Sonia and Emilio entered, accompanied by their translator, a small, wiry man.
Sonia, seemed nonplussed to see Nikki and Angelo.
“We don’t require Phoenix Seven at this time,” she said.
Her voice was cold, face expressionless.
Angelo nodded, adjusting his posture.
“I’m here on thespecialrequest of the United States admiral and the United States ambassador,” he said.
—
Sonia didn’t wait for pleasantries. When they were seated, she passed across a paper with numbers and graphs.
“These are the results from the clothing swabs we took from you and Kami and from Claire Sexton. The cocaine we found on your clothing was an exact match.”
“I told you,” said Monica. “It must have gotten on us when we were trying to help.”
“I know you said that,” said Sonia. “We wanted to believe you. But your blood and saliva tests also came back.”
She passed over another piece of paper.
“You and Signorina Washington both tested positive for cocaine use. Can you explain this?”
“I don’t know,” said Monica with a hiccuping sob, and she started crying again. Everyone waited for her to calm.
“We understand the victim was carrying a bag with her,” Sonia said. “Did you notice a bag anywhere?”
“No.”
“Did you happen to notice if anyone else was carrying a bag?”
“She was bleeding to death!” Monica exclaimed angrily, face flushing. “How was I supposed to notice?”
“You told us you didn’t know the victim,” said Emilio. “Is that correct?”
“I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“You may not realize this,” said Emilio, “but smartphones are fairly stupid when it comes to deleting things. You take a picture with your phone, and it…moves around. Copies itself. So, when you delete a photo, it leaves a ghost behind. Our technicians are very good at hunting ghosts.”
Monica was trembling. Emilio set an electronic tablet on the table, then dragged his finger across the screen to show a series of images.
“These pictures were on your phone and the phone of Kami Washington on Sunday night.”
The photos were of Monica and Kami, both drinking cocktails—lit against a dark background awash in green and pink laser lights—flirting with men and with the camera.
Emilio stopped at a photo: a selfie of three women, their faces pressed together, full cheeks, eyeliner, and puckered lips—Kami and Monica and Claire Sexton.
Monica covered her face.
“This is your chance,” said Sonia. “Tell us what you know.”
Ferragni placed a hand on the table. “I need a word with my client.”
Emilio and Sonia nodded and stood. Nikki stood, too, but Angelo stayed put until Ferragni gave him a hard look and said, “Alone.”
Angelo dislodged himself and tromped from the room with the others.
