clearly things are going downhill. The signs of Livia’s acute physical stress, Angelique’s frantic overtures. Now . . . Livia’s murder. I think whatever purpose the girls had been serving . . . time’s up. And they both knew it. Know it.” My own voice ends shakily. Is Angelique even still alive? Or is it just a matter of time before we find her body? And if she is still breathing, dear God, what must she be going through? After everything she did to try to help her friend.
Where have these girls been hidden? What the hell has been happening to them for the past year?
And why the fuck couldn’t we have found Livia in time?
Lotham downs half a mug of rum-laced coffee, his grim expression a mirror for my own dark thoughts.
“Were you able to trace Angelique’s alias, Tamara Levesque?” I ask at last, trying to marshal some semblance of professionalism. “Did it lead to a bank account?”
“Yes, I was able to trace it. No, it didn’t lead to a bank account stuffed with ill-gotten gains. What I did discover: Tamara Levesque is a college student. Enrolled in Gleeson College, to be exact.”
“Seriously?”
“Do I look like a guy with a sense of humor?”
I’m this close to fetching more rum, this time for both of us. Instead, I rub my temples furiously. “So Tamara Levesque is Angelique’s alter ego. And Angelique used the fake identity to go to college? When will the case make any damn sense?” I mutter to no one in particular. “Is it a medical school?”
“Nope. Some small liberal arts college in Western Mass. It’ll take some digging to learn more. You know how many colleges exist in Mass?”
“A lot?”
“Hundreds.”
I nod, as if any of this makes sense. “I asked Stoney about fake IDs tonight. He assures me there’s a market. But he’s not convinced it’s on financial par with say, drug dealing.”
“He’s probably right about that.”
“And yet, we now have evidence of two girls who may have been involved in producing fakes, and at least one was murdered for it. What would make such forgeries worth killing over? Especially considering they weren’t even top-quality knock-offs.”
“I have no idea.”
“You know what would be priceless and worth killing over? Green cards. Or work visas. A guy at the end of the bar suggested it. You have thousands of immigrants whose temporary status is about to expire, all of them have local roots, and none of them want to go home. Making a forged visa worth a small fortune.”
Lotham, however, is already shaking his head. “Can’t be done. Certainly not by two teenagers. Hell, we might as well go back to counterfeiting currency. It’d be about as easy.”
“Is there something in between? More valuable than a fake license? Not as complicated as a visa?”
“Off the top of my head . . .” He pauses, closes his eyes in thought, exhaustion, something. Opens them again. “Fake credit cards, I suppose. But that’s getting into identity theft, which is a whole different ball of wax. And I don’t know why anyone would need to kidnap two girls for that. There are several Russian gangs in Boston who are known for it. They already have recruits roaming the streets, internet cafés with data miners to record financial data straight out of someone’s wallet. Later, the data is transferred to a cloned card. For those operations, kidnapping would cause more trouble than it’s worth.”
I get what he’s saying. Unfortunately, it only adds to our confusion. I take it from the top.
“Angelique and Livia were abducted for a reason. First Angelique, who was most likely held hostage to force their original target, Livia, to do whatever it was they wanted Livia to do. Most likely this something involves computer design, 3D printing, parts manufacturing, whatever. But eventually, Livia disappeared, too. For the sake of argument, let’s assume it was because operations reached a point where they needed her on site, or desired more control. So now both girls are under wraps, but alive, fed, clothed, housed. Angelique doesn’t dare make a break for it or contact her family over fears they’ll hurt Livia, and vice versa.
“And the girls are working. Doing something important because otherwise why be kept alive at all? Maybe it started with the forged licenses, which showed off Livia’s skills. But it must’ve migrated to something with higher revenue potential to justify holding two kidnapped girls for nearly a year. Not to mention they’d need a space to keep the girls, plus have at least a couple of guys serving as guards, while overseeing operations . . . They wouldn’t necessarily require an entire warehouse for computer-generated forgeries, but space is still space.”