Celebrity in Death

20

If you had to be out in nature, Eve figured a city park did the job in a civilized manner. The wildlife ran to squirrels, pigeons, muggers, and the inevitable end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it prognosticator who invariably looked rattier than the squirrels.

She liked the flowers well enough. Someone actually planted them rather than them just sneaking up out of the ground when nobody was looking. And in addition to the weird chirp of a bird or buzz of some bloodsucking insect, came the comforting grumble of traffic.

“I’m not tromping all over Battery Park in these heels.”

Eve glanced down at the towering pumps in glossy tones of rust picked out in gold. “Why do you wear them if you can’t walk in them?”

“I can walk in them just fine, thanks. But I’ll be damned if I’ll hike in them.” Nadine plopped down on a bench, crossed the legs that ended in the no-hiking shoes, folded her arms. “What’s this about and why the hell couldn’t we deal with it on the ’link? My schedule’s blown to bits now.”

“You’re going to want to add something to the bits.”

Nadine simply gave her the steely eye. “Do you have any idea what goes into setting up a multipart special like this? The scheduling, the travel, the writing, the conceptualizing, wardrobe? Added to it, I’m doing the interviews, writing the questions, the setups, the narration. And I’m the christing executive producer. So—”

“Speaking of producers,” Eve said mildly as she dropped down on the bench, “I need you to get Steinburger to agree to an interview. You can dig into his thoughts of Harris’s murder, how it feels to be a suspect, how he and the others are handling her death while they continue to produce the vid. Like that.”

“Now you’re telling me how to do my job?” Temper spiked up over stress. “I swear to God, I may just try to kick your ass after all.”

“In those shoes?” Eve snorted. “Your ankles would snap like twigs.”

“Listen, Dallas, the media’s jammed with this already, and Steinburger, like the rest, is toeing the company line. Shock, upset, sorrow, and the show must go on. I’ve already talked to all of them, on record. If you’ve got something new, an angle I can work with, fine. Otherwise, it’s just reprise until you feed us more info. Unless you’re going to tell me Steinburger strolled up to the roof and killed Harris.”

“Off the record.”

Nadine’s eyes narrowed, flashed. “Oh, to borrow from you, Dallas, bite me. You drag me all the way downtown, lay out a tease like you suspect one of the most respected, successful, and revered producers in the business might have killed one of his most bankable if difficult actors? And you expect me to go off the record.”

“Off the record, or you take a hike in those ankle-killers, and I take one in my new, comfortable boots.”

“God! You piss me off.” Nadine studied Eve’s boots and sulked. “They’re nice boots.”

Eve shot out her legs, gave her boots a study in turn. “I guess they go with the coat.”

“I’m not even discussing the coat because it should be mine. I’d appreciate its soft, leathery goodness and superior lines a lot more than you.”

“I like it.” She waited a beat. “So do you want to sit here and talk about our clothes, or are we off-record?”

“Damn it. I—”

“Hold that thought.” Eve rose, strode over, and grabbed a skinny guy in a baggy jacket and camo pants by the arm. “Look, you and I both know that woman’s an idiot for carrying her purse that way.”

“What’s your deal?” He shoved at her, tried to yank free. Eve just shifted and tightened her grip.

“She’s an idiot, and so’s the woman with her. But they’re probably from Wisconsin or somewhere. So snatching their bags in the park is just bad public relations for the city.”

He sneered, fisted his free hand in warning. “Get outta my face, lady, or I’m calling the cops.”

“Okay, so you’re an idiot, too. I am a cop, moron. I’m sitting right over there, and I’m watching you scope your mark. It’s insulting.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But his fisted hand fell back to his side, and his voice took on a whine. “I’m walking here. I’m just walking here.”

“Do us both a favor. Just walk somewhere else. Now.”

When she let him go he didn’t walk. He ran like a rabbit away from the two women, possibly from Wisconsin, who strolled with their handbags dangling from careless fingers.

Eve walked back, sat on the bench. “Sorry for the interruption. Now where were we?”

“How did you know he was a purse snatcher?”

