Nicoletti took a controlled breath before responding to Garland’s taunting. “I don’t see the necessity to review—”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Garland said. “But my source said that the only reason you were not more fully implicated in McDermott’s murder was because the informant in the case unexpectedly withdrew his accusations against you. Then, before the ink was dry on the retraction, the informant was gunned down by persons unknown.” Garland looked hard at Nicoletti. “Shortly after that, you left the country and flew to London for a vacation. Is my information accurate?”
“Those are some of the facts.” Nicoletti tried to remain calm. “But if your ‘trusted friend’ is FBI Agent Derek Reed, he’s a petty bureaucrat who bumbled his way through that investigation and squandered any chance of catching the murderers.” Nicoletti could feel his blood pressure reaching uncharted territory.
“All these years and the murder of your best friend is still unsolved. How does that make you feel? What is it like for you, the great investigator, knowing the murderer is free to walk the streets? It makes one wonder just how good a detective you really are.” Garland switched on the intercom. “Sergeant, come in.”
For a moment, Nicoletti considered bashing Garland’s skull with the heavy glass ashtray sitting at the corner of the desk. Two men entered the room and approached Nicoletti from the left.
“Mr. Nicoletti, this is Detective Mike Reichert, and you’ve already met Sergeant Sheppard.”
Nicoletti nodded at the two men, who were carrying cardboard boxes. Neither man made any effort to shake Nicoletti’s hand. They placed the boxes on the desk next to the ashtray.
Garland was now the master of ceremonies. He moved a file to the center of his desk. “There was a woman murdered last night. Her body was found down by the river near the Harrison Street Bridge.” Garland opened the file. “Know the area?”
“I don’t think so.” The question took Nicoletti off guard. He leaned forward, trying to concentrate. He was a little confused. After all of Garland’s insulting remarks and accusations, Nicoletti couldn’t believe the man was about to ask him to assist on a murder case. He focused on the question, trying to be helpful. “Wait. Yes, I know it. It crosses the river just this side of the Chez Margot. I crossed it several times the other day.”
“Precisely.” Garland placed his elbows on the desk. “How did you like the food at Chez Margot?”
Nicoletti felt uneasy. The quick shift in Garland’s tone and subject matter was unexpected. There was a leap in logical progression. Garland should have asked if he had eaten there before asking for an evaluation of the cuisine. Nicoletti recognized the technique—it was an interrogator’s trick designed to convey knowledge of a suspect’s activities. Nicoletti did not like having tricks played on him. He did not like feeling like a suspect. “What does that have to do with the murder?”
“Maybe nothing, but I thought you might have seen the victim at the restaurant. She ate there last night, a few hours before she was killed.”
Nicoletti’s brain began to churn visual images—the chef, his wife, a middle-aged couple celebrating their anniversary, the two young women seated at the rear table.
“The victim’s name is Marie-Justine Cantrell,” Garland said flatly. “You met her on Saturday, I believe.”
Nicoletti did not process Garland’s statement. He was too busy searching the restaurant for female faces, desperately trying not to see Justine sitting across the table from him, trying not to see her smile as he cataloged the list of potential victims.
“Here is a picture of her. Do you remember seeing her the night you were there?” Garland pushed a photograph from the file across the desk. He rested his hands on his chin and waited.
The photograph was of a beautiful woman sitting on a patio. Behind her was a set of French doors painted white with yellow accents. The woman’s striking facial features were framed by cascading chestnut hair that, even in the photograph, caught the sun with shining red highlights. She wore a light blue dress that clung sensually to her sculpted body. Her tan legs were crossed in a playful manner that accentuated their musculature. She was wearing white espadrille shoes. Nicoletti wanted to lay next to her in the sunlight.