Celebrity in Death

21

She played the media by the book. It wasn’t hard to look mildly disgruntled or show flashes of impatience. She felt more than mildly disgruntled giving the same answer—We can’t give specific details on the investigation at this time—over and over again. She wanted to talk to the water cops, to Reo, to get her warrants and completely ruin Steinburger’s day.

Along with the rest of his miserable life.

She could only hope her statement at least gave him indigestion.

“I’ll say again, while I can’t comment on specific details, the investigation is moving forward. And with new information that has come to our attention, we believe we’re close to making an arrest. But close isn’t good enough, so as I’ve said all I’m free to say, my partner and I are going back to work.”

She stepped away from the podium, glanced briefly in Nadine’s direction.

While a number of other reporters continued to shout out questions—hope sprang, Eve supposed—Nadine rose, gave Eve the most subtle of nods.

Even as she walked to the door, Nadine pulled out her pocket ’link.

“She’s putting the arm on Steinburger now,” Eve told Peabody. “We’ll want to confirm where she meets him for the interview. When the warrants come through we’ll start wherever he’s not. No point in tipping him to the search until we have to.”

“He could tell Nadine no interview, or put her off.”

“She won’t take no. She won’t be put off. She’s like a ferret. And he won’t have Valerie for cover,” Eve added. “He’d look weak and stupid if he tried to haul her in away from Connie. He can’t look weak or stupid.”

“I think he’s both. But there’s somebody who isn’t. Ever.”

Eve watched Roarke approach. “He can be stupid. Keep on the water cops, Peabody. Maybe another sliver will move Reo’s ass on the goddamn warrant.”

“Lieutenant, Detective. You both looked somber, official, and attractive for the media. Nice boots, Peabody.”

“Don’t encourage her. I knew pink was a mistake.”

“On the contrary. They look charming.”

Unable to stop herself, Peabody did a little runway turn. “I love them.”

“Use your pink boots to walk, Peabody. Water cops.”

“Love them,” Peabody said again with a quick grin for Roarke before she used the boots.

“Charming,” Eve muttered. “Charm isn’t cop, and she’s threatened to wear them every day. She has worn them every day this week.”

“It’s nice to know a gift’s appreciated. I made some time as I feel a personal interest in this investigation.”

“That old excuse.”

He smiled at her. “I thought Feeney might have something interesting for me to do.”

“He’s tapped into Steinburger’s comms, and we’re going to be monitoring Nadine when she boxes Steinburger into an interview. But better, we’ve got Pearlman’s electronics. I’m hoping EDD can track back, using the buried account you found, link the embezzlement to Steinburger.”

“See? Enough fun for all. I’d like finishing out the financials. And you?”

“Waiting for Reo to get me search warrants. Then I’m going to turn the bastard’s residence, vehicle, and office inside out until I find something to put his murdering ass away for several lifetimes.”

“Even more fun. I’d enjoy poking and peering into someone’s private belongings.”

“You’ve got plenty of experience.” She considered. “You could be useful.”

“My mission in life.”

“It would spare Feeney an e-man if I had my own geek along to deal with Steinburger’s electronics. That’s your favorite poke and peek area anyway.”

“You know me so well.”

“Once done, you could dig into the Pearlman angle.”

“He’s bound to have data on the B.B. Joel account on his comp. A man must monitor his money, after all.”

“I guess he must.”

She caught him up on the morning’s work as she led him to the conference room instead of her office. Then just stood with him, studying the board.

“That’s both efficient and disturbing.”

“It needs updating. We found the boat he used.”

As she added to the board, she brought Roarke up to date.

“And still not enough for an arrest,” Roarke commented.

“I can’t prove he used the boat. I can only show he had the means, knew the codes. I can’t prove he bribed Valerie. I can only show the money.”

“And it shows pattern. It begins to add up.”

“Piece by piece.” Eve tucked her thumbs into her pockets. “And Valerie? I can break her. A couple more shots and she’ll crack. Right now she’s protecting herself, thinking it through. What’s best for Valerie. I get a little more on him, push it in her face, bring up accessory to murder, she’ll roll on him like an LC on a john.”

“Do you think he plans to eliminate her?”

“Oh yeah. But not now. Too many questions for him if he gets rid of her now. Down the road she’ll have a terrible accident, or OD. Whatever suits best. He can’t try to implicate her as she’d turn on him like a rabid dog. So I figure she’s safe enough, but Connie’s a good buffer in the event he panics.”

“Who will he implicate? Or allude to?”

“I’m wondering about that. Connie works. The scene at dinner, the private talk after. And she admitted to leaving the theater, so that gives her opportunity. He doesn’t know about the dome, and the fact is that’s not going to stand very steady in court without a whole lot more. But it’s a detail. And he’d figure we could leapfrog to Connie killing Asner because Harris hired him, and he had something on her or on Round-tree. She knows the boat owner.