“He’s been stalking those two women for the last few minutes, keeping pace, eyeing the bags. Trying to gauge if he could do a double-snatch or just go for the one. I think he was going for the double. Anyway. If you want to know what I know, say the magic words.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Those aren’t the magic words.”

“All right, but it damn well better be good. It better be gold. We’re off the record.”

“Steinburger not only killed Harris and A. A. Asner, he’s killed at least seven other people. I think it’s more, but we’re sticking with the nine total right now. He’s been killing people for forty years.”

Nadine blinked once, slowly. “Joel Steinburger. Academy Award–winning, Kennedy Center–honoring, Big Bang Productions–founding Joel Steinburger, a killer, for four decades?”

“Starting with one of his housemates in college, and ending, if I have anything to do with it, with Asner.”

“Fuck me sideways.”

“Thanks, but you’re just not my type.”

“You’re sure.”

“I’m sure men are my type, but if I went for women, I’d do you.”

Nadine gave Eve a punch on the shoulder with the heel of her hand. “About Steinburger. Of course you’re sure. You wouldn’t tell me if you weren’t sure. Jesus. Jesus. I actually have to hike.” She pushed up, strode along the path, back and forth in her crazy high, glossy shoes. “This is huge. It’s bigger than huge. It’s a monster story. It’s Godzilla. And a book, oh yeah, the follow-up bestseller with a guaranteed vid to follow with the Hollywood scandal connection.”

“And only nine people, give or take, had to die.”

“Just give me a minute, would you? I’m restraining myself from doing the mambo over this, and that’s taking some work. Joel Steinburger: Producer in Death.”

“Maybe you can brainstorm your titles after we put him away.”

Nadine sat again. “All right, I’m finished with the glee portion of my reaction. It probably wouldn’t have been quite so gleeful except I don’t like him. I expected to, wanted to. The man’s producing my book in a major screen event. I admire his work, a lot. But I found him pushy and petulant, and a little on the grabby side. He’s an ass-patter,” Nadine explained. “Tries to make it come off avuncular, but that didn’t wash for me so I’ve kept my ass at a distance.”

“Sex and money are big elements of his makeup, and the need to exert power. Ass-patting women is just a way to show he’s the one at the wheel.”

“You tracked him back to his housemate’s death? In college?”

“The working hypothesis is the housemate did his papers, or sold him papers at a fee—or found out Steinburger was buying his grades to keep from getting the boot. Steinburger pushed him down the stairs at their off-campus place. Or, possibly, it was an accident, then covered up. But when you dig in, there have been a lot of accidents resulting in death connected to him over the years. Too many.

“And I just got a recant, on record, from his alibi on the night Angelica Caulfield OD’d.”

“Angelica Caulfield. Oh God, fuck me inside out and sideways. Mind-mamboing. You think he killed Angelica fucking Caulfield.”

“I know he did. Just have to prove it. And there are more.”

Eve ran them through quickly as Peabody came to the bench with a jumbo sleeve of popcorn. Absently, she tossed some to a squirrel.

He was immediately joined by a swarm of his buddies.

“Jesus, Peabody.” Eve drew her legs back in.

“He looked hungry.”

“Now he’s an army, and here comes the frigging air force.”

Pigeons swooped so squirrel and bird gave each other the beady eye as they jostled for position.

“Get that out of here,” Eve ordered, “before they mount the attack. I think that one’s got a weapon.”

Looking aggrieved, and a little frightened, Peabody waded through the massing squirrels and pigeons and made a dash away with her sleeve.

“It’s the Free-Ager in her,” Eve muttered.

“There’s been speculation over Caulfield’s death and the paternity of the fetus for years. All the while … You can’t prove any of this. Yet. Or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

“Peabody contacted the water cops before she decided to play fairy godmother to the wildlife. They’ll send divers down. We’re going to find the electronics, some of them anyway. We’ve got him connected to the boat—and the owner of the boat, his alibi for Caulfield, recanted with a detailed explanation of why she initially lied. I can and will bury him in circumstantial up to his neck. There’s the partially open dome and his aversion to smoke.”

“I can confirm that. Marlo and I had a couple of herbals in her trailer one day when we were going over a scene. He came by an hour later. You’d have thought we’d burned hazardous waste in there.”

