French Pressed

explore this angle, but I was sure I could talk some sense into him.

“Listen,” I said quickly. “It’s important that you find Brigitte Rouille as soon as possible. I’ll bet she still has bloodstains on her. I wasn’t sure before, but now it makes perfect sense. She’s on drugs. Her life’s been spinning out of control for weeks now. Brigitte tried to stab Joy yesterday, in the restaurant. I witnessed that myself. I think she has a grudge against my daughter…and if you scratch the surface, I’ll bet she had a past with Tommy Keitel. I remember someone saying that they’d known each other a long time. And Tommy is a womanizer. Brigitte could have been jealous of Joy, addled by the drugs…Lots of people saw the woman threaten my daughter. Ask them. I’ll bet that’s even why she used my daughter’s knife to kill Tommy. She wanted to make it look like Joy committed the crime…”

I closed my eyes, realizing for the first time that Vinny Buccelli might have been killed for the very same reason: to frame Joy.

My God, I realized, I’ll bet Brigitte even knew about Tommy and Joy using Vinny’s apartment for sex!

“But why would this Brigitte person kill her boss?” Lippert asked.

“Because Tommy wasn’t her boss anymore. Chef Keitel fired Brigitte this morning, banned her from his kitchen. At this stage of her career, it could ruin her. Any future work would have relied on a good recommendation, and it sounded like Solange was the last chance she had. Isn’t that a strong enough motive for her to kill Keitel?”

Lippert shrugged. “Sure it is, Ms. Cosi, but your daughter was the one who was here. She had the opportunity.”

“But Joy’s got no blood on her—”

“Soap and water will clean blood. And since Keitel was killed in a kitchen, the killer would have had easy access to a sink to clean up. As for bloodied clothes, those are easy enough to change out of, aren’t they?”

We went around like that for a few minutes when Detective Tatum rose from the table where he’d been sitting with Joy. He walked to the center of the dining room, caught Lippert’s eye, and waved him over.

I saw Joy wiping her eyes at the table across the room. But she didn’t look overly distressed anymore. In fact, her expression was a little calmer, as if she’d just unloaded her burden on a really sympathetic friend.

Oh, no.

I could feel the dread creeping up my spine. Two uniformed officers were still standing over her. They seemed too close. I made a move to go to her, but a policeman hovering near me put his heavy hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t noticed him back there.

“Please stay in your seat, ma’am,” he said. “Detective Lippert will be back in a moment.”

I watched the detectives confer. They spoke quietly, not glancing at me or my daughter. They talked for at least ten solid minutes, glancing at their notebooks to compare facts. Finally the two men nodded.

Frowning, Detective Lippert returned to my table.

“What were you talking about?” I demanded. “What’s going on?”

Lippert sat down across from me again.

“Calm down,” he said tersely.

“What do you mean, calm down?” I said loudly. “What do you intend to do?”

“With you? Nothing,” Lippert replied. “You’re being released, Ms. Cosi. We’re not charging you for illegal entry or trespassing, though we can. Nor are we charging you as an accessory to murder.”

“But what about my daughter?”

Joy’s shrill cry interrupted us. “No! Are you people crazy? Don’t—”

Two uniformed officers gripped Joy by the arm. Then Detective Tatum began handcuffing my daughter’s hands behind her back.

“No, please,” Joy’s voice was desperate, terrified. “Listen to me. Why won’t you listen? I didn’t do anything. Please! You’ve got it all wrong!”

I moved to go to her. The uniformed officer standing behind me grabbed my arm. “Let me go,” I warned him. “Let me go to my daughter.” But the policeman held on. With a curse, I elbowed the officer, right in the gut. I heard him grunt, felt his grip relax. I broke free, ran across the dining room.

“Joy!” I was less than two feet from my daughter when a new pair of officers grabbed me, restrained me. “Let my girl go. Please! She didn’t do anything!”

But Detective Tatum wasn’t listening. With a neutral face, he loudly intoned the words that froze my blood:

“Ms. Joy Allegro, you are under arrest for the murder of Tommy Keitel.”

“No!” Joy cried. “I didn’t do it!”

As the uniformed officers began dragging her to the police car outside, she turned her head, and her eyes met mine. “Dad’s right, Mom,” she said. “We can’t trust the police!”

I struggled against the officers holding me, but they were stronger and slightly crueler in their determination to keep me restrained, having seen what I’d just done to their buddy in blue.

Detective Lippert stepped in front of me, blocking my view of Joy. His warm, friendly demeanor had gone dead cold. He glanced at the two uniformed men restraining me then met my eyes.

“If you assault another officer, we’ll arrest you, too.”

“Why are you doing this?!” I demanded, wincing at the forceful grip the men were applying.

Lippert pointed to the pages of his notebook. “Ms. Allegro herself supplied all the evidence we needed to make the arrest. She gave Sergeant Tatum one of the strongest motives I’ve ever heard. Tommy Keitel was her lover. The man jilted her today and also fired her, humiliating her in the process. Ms. Allegro confirmed that the murder weapon belonged to her, which you did, as well, Ms. Cosi. And you also confirmed that when you arrived, your daughter was already here and the victim already stabbed, which meant Ms. Allegro had the time and opportunity to commit this act.”

Detective Lippert closed his notebook. “I don’t think I have to look any further for a prime suspect. Do you, Ms. Cosi?”

Sixteen

I returned to my closed, dark coffeehouse and dragged myself up the back stairs to the duplex. My body was exhausted and bruised from the manhandling by Detective Lippert’s men. The door to the master bedroom was wide open, the room empty. It was after three in the morning. Matteo was still out clubbing with the Waipunas.

I tried Matt’s cell and was sent immediately to voice mail. That’s when I remembered how he’d warned me to stop calling earlier because his cell battery was about to die.

So what else is new? I thought. For far too many years, Matt was unavailable to me when I’d wanted him. Why should tonight be any different?

Then it occurred to me that I really didn’t want Matt at all. I wanted to inform him what had happened to our daughter, sure. Given Breanne’s connections, he would know what high-powered lawyer to call, so I’d leave that to him.

The man I actually wanted and needed was Mike Quinn. A little desperate to hear his voice, even if it was only on a digital recording, I picked up the phone and dialed his apartment’s number.

I knew he was still on duty, so I wasn’t surprised when I got his answering machine. I left a long, rambling, semicoherent message with every detail I could think of about Joy’s arrest, ending with “Please, please, Mike, call me back.”

Then I stretched out on the narrow couch. I tried to sleep, but visions of what my daughter was probably experiencing played through my imagination like a waking nightmare. I recalled my grim trip to Riker’s Island when Tucker had been falsely charged of a crime and arrested. I wondered if they’d put Joy on a bus to that terrible place, shackled beside some crack dealer or small-time felon.

The phone rang beside my ear, and I bolted upright. Daylight streamed through the living room’s French doors, and I realized I’d nodded off. I glanced at my watch: 8:15.