[FBI Interrogation Room, Dr. Sweets is interrogating Chef Paulo Romano, who served the victim ratburgers.]
I got nothing to say without my lawyer present.
Mmm, mmm, well legal representation is your constitutional right, but, I'm telling you, the minute a lawyer gets here, I can't help you.
Ha, ha. You say that, but you don't mean that––
...you served your divorce lawyer... a rat burger.
Says you.
The ingredients, aside from the rat, forensically matched your kitchen.
(Plays along, amused) What ingredients?
"What ingredients?" (Starts pulling out evidence from a box, identifying each one.) Curry paste. Corsican Sea Salt. Red Peppers. A fairly rare Russian Tarragon. Majorcan Capers. Red Poblano Chillies. Oh, this is the pan you used.
All you're doing is convincing me I need a lawyer.
You prepared the rat. You didn't just dice it up and toss it into the pan. You treated it like a fine fillet. You really hated Richard Bartlett.
Now that's a fact.
He was your divorce lawyer, wha––? You won!
At first, I thought he was my savior... Then I got his bill. That bastard charged me so much, I would have been better off giving half to my wife.
So, you served him the burger as revenge.
Every Tuesday night. For two years. With a year and a half to go.
Excuse me?
He was gonna eat rat for as long as I was married. Three and one-half years. For poetical reasons.
He figured it out, somehow, called you to his office, threatened to sue you, take away your restaurant, and you killed him...?
Ok, now your just being insulting.
Because I'm accusing you of murder?
'Cause you're insulting my cooking! He loved that burger. You can check my emails. All Bartlett does is rave about that burger. Why would I kill him? Now, I never get the satisfaction of seeing that bastard's face, when he finds out that he had Rat, every Tuesday night.
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