Page 75 of The 24th Hour
Alvarez scrolled down in her photo gallery and passed the phone to Cappy, who began memorizing the man’s features.
He took out his phone and looked at the four shots he’d taken of the crowd outside the chapel at Holly’s funeral.
He said, “My last shot catches this guy’s head from the back. No help. But I’ll say this, Alvarez, he’s not seen talking to anyone here. Not even Jamie, who was the bereaved. If this dude was checking out the family, Holly’s funeral was a scouting operation. In my opinion, Padre’s worth a look-see and a chat with the arresting officer and the CO.”
“Okay. I’m going. I need you to say, ‘Go for it, Alvarez,’ and sign off on moderate expenses, okay?”
“Go for it. I’ll sign a requisition and email it to Brady. Just call home. And if you think he’s the doer, call Clapper and demand to be put through.”
“Thank you, Cappy.”
“Sonia, be careful. Call me every couple of hours and let me know where you are.”
“Will do.”
CHAPTER 100
I’D KNOWN OF Christophe Picard’s jewel of a bistro in Presidio Heights for years. I’d never been inside but had driven past its outdoor café and thought that someday I’d come here with the girls for dinner. Yet now, I was sitting at a small square table by the fireplace without the girls, dressed in my usual work clothes, badge hanging from a chain around my neck, holstered gun at my waist. I was appropriately dressed. I was working.
While waiting for Christophe to leave the kitchen and join me, I listened to French folk music and thought about Rae Bergen’s ex-husband. I was hoping that I was going to learn something from Christophe that would lead to an arrest. He’d invited me to drop by and talk with him. Maybe he wanted to gauge what I knew about the killer. Either way, he’d opened a door and I’d walked through.
While waiting, I mentally reviewed Paul Chi’s earlier interview notes with the restaurateur, which ended with “Christophe Picard; alibi checked out, not suspected.” I wastapping my feet, twiddling my wedding ring, when Christophe slipped into the chair opposite mine wearing chef’s whites and a red scarf knotted around his neck. We shook hands.
Christophe asked if I trusted him to order for me.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Excellent.”
Minutes later, a waiter delivered the first course.
Oranges?I looked up at my host.
“Blood oranges,” he said. “With caraway seeds and a Champagne vinaigrette. Have a taste, Sergeant. I think you’re going to like it.”
He was right, and I told him so.
“Just getting started,” he said.
“Me, too. I think you invited me to lunch so you could tell me something.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. Talk to me, Christophe. Do you know or have any idea who hated Holly and Jamie enough to have killed them?”
“You get right to the point, don’t you?”
“Yes. I hope you do, too.”
“Shoot,” he said. “I mean …”
“I get it,” I said to the good-looking guy in blazing white sitting across from me. “I’ve spoken with Rae, but briefly, and she was guarded. I just want to understand her, and you, better.”
“Ask me anything.”
“Here we go. Where were you on Tuesday morning last week, between eight and eight thirty?”
“That’s when Jamie was murdered? That’s easy,” he said. “Iwas in LA, and a lot of people can vouch for that. Also, I paid tolls with my card.”