“We’ll be tracking down wits from all the murders. I should have the case file and the electronics on the Buster Pearlman suicide by the time I get back to Central. This afternoon we’ll hold a media conference, and I’ll announce that we’re investigating new information, new evidence, and believe we’re close to making an arrest.”

“Trying to smoke him out?”

“He’ll worry about it, try to backtrack his steps, figure out if he made a mistake. Off-balance, he’s more likely to make one now. Mira’s worried, and I think she has cause, that he may go as far as offing one of the others to throw suspicion onto them. He’s done it before.”

“With the business partner. So you want me to add to the pressure, give him more of a nudge by pushing for an interview.”

“If you get one you go in wired.”

“Wait a minute—”

“For your own protection, Nadine. He may decide you’re the one to off.”

“Oh, bull. Why would he target me? We barely brushed by each other. I only went to the set a handful of times, to another handful of table readings or meetings.”

“She pressured you to expand her part, to change some of the scenes, to twist the actual facts of the case to suit her desire for more screen time.”

“I wouldn’t say pressured, but—”

“She pushed for it—went to Roundtree, to Steinburger—who would probably be happy now to detail an argument he umped between you—once both of you are dead and unable to say it never happened, or not that way. She claimed your work was inferior, that you were, after all, just a reporter. Not Hollywood, not someone who really understood how to translate the story onto the screen.”

“She never … not exactly. Besides she wasn’t going to get it.”

“But she went at you the night of the party. Drunk, obnoxious, insulting. Maybe she gave you a little physical push. You responded. You didn’t mean to kill her, but things got out of hand.”

“Hey!”

“Now you’re riddled with guilt. Trying to cope with it by throwing yourself into another project. But it’s eating at you. You know, even though we’re friends, I’m sniffing it out, and I’ll do my job. You can’t face that. The scandal, the pressure, the threat of doing time. So, you take the easy way out and kill yourself.”

“I do not. You know damn well I’d never kill myself, and you’d vow to avenge my death, should it happen, while fighting tears over my beautiful, stylish corpse.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. The point is, he doesn’t know either of us well enough to know I’d never buy that you offed yourself. You could be, for him, a very convenient, beautiful, and stylish corpse.”

“I get your point. I still think there are more convenient corpses.”

“So do I, but since I don’t want to have to spend my time avenging your death and fighting tears, why take chances? You go wired.”

“I’ll get the interview, and I’ll go wired—on the condition I get an exclusive one-on-one with you, and a full hour with you on Now.”

For form, Eve scowled. “This isn’t about media scoops and ratings, Nadine. It’s about stopping a killer who’s not only slipped the law for forty years, but profited from it.”

“If it wasn’t about the media, you wouldn’t be talking to me, or asking for my help. You need the media on this. You need me, and I’ll play it your way. You just have to play the aftermath mine.”

“Maybe I should let him off you.”

“You like me too much. Plus there’s that whole protect-and-serve thing.” She dug her notebook out of her bag, made a few quick notes. “I’m also going to need your cooperation with the book I’ll be writing on this, and for that I’ll be putting my considerable resource skills into those other murders. And I’ll share.”

She slid the book back in her bag, closed it. Gave Eve her cat smile.

“You know and I know it’s going to take research, resources, and manpower to put together the evidence to build all those cases.”

Eve frowned down at the toe of her boots, as if reluctant. “All right. Deal. But it has to be today. Right after the media conference.”

“Done. We were both going to agree to all this anyway, but it was a nice break in the park.” Nadine got to her feet. “I’ll be at the conference, and I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve set up the interview with Steinburger.”

Eve watched her walk away on her impractical shoes, then got up to find Peabody and make sure she hadn’t been eaten by squirrels.

Back at Central, she issued a request—through two uniforms she sent to the studio—for Valerie to come into Central, answer a few more questions.

“We’ll go to her if she balks,” Eve told Peabody, “but I’d rather do it here. Make it formal, a little disturbing—and before the media conference. We’ll let her know we’re making an announcement shortly.”

“And she’ll spread that word at the studio.”

