Chapter 61

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” I say, after a stunned beat. “Why would I even consider such an option?”

The detective’s face has gone from public relations cheery to sullen and drained of blood. He appears oddly comfortable with this new visage, as if his more common smiley demeanor were nothing more than a mask designed to hide the lies. Or the real truth anyway. And I must admit, it makes him appear far more believable to me. More trustworthy perhaps.

He smokes, exhales, nervously flicks the growing tube of gray ash onto the floor.

“Your fiancée did not leave you of her own accord,” he says, his voice almost a whisper, but somehow screaming. “You must forgive me for having to lie about it. But those have been my orders. I did not want to speak freely in front of the journalist.”

My heart beats.

“The overcoat man.”

He nods.

“A few days ago when you first reported Grace missing, we had no leads to go on. You two had been reported as arguing in a café in the late afternoon before her disappearance. You were just returning from an extremely traumatic war experience. With no tangible leads and no witnesses coming forward to corroborate your story of abduction, we could only assume you might have had something to do with her sudden disappearance.”

I recall my conversation with the American man this morning. He claimed to be a witness and to have personally spoken with Carbone. It’s exactly what I tell him now.

“That man did come forward. But not until nearly forty-eight hours after the fact. And by then it was too late. I thanked him for his time and told him that if he should continue with interfering in a police matter he would be detained. The US Embassy told him the very same thing.”

“I would never do anything to harm Grace.”

“Of this I am now certain. But let me assure you, Captain, it’s not all that unusual for a seemingly happy relationship to go violently wrong, even in Venice. I’ve been in the position of investigating murders of passion before. Yours would not have been a unique situation had it turned out to be the case.”

“Is that why Interpol is watching me?”

He shakes his head. Smokes.

“Not exactly.”

“Why then?”

Coming from behind me, a door opening. A door opening in a place where there seemed to be no door, but instead a wood-paneled wall. A secret door in a room that is no doubt equipped with audio/visual surveillance equipment, just like any other police interrogation room.

“I’ll prefer that Agent Heath Lowrance answer that question himself, Captain.”