The bartender carrying a tray past the booth.

Someone in a charcoal coat who had passed through the staff corridor shortly before Vincent slumped against the table.

“Did you tell the police?” I asked.

“Yes.

I should have done that before I came here.

But there is another reason I needed to speak with you.”

I waited.

“Dennis told my attorney you tampered with my drink.

He implied you caused the emergency to make yourself look brave.”

For a moment the kitchen seemed to tilt.

“That’s a lie.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you called for help when it would have been easier to look away.