“She’d do,” Eve concluded. “The same in general fits for Andrea, and we know there was the issue with the godson. He’d know that, too. Marlo and Matthew, very unlikely as he’d have to implicate both of them. That gets tricky and sticky. But Julian would work.”

“I wondered if you’d get to him.”

“Drunk, embarrassed, the issue of the underaged banging. Finds out Asner has the goods, too. Pissed. Kills Harris, cleans up with Asner. The thing is the guy doesn’t have killing in him, not the Asner kind anyway. Not the planned-out, follow-through, beat-the-living-shit-out-of-somebody kind. And he’s just not smart enough to have pulled off two murders in two days.”

“I feel mildly insulted.”

“He’d have screwed up, and he’d bury himself in guilt and fear.” Amused, she gave Roarke a sidelong look. “He ain’t you, Ace.”

“And still, mildly insulted.” Roarke laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbed. “You need all of them. You need to take him down for all of them. You could bring him in on what you have now, and sweat him. You could break Valerie, add to that sweat. You’d have a good chance of closing it down on Harris and Asner.”

“Pretty good.” And she’d thought of it, weighed it in. “Yeah, pretty good. Not a sure thing, and not anything but circumstantial, coincidence, speculation at this point on seven others. Even the recant by Holmes doesn’t equal proof, just adds suspicion. More if we can dig back thirty years and prove he didn’t go to Mexico that night.”

“We can manage that,” Roarke promised her. “But that doesn’t equal proof he killed Caulfield either.”

“It would add more weight. Enough weight, joints and muscles start giving way. Maybe I won’t get them all. Odds are slim.”

“You have to try.”

“I can’t turn away from those faces.” The young, the old, the famous, the ordinary. “It may be that all I’ll be able to do is let him know I know. Let him know I’ll keep digging until I bury him. But before I settle for that, I’m going to try for a grand fucking slam.”

She snatched out her ’link. “Dallas.”

“Warrants coming through,” Reo told her. “And believe me, even with your slivers it was a job. How the hell was I supposed to know the judge I tapped is a major vid buff, with great admiration for Joel Steinburger? Jesus.”

“Maybe he’ll make more vids from his cage. I’ll get back to you when we find something.”

She clicked off, smiled fiercely at Roarke. “Batter up.”

Nadine settled into the club chair in Steinburger’s office, flashed her best camera-ready smile at him and crossed her legs. The man, she thought, wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but he covered it well. He sat across from her, a small table with pretty flowers between them, and one of his Oscars on display in the background.

He sat back, hands on the wide arms of the chair, the picture of a man in charge under difficult circumstances.

“I appreciate this, Joel. I know how busy you are, especially now. But because of especially now, it’s important—I’m sure you agree—to talk about what’s going on, how you feel, how you’re handling it. As head of the studio, everyone looks to you.”

He lifted a hand off the arm of the chair in a what-can-you-do gesture. “We can’t put up walls between ourselves and the public.”

“Exactly. Are you ready?”

“Anytime.”

“Good.” She glanced at her camera, gave him the nod.

“And we’re rolling.”

“This is Nadine Furst. I’m with acclaimed producer Joel Steinburger in his office at Big Bang Studios, New York. Joel, thank you so much for agreeing to talk to me today.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Nadine, even under these circumstances.”

“I know the murder of K.T. Harris has shaken to the core the industry, and the cast and crew of what will tragically be her last vid. Joel, you’re well-known for your hands-on, involved approach to projects like The Icove Agenda, and I know you and K.T. worked closely together on her role. How are you holding up?”

“It’s a raw wound, Nadine. A raw wound. To know that this talented actress, this fascinating, layered woman, this friend is gone, cut off from us in such a needless and tragic way. It’s incomprehensible.”

He leaned forward then, eyes slightly damp but intense, and she wondered why he’d never tried his hand on the other side of the cameras.

“K.T. was so invested in this role, the reality of it, the complexities of the character. She worked tirelessly to perfect her performance, to bring out the very best in the rest of the cast. I can’t begin to measure how much she’ll be missed.”

“And the production continues.”

“Of course. K.T. would have accepted no less. She was a consummate professional.”

“With a reputation for being difficult.”

He smiled now, with a hint of sorrow. “So many of the greatest stars earn that label because, in my opinion, they settle for no less than perfection. Yes, it can make for some fireworks on the set, but that light, that energy is what makes brilliance.”

“Would you share one of your memories of her with us?”

She let him go on, honestly believing he was making up the amusing anecdote as he went. But it served her purpose, relaxing him, lulling him. She’d soft-balled him, let him find that easy rhythm.

“Your insight into her,” Nadine continued when he wound down, “as an actor, as a woman, is a tribute.”

“It’s important, from my perspective, to understand all sides of the people I work with. We become, for a time, a family—and that means intimacy, conflict, jokes, frustrations. I think of myself as the father figure—one who sets the tone, guides the wheel. I have to anticipate and understand the needs of my family in order to draw out the best in them.

“We’ve lost one of our family now, suddenly and shockingly. We all feel