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stood behind his desk, his expression haughty and arch. The room was beyond claustro-phobic.
    Paavo had nothing to say in response. To explain that he was too busy working the case to rush back to Homicide to give Eastwood a briefing would have sounded like sarcasm. With good reason.
    Eastwood sat down. Nodding at a small leatherette guest chair, he said, “Have a seat, one of you.” Only one extra chair fit in the closet. Yosh immediately backed up against the wall, leaving Paavo the hot seat.
    The two quickly briefed Eastwood.
    “I’d like to request that the Italian police be asked to find and hold Rocco Piccoletti,” Paavo said in conclusion. The airline had confirmed for him that the suspect was on the flight.
    Eastwood leaned back and regarded the detective a long moment. “On what grounds?”
    “He left the country after leaving the scene of a murder that took place in his brother’s home. I understand the brother is also in Rome. I have a number of questions for them both.”
    Eastwood steepled his fingers. “The murder, you said, occurred at about one-thirty. Piccoletti’s plane left at three. Aside from the fact that you need to arrive at the airport two hours early for international flights just to get through security, it would take him at least forty-five minutes to get from his house to the airport, and then he’d still need time to park. It would have been practically impossible for him to be home at one-thirty and still make the flight unless it was delayed . . . Was it?”
    “No. But it is possible, barely.” Paavo knew how quickly one could board, as he’d figured out Angie’s movements earlier that day. Damn! Who would have thought she’d leave the country with Cat to chase a murderer! It made him all but physically ill to think about it, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to be working this case, not sitting in a closet answering asinine questions.
    Eastwood was addressing him. “ . . . do you know when he bought his ticket?”
    “Last week,” Paavo admitted. The airline had that information.
    Eastwood stroked his chin. “So, a man has a ticket, goes to the airport, leaves for Rome, and in the meantime, someone is murdered back in his brother’s house. The victim has the home owner’s wallet in his pocket, and meets the owner’s physical description. At the same time, a woman is seen leaving the house immediately after the murder—a woman who is the sister of your fiancée, Inspector Smith. Strangely, she’s the only person who claims the victim is not the home owner, and the only one who places this Rocco Piccoletti anywhere near the house at the time of the murder. Interesting, isn’t it, that no one else saw him?”
    Paavo’s back stiffened. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yosh glanced his way and shook his head. They’d left any mention of Caterina’s identity out of the briefing. How did Eastwood know? “That has nothing to do with anything.”
    “Given the sensitivity of the situation, I’d like to question her myself,” Eastwood said. “Bring her in.”
    “She’s . . . on her way to Italy.” Paavo’s jaw snapped shut.
    Eastwood stared at him. “You have insufficient cause to contact the Italian police about Rocco Piccoletti, Inspector Smith. I see no reason to grant your request.”
    Rage building, Paavo stood to leave. “Yes, sir.” He had to get out of there fast. “Thank you.”
    “However,” Eastwood thundered, also standing, “the woman is the one the Italian police have got to hold! I want her questioned and sent back to this country immediately. In fact, given the prominent location of this murder and this ‘other’ circumstance, I’ll handle it myself.”
    Paavo’s teeth clenched. “I believe Caterina Swenson was only at the house because someone called and accused her of stealing a valuable religious relic. She went to express her innocence to the owner—her client—and saw the body.”
    “Did it ever occur to you