Chapter Twelve #3
Nikki’s face was suddenly hot. She needed to say something, but was careful with her words around groups like these. She’d learned long ago to edit thoughts or opinions that might elicit her father’s disapproval or the amusement of his colleagues.
“There’s something else to consider,” she said, voice weaker than she intended.
“Phoenix Seven is neutral. When we interact with the police on behalf of US service members and their families, they perceive us as…fair. Unbiased. If the police see us working with a defense attorney on a criminal case, it may harm our ability to effectively do our jobs.”
“Surely, there can be no more important job than defending an American citizen!” exclaimed Angelo with a broad gesture. “Clearly, Signorina Serafino doesn’t feel up to the tasking!”
“I didn’t mean—” Nikki began.
Angelo spoke loudly over her: “I humbly volunteer my services to defend the daughter of the ambassador. I will personally take charge of assisting the advocate. I will rearrange the shift schedule of Phoenix Seven to provide this assistance.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Ambassador Lissom. “Of course, I appreciate your support.” He paused for a moment while Angelo nodded, before adding, “My daughter did tell me she felt most comfortable working with Investigator Serafino.”
Placing a hand on his chest, Angelo bowed his head and gave the ambassador his most ingratiating smile. “Certainly. If it makes your daughter comfortable, Investigator Serafino can accompany me to the interview.”
—
Angelo seemed pleased with himself, humming tunelessly to the radio as they sped along the Tangenziale in the Phoenix Seven duty vehicle towards the jail in Pozzuoli. They exited the tollway and navigated the side streets towards the port, and he turned the radio down.
“Your job is to assist the US military base commander,” he said. “He makes a request and we say, ‘Yes, sir!’ You embarrass me when you show your ignorance in such an important room.”
“You aren’t concerned?” Nikki protested. “The police are already shutting us out. If we assist in a criminal defense, they may start to think of us as the opposition.”
“We help with defendants all the time!” Angelo scoffed. “Some stupid sailor is arrested for fucking a prostitute in the street and we must beg to have him released. ‘Yes, sir, he violated laws…but he’s a stupid boy—thinking with his dick. Don’t make the Americans mad at us.’ ”
“Of course,” Nikki said. “But the police listen to us because they know we’re not taking sides—just interpreting cultural misunderstandings. This is different. Don’t you see?”
Angelo chuckled.
“You lack all understanding of the strategic level,” he said in a tone of fatherly condescension. “A person must know their strengths. You focus on the tactical details, Nicole. This is your strength: day-to-day operations. Leave strategy to those in authority.”
—
At the jail, Angelo and Nikki joined Advocate Ferragni in the interview room.
Monica Lissom had been crying. Her face was red and splotchy, eyes swollen nearly shut. At the sight of Angelo, her face contorted.
“No!” she shouted. “Not him! I’m not talking if he’s in the room.”
Angelo stepped forward. “Signorina…prego…prego. I’m here on the special request of your father. I promised him I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Monica looked at Nikki, and then at the lawyer.
“Is it true?”
“Sì,” agreed Ferragni.
She turned to Angelo, eyes fierce. “You called me a liar.”
“Please accept my deepest apology,” said Angelo. “I only desire to assist you.”
Monica looked at Nikki. “Will you be there?”
“Yes,” Nikki agreed. “Right here.”
—
Sonia and Emilio entered, accompanied by their translator, a small, wiry man.
Sonia, seemed nonplussed to see Nikki and Angelo.
“We don’t require Phoenix Seven at this time,” she said.
Her voice was cold, face expressionless.
Angelo nodded, adjusting his posture.
“I’m here on the special request of the United States admiral and the United States ambassador,” he said.
—
Sonia didn’t wait for pleasantries. When they were seated, she passed across a paper with numbers and graphs.
“These are the results from the clothing swabs we took from you and Kami and from Claire Sexton. The cocaine we found on your clothing was an exact match.”
“I told you,” said Monica. “It must have gotten on us when we were trying to help.”
“I know you said that,” said Sonia. “We wanted to believe you. But your blood and saliva tests also came back.”
She passed over another piece of paper.
“You and Signorina Washington both tested positive for cocaine use. Can you explain this?”
“I don’t know,” said Monica with a hiccuping sob, and she started crying again. Everyone waited for her to calm.
“We understand the victim was carrying a bag with her,” Sonia said. “Did you notice a bag anywhere?”
“No.”
“Did you happen to notice if anyone else was carrying a bag?”
“She was bleeding to death!” Monica exclaimed angrily, face flushing. “How was I supposed to notice?”
“You told us you didn’t know the victim,” said Emilio. “Is that correct?”
“I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“You may not realize this,” said Emilio, “but smartphones are fairly stupid when it comes to deleting things. You take a picture with your phone, and it…moves around. Copies itself. So, when you delete a photo, it leaves a ghost behind. Our technicians are very good at hunting ghosts.”
Monica was trembling. Emilio set an electronic tablet on the table, then dragged his finger across the screen to show a series of images.
“These pictures were on your phone and the phone of Kami Washington on Sunday night.”
The photos were of Monica and Kami, both drinking cocktails—lit against a dark background awash in green and pink laser lights—flirting with men and with the camera.
Emilio stopped at a photo: a selfie of three women, their faces pressed together, full cheeks, eyeliner, and puckered lips—Kami and Monica and Claire Sexton.
Monica covered her face.
“This is your chance,” said Sonia. “Tell us what you know.”
Ferragni placed a hand on the table. “I need a word with my client.”
Emilio and Sonia nodded and stood. Nikki stood, too, but Angelo stayed put until Ferragni gave him a hard look and said, “Alone.”
Angelo dislodged himself and tromped from the room with the others.
—
They waited in the paint-chipped concrete hallway. Angelo seemed eager to get away from Sonia and took a few long strides, his hands clasped behind him, forehead creased as if in deep contemplation.
Nikki said to Sonia, “I need to apologize for losing my temper with Fiona Lake.”
“It’s okay,” said Sonia.
“It really isn’t. I should have been better. I will be better.”
Sonia looked long, then nodded slowly. “Thank you for your apology.”
“I lost my temper with Signora Lake, too,” Emilio volunteered, grinning. “I thought Sonia would punch me.”
The smallest hint of a smile twitched the edge of Sonia’s mouth.
Relieved to have some restoration of their professional relationship, Nikki exhaled.
“If I knew I was meeting you today, I would have brought the passport myself,” she said.
“What passport?” Sonia asked.