“I wouldn’t want Steinburger to miss it. I want someone on him. We can’t trail him at the studio, but when he leaves, someone’s on him. We need to know if he approaches any of the others. He doesn’t get a chance to add to his kill score.”

“Baxter and Trueheart?”

“Yeah, if they’re not on something hot. Soft clothes. Fill them in. I’ll alert Feeney and EDD about Nadine’s wire, and update the commander.” She checked the time. “And let’s keep on top of the water cops and the divers.”

It didn’t take long. She added a check-and-confirm with Kyung, began to skim the case file, delivered efficiently from California, then smiled at Peabody’s text re Valerie. The publicist was in the house.

A few props never hurt, Eve decided, and gathered some files, tucked them under her arm. She walked out to the bullpen.

“Where did we put her?”

“Interview A,” Peabody told her.

“Let’s do this. Brisk and formal,” she added as they headed toward Interview. “Clarifying. We have this media thing shortly, want to make sure we have all the correct information. And when I go in on her, feel free to look somewhat distressed on her behalf.”

“It’ll be good acting practice for my cameo. Preston just sent me a message. I have a line: ‘It’s the police.’ I could say it like that—like a statement. Or maybe like I’m alarmed. ‘It’s the police!’ Or maybe sort of like a question. ‘It’s the police?’”

“Yeah, that’s a puzzler.”

“Well, I want to do a good job. Maybe with a little hesitation. ‘It’s … the police!’ My family’s completely juiced about this. They’re going to let McNab do it with me, like we’re standing together, and I say it to him. We’re going to be a couple.”

“Of what?”

Eve pushed open the interview room door.

“Ms. Xaviar.” Eve gave Valerie a nod as she called for record on, then read in the particulars. “Thank you for coming in,” she began, then continued before Valerie could respond. “You’ve already been read your rights on this matter. Do you require me to read them to you again?”

“No, but I’m not sure why you asked me to come.”

Eve sat, laid down her files. “Unlike on-screen, actual murder investigations involve a lot of repetition and routine. I want to confirm a few points from your previous statements and make sure we have an accurate record of your version of events.”

“My version?”

“Five people see the same event. Every one of them is going to report it with variations. Nobody sees the same thing the same way, do they?”

“So you’re asking everyone to come in again?”

Eve said nothing, only glanced down as she opened a file.

“Would you like something before we start, Valerie?” Peabody offered a smile in contrast to Eve’s chilly formality.

“No. No. I’d like to get this done. We’re very busy right now.”

“We’re a little busy around here, too.” Eve’s tone could have frozen a fiery pool in hell. “What with investigating a couple of murders, and dealing with the media you and your associates are so fond of.”

“We’re doing another media conference today.” Peabody oozed enthusiasm and naïveté. “We get to announce we have new information and expect an early arrest.”

“Peabody.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. But Valerie’s in the media business, so she knows how it works. Dallas doesn’t like to show our hand,” Peabody told Valerie, “but the brass wants the buzz.”

“Of course. You’re going to arrest someone? You know who killed K.T.?”

“We’re—”

“Peabody!” This time Eve snapped it out. “We’re not here to discuss confidential and official details of the investigation, nor will those details be given to the media. Whatever buzz the brass wants.”

“I might be able to help. It is my field, and I’d—”

“We’re covered.” Eve took a slim tablet out of the file, swiped it on. “You stated you were seated here during the screen show in Roundtree’s theater on the night of K.T. Harris’s murder. Is this correct?”

“Ah …” Valerie leaned forward, studied the seating chart Eve had created. “Yes. I think so. I was seated toward the back and to the right.”

“To the best of your recollection is the rest of this chart accurate?”

“I really didn’t pay that much attention, but I do remember Marlo and Matthew moved over to this corner, where you have them, and Roundtree was in the front, near you and your husband. Joel was behind me as was Julian. So it looks correct there.”

“And in your statement given the night of the murder you said you didn’t notice anyone leaving the theater during the show.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were seated toward the back, and to the right. Now the area outside the doors had the lights on low, but there were lights on out there. And when the doors opened—as we know they did more than once during the screen show as it is fact that the victim, the killer, Nadine Furst, and Connie Burkette exited the theater—the light from the opening door would angle over your seat. Those doors opened several times, but you didn’t notice?”

“I was, as I said before, doing a little work, which is why I sat in that area. And I may have been a seat over. It’s hard to remember exactly.”

“Which was it? Here?” Eve tapped the screen. “Or here? Or maybe here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Now you’re not sure.” Eve sat back, eyes cool, nodded. “Yet you seemed sure when you gave your initial statement.”

“I didn’t know the exact seat would be so important.”

“You didn’t know where you were seated, if you were seated, if you saw someone leave, if you left yourself, would be important to a murder investigation?”

“I never left that theater.” A trace of panic threaded through her voice. “Julian or Joel would have seen me if I had. They were behind me.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“But not of where you were seated. You know where two other people and—from previous statements—where the vic sat, but you can’t quite remember where you were.”

“I was here.” Agitated, Valerie slapped her finger on the tablet.

“Now you’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“You were seated here, but never noticed the light from the opening door.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“It’s funny, because I ran a reconstruction and putting myself in this seat—the seat you’re now sure you used—I sure as hell noticed the brief wash of light from the door.”

“Obviously you’re more observant than I, or more sensitive to a change in light.”

“That must be it. It couldn’t be that you’re lying.”

Valerie tried for insulted, but that panic slipped through again. “I don’t have any reason to lie.”

“You have your career. I bet it’s important to you. Moving on, you’ve also stated that you were at Joel Steinburger’s New York residence at the time of A. A. Asner’s murder. Are you sure about that?”

“Of course.”

“Just checking. Neither you nor Mr. Steinburger left the residence at any time that evening, that night, and through to the morning?”

“No.”

“You’re sure because you spent every minute of that time together.”

“We worked late, until after midnight—nearly one A.M., trying to get ahead of the story, anticipate the angles. I stayed in the guest quarters as it was so late when we finished, and we agreed to put in some time in the morning.”

“How much do you get paid for that kind of overtime?”

“Excuse me?”

“I wonder what you get for putting in all that time.”

“My job requires flexibility and often entails long and odd hours. I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Cops are nosy. I’m nosy, so I wonder if the time you put in explains the fifty thousand Mr. Steinburger transferred to your account yesterday morning.”

Agitation switched to shock—covered fairly well, Eve thought, with sputtering outrage. “You looked into my personal finances? What right do you have to—”

“Every. This is murder. What did you do for fifty large, Valerie?”

“My job! Joel values exceptional work, which I provide. Handling the fallout from K.T.’s death has involved a lot of extra time, extra hours, and some innovation. He gave me a bonus.”

“But you said your job requires flexibility and often entails long hours.”

“It does.”

“And how often are you given a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for doing your job? Because unless it was in cash, and went unreported, which would mean you didn’t pay taxes on it, I didn’t see anything comparable in the last two years.”

“I can only speculate Joel felt these circumstances, and my handling of them, warranted the bonus.” She looked away, and her throat worked. “You’d have to ask him.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Are you sleeping with him again, Valerie?”

“I am not! I don’t have to sleep with an employer to advance my career.”

“But you had sex with him before.”

“It had nothing to do with career advancement. It was just a momentary weakness on both our parts. We started and ended it before we came to the New York studios.”

“Good for you. Speaking of advances, I just got this wild hair and checked with the hotel. You’ve moved up to a VIP suite. That’s a major upgrade from a standard room.”

“I needed the extra space, and the upgrade for the work.”

“And the—what do they call it—maître d’étage service, the personal gym and private elevator.”

“I needed a larger work space,” Valerie said stubbornly now. “The studio approved it.”

“You know what fancy digs and a fistful of cash says to me, Peabody?”

“Well …”

“It says bribe. Cops are suspicious and cynical as well as nosy.”

“I haven’t done anything but my job. I came in here voluntarily, but I don’t have to stay and be insulted.”

“I wonder what it’s like running media interference for people who make, what? Easily ten times what you do, more for some of them. For people who get all the perks as a matter of course, get all the attention, while you labor away behind the scenes, scrambling to show them all off in the best light. Then have to spin or cover up their fuckups, their stupidity, their indulgences. Their sins, their crimes.”

