His partner, Tatum, was a decade younger, African American, and much more stylishly dressed in black slacks, a black turtleneck, and a tailored gray jacket. Lippert was the senior man, but he was the quiet, reserved one. Tatum was the one who radiated outgoing authority, shooting reminders or instructions to the uniformed officers and asking questions of the forensics people.
The two men worked well together. When they got around to us, they were both very cordial. They were also very professional, gently separating Joy and me before I even realized what was happening. I was speaking to Lippert, looked up, and Detective Tatum was already guiding my daughter to a table on the other side of the dining room.
“Where are you taking Joy—”
“Relax, Ms. Cosi. It’s Clare, right?” Lippert asked.
“Yes,” I nodded, my gaze fixed on my daughter.
“My partner just wants to ask the young lady a few questions in private,” Lippert explained. He sat down across from me, his florid face and rust-colored comb-over blocking my view of the other table.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, too,” Lippert continued. His voice was warm, and through his sagging hazel eyes, he regarded me with a sympathetic expression. “We really need to find the person who committed this crime, and you might be able to help us do that.”
His tone was urgent and earnest and kind, a pleasant change from Lieutenant Salinas’s approach the previous night, which veered from downright suspicious to mildly hostile. I was relieved that Detective Lippert was treating me like a witness, not like a criminal—or an accomplice.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, Ms. Cosi. I know you’ve had a bad experience tonight.” Lippert tilted his head slightly. “But if you can answer my questions, it would be a really big help. It’s best if we talk now, while the memories are fresh, and we can get as accurate a timetable as possible. It would probably be the most important thing you could do for us to help us catch the killer…But if you’d rather not, if it’s too trying to talk about right now…I certainly understand.”
Lippert paused expectantly, a notebook in one hand, a pen in the other.
“Of course we can talk,” I said. “I want to help you find the killer. Tommy Keitel was no saint, but he certainly didn’t deserve to die like this.”
The detective smiled. “Good. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me everything you think is relevant, starting with why you and your daughter were here after hours in the first place.”
I explained to Lippert about my daughter’s leaving the restaurant earlier in the evening and then coming back for her knives. I explained to Lippert that Joy had only returned to the restaurant to pick up her stuff, and that I came here to meet her.
When Lippert asked me what my daughter’s relationship was with the deceased, however, I clammed up.
“She works for him,” I said. That’s all you need to know right now. You need to find Keitel’s killer, not focus on Joy.
“Joy worked for the victim. I see,” Lippert said. “And is that all they were to each other? Just employer and employee?”
“She was an intern here for the last three months.” I kept my answer short and only slightly evasive. “Her culinary school can confirm that.”
Then I switched the subject pronto and began telling Detective Lippert about Brigitte Rouille and her violent outburst. I also mentioned that Tommy Keitel was feuding with the restaurant’s owner, Anton Wright, about something. I brought up that shady character named Nick and told Lippert about Keitel getting some kind of mysterious missive in a glossy black envelope.
“It sounded like Chef Keitel received more than one of these envelopes,” I said. “And whatever was inside angered him tremendously. It could have been a threat, even blackmail of some kind.”
“Blackmail? Hmmmm. And why do you think that, Ms. Cosi? Because the letter came in a black envelope?”
I stared at Lippert. “I think it’s something you should look into.”
“I see…”
Detective Lippert continued to listen to me talk, he even took some notes, but then he went right back to Joy. He asked what “stuff” my daughter had come for so late, and I told him about the things in her locker and her expensive knife set.
“You’re talking about the knife kit spread out on the counter beside the deceased?” Lippert asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “It’s Joy’s.”
The luggage tag attached to the set had my daughter’s name and address right on it. Unless they were idiots, the detectives had to know it was Joy’s already.
“Maybe Chef Keitel was packing up Joy’s knives when the killer arrived,” I theorized.
“And the killer used your daughter’s knife to kill him?”
“I guess it was the closest blade in sight—”
Lippert’s expression turned thoughtful then mildly puzzled. “In a kitchen full of knives? There are blades and meat hammers and skewers hanging all over the place in there. Why would some stranger just happen to grab your daughter’s knife?”
Clearly, Detective Lippert was playing with the idea of Joy as the killer. I wasn’t surprised he wanted to 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.