“You can’t judge me!” Ines screamed. “You can’t judge me!”
The screeching followed them onto the landing and down the stairs.
As they left the dank concrete hallway and emerged into the daylight, amid the sounds of traffic and city noises, Valerio thought he could still hear her.
Twenty-Two
Angelo and Mario were in the Phoenix Seven office when Nikki arrived seven minutes late for the 15:30 shift.
Angelo held up his watch, frowning.
“It’s important to be on time,” he intoned. “Everyone needs to pull their weight, signorina. Not only when it’s convenient. While I’m focused on the American ambassador, I rely on the professionalism of this team.”
“What’s happening with the ambassador’s daughter?” Nikki asked.
“You’ve been out of the loop,” he said, scarcely suppressing a grin. “The world doesn’t simply stop when you’re away.”
“Would you brief me?”
“It’sneed-to-know,” he said. “You’re not on the case anymore.”
Nikki could see his deliberation—the pleasure of keeping the information from her contesting with his compulsion to showcase his superior knowledge. At last, he tipped his head as if the balance had shifted.
“The police found forensic evidence that Signorina Sexton was in the apartment rented by the ambassador’s daughter, Monica, and her friend, Kami.”
Nikki was surprised. “She was in their flat?”
“Perhaps even staying with them.”
She thought of Valerio’s words:You don’t take that kind of risk unless you’re desperate or insane.
“If she was staying in their flat,” she said, “why not kill her there? Why wait to kill her in a church with potentially hundreds of witnesses?”
“Precisely my thoughts!” agreed Angelo, clearly unable to hide his excitement.
“What does Monica say?” Nikki asked. “Did she tell you what Claire was doing at her flat?”
“She denies it.”
“She must be lying.”
Angelo’s chin tilted, face flushed. “As I told the detectives! I knew she was lying. My instinct is never wrong. I understand Americans. There are subtleties in such knowledge. The police could learn a thing or two from this humble investigator.”
“Why do you think she lied?” Nikki asked.
“I believe she’s afraid.”
“What could be more frightening than facing a murder charge?” she asked.
He leaned forward, rising on his toes. “That’s the question!”
As they talked, Mario had been noisily packing his bag. Now, he hefted it onto his shoulder with a grunt.
“Are you coming?” he asked loudly.
Angelo’s face, which had been animated, froze. He glanced at Mario. “On my way.”
These last words were spoken in the same abrupt tone Mario always used.