“I do what I do, and I’m good at it. I work for one of the most successful and prestigious studios in the industry. I have a staff of six who report to me, and I report directly to one of the icons of our business.”

“Did the icon ask you to lie for him, Valerie? Or for someone else?”

“I’ve given you my statement. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“That’s a ‘no comment’? You’re free to go, but I think we’re going to talk again. Really soon. Right now I have a media conference to prep for. Any advice?”

“Sarcastic bitchiness doesn’t go over well on camera.”

Eve smiled to herself as Valerie swept out of the room. “Interview end. I’m a sarcastic bitch.”

“No comment,” Peabody replied.

“And she’s a scared liar who doesn’t know whether to shit or spin. She’ll be dumping this on Steinburger asap. In fact, I’ll wager EDD’s going to get an earful before she gets all the way out of the building.”

“We may have put her head on the block, Dallas.”

“If he kills her, the upgrade and money only look more suspicious. We’d push at him for accessory, push the compensation as a bribe or payoff. He’s smarter to keep her alive, back up her version of the bonus and the need for bigger digs. But we’ll keep an eye on her.”

“How?”

Eve pulled out her ’link. “Dallas,” she said when Connie answered. “I need you to do something.”

“What do you need?”

“Contact Valerie, and tell her to meet you. I don’t care where, but I need you to keep her busy and with you or your husband for the rest of the day.”

“All right. Can I ask why?”

“You can ask, but I’m not going to tell you.”

“That’s annoying, but I could actually use some help this afternoon. The studio heads decree I should speak at K.T.’s memorial—and Mason should give the main eulogy. Between that and—well, I could use the help. When do you want me to send for her?”

“Now.”

“Now?”

“Now. And don’t tell anyone we spoke about this. I’ll be in touch later.”

“But—”

Eve clicked off, the better to avoid questions. “Valerie can’t say no to Connie—the vid star, the director’s wife. The memorial’s a lucky addition.”

“You trust her? Connie?”

“Trust is a strong word,” Eve considered, “but since she didn’t kill either of our vics, it’ll do for the moment.” She checked the time again. “Let’s go drop our bombshell on the unsuspecting public.”

She pulled out her communicator when it signaled. “Dallas.”

“Steinburger just took a tag from Xaviar,” Feeney told her. “She sounded a little out of sorts.”

“Is that so?”

“And she had uncomplimentary observations about you.”

“My feelings are hurt.”

“I’ll send a copy of the transmission to your files.”

“Thanks. For now, just give me the gist.”

“About you being really rude and offensive? Or the part about you being a bully with bad hair?”

“How about the part where she tells Steinburger I’m looking at her new job benefits.”

“Oh, that part. You had some nerve looking at her personal financial data, and questioning her hotel accommodations, trying to scare her. My take? You didn’t try, you succeeded. Steinburger grilled her on it. Wanted chapter and verse, which I’ll skip over since you were there. He told her she didn’t have a thing to worry about. Stroked and petted, said how she did just right, and the studio—and he personally—was grateful for her discretion and loyalty. He grilled her again when she told him you were making a new statement to the media on further info and an upcoming arrest. Then he told her to hold on, he had an incoming. He didn’t.”

“Needed some time to pull it together.”

“That’s my take. Left her holding for seventy-three seconds. Had himself cool and collected when he came back on. Told her not to worry. Both of them were only doing what was best for the project and the studio, and when everything settled down again, he’d show her his appreciation.”

“She buy that?”

“She thanked him, then said she was going back to the hotel to work. That she’d watch the media conference from there, and work out an official studio response.”

“She’s going to be busy for the next several hours, and out of his reach. Let me know what else you get. We’re going into the media deal in a few minutes.”

“Better you than me,” Feeney said and broke transmission.

Eve glanced over, saw that Peabody had stopped, and stood with her own communicator. A wide grin spread over her face as she put it away.

“Divers are bringing up some electronics from the coordinates we gave them. They’ll run the serial numbers when they get them in. But one of them reports he got lucky and found a ’link—a red ’link engraved with the initials K.T.H.”

“We got his ass, Peabody. Contact Reo, fill her in. Tell her she’s got her goddamn sliver and to get us the search warrants.”