"You are the girls what found the body, si?" she asked in heavily accented English.
I nodded. "Yes."
"I interpret for you. Down at the station."
"But we-" I tried to protest, but she'd already slammed the door shut and gestured to Beak Nose to take us away.
I felt desperation bubble up in my throat as the car pulled away from Donata's house to God knows where. French prison hadn't been any fun. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like Italian prison any better.
While the brick facades and high archways on the outside of the police station resembled a museum more than the utilitarian government buildings in L.A., the interior looked like an almost exact replica of the squad room on NYPD Blue. Prompting me to wonder if maybe someone hadn't been watching a few too many reruns from American television. A tiny reception area was gated off from the main room, a woman in gray polyester manning the desk. Beyond her were rows of gunmetal gray desks and behind those sat a row of closed doors.
The first thing they officers did when we got inside was separate Dana and me. I watched as Beak Nose took her through one door, handing me off to the interpreter, who escorted me to another.
The room we entered was a small, six-by-six affair with a plain metal table in the center and four folding chairs. A big, round guy straining his uniform at the gut was waiting for us, seated in one of the chairs. Miss Gandolfini gestured for me to sit opposite him, then placed herself at my side.
I sat, twisting my hands in my lap beneath the table.
The big guy said something in Italian, then the interpreter turned to me.
"You find the victim, si?" she asked me.
I nodded. "Yes." I looked to the big guy. "Yes. I found the victim."
More Italian. I turned to Miss Gandolfini.
"He asks, 'You are friend of the victim?'"
"Well," I shifted in my seat. "Not exactly. I'd met her. In Paris."
Miss Gandolfini raised a pair of bushy, black eyebrows. Then relayed my answer to the big guy. He grunted, then shot back a reply.
"But she is in Italy," she said.
"Yes, she is now. But she wasn't. She was in Paris, with Gisella."
We went through the interpretation dance again, until she came back with, "Gisella? Is this the friend you find the body with?"
I shook my head, feeling a headache brewing behind my eyes. "No. That's Dana. Gisella's a model. Well, I guess Dana's a model now too, but that's only because Gisella is dead."
There went those eyebrows again. But she relayed my answer, resulting in big guy leaning in close, speaking more excitedly.
"I thought the victim is Donata?" Gandolfini's twin sister said.
"Yes. This one. The other one was Gisella. You see, I'm the Couture Killer."
She stifled a gasp. Then interpreted for big guy. He threw his hands up, shouting something in Italian.
"Wait, no! I mean, I didn't really kill anyone. I'm just… the press, they… I mean, it's all a misunderstanding, you see… " I gave up. It was clear neither of them had any idea what I was talking about. To be honest, I'm not even sure I knew anymore.
The door opened and Beak Nose said something in Italian to the big guy and my so-called interpreter. They shared a look, then both quickly got up from the table. I stood as well, but as the two of them filed out of the room, Beak Nose motioned for me to stay, then shut the door again.
I bit my lip, fully aware that I'd been doing that so much today, I'd eaten off any trace of Raspberry Perfection that might have been lingering, as I wondered what had cut my interview short.
I didn't have to wonder long, as the door popped open again.
And there stood Moreau.
Again he was dressed in a suit that was clearly made for someone two sizes larger, the cuffs hanging over his hands as he walked into the room and sat down opposite me. His scraggly little mustache twitched as he scrutinized me.
"You found another body, Mademoiselle Springer?"
I opened my mouth to speak. But nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes," I croaked out. "Dana and I did."
"This is Dana?" he asked. "She is a model with the show, no?
I nodded. "Yes."
"And you two were here because…?" He raised an eyebrow at me.
I hesitated, wondering just how much to divulge. He must have noticed because he leaned forward a fraction of an inch in his chair, his mustache twitching ever so slightly.
"We had a hunch Donata might be involved in the jewel thefts. We were going to confront her."
"I see." I leaned his elbow on the table, steepling his fingers. "And what happened? Things got out of hand?"
"Yes." I paused. "Wait, no. I mean we never confronted her."
"You killed her instead."
"No! I didn't kill anyone. She was… like that when we got there."
"I see. Anyone see you arrive?"
"We came in a cab. You can ask the driver."
"His name would be?" Moreau asked, extracting his trusty notepad from an oversized pocket.
"Arturo. Antonio. Something like that."
Moreau gave me a look. Then put the pad back in his pocket. "I see."
"No, no I don't think you do see. I didn't kill Donata. She was dead when we got here. The front door was open, and she was lying in the floor."
"The door was open."
"Yes."
"So, you went inside?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Into the foyer. And the room we found her in."
"That is all?"
"Yes." I paused. "Wait, no."
"You keep changing your story."
"No, it's the same story. I just remember we went into the office, too. To use the phone."
"The cordless?" he clarified.
"Yes."
"And this was the only thing you touched, oui?"
"Yes."
He leaned in, his eyes intent on mine. "Then why are your prints all over the wine glass in Miss Girardi's foyer?"
Shit.
"I forgot. I touched that, too."
"You seem to do a lot of forgetting."
"Look, I knocked it over when we found the body and I cleaned up the pieces of broken glass."
He raised an eyebrow. "You see a dead woman, yet before you call the police, you stop to do a little housekeeping?"
"No. Yes. I, I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly. I was panicked."
"Because you had just killed a woman?'
"Because I'd just found a dead woman."
"Hmmmm." He narrowed his eyes at me, pursing his lips in a way that made his mustache dance. "Where were you this afternoon?"
"At Donata's office. Dana was with me the whole time," I said quickly. "I have an alibi."
"This time," he added, skeptically.
I didn't say anything, crossing my arms over my chest.
"What were you doing at Donata's office?" he asked.
"Looking for her. She wasn't there, so I got her home address and we came here. Look, you can ask Donata's assistant, Debbie."
"She is being questioned now."
Wow, he was quick.
"Good," I said, defiantly.
"We also have a team going though Donata's office. Care to know what they have found so far?"
I froze. Uh oh. He looked a little too pleased with himself.
Only, he didn't wait for me to answer. "Your fingerprints. All over the file cabinets in Mademoiselle Girardi's private office." He did a little smirk. "I supposed you forgot to mention that, too?"
I bit my lip. Shit.
"Look, I didn't take anything. I… I was just looking."
"For?"
"Evidence."
"Of?"
"Her involvement in the jewel heists."
"Find any?"
"Well, not exactly. But, did you know that Donata used to be a man? She was a male model in the seventies and someone found out and they sent her some pictures of her as a him and I think they were blackmailing her into sending Gisella on all the good jobs where she could get her hands on the jewelry. Or her partner could. Like the Corbett Winston account, because Angelica said that Donata wouldn't even let her go on a go-see, so I'm pretty sure that Donata was involved and that's why she got killed. Not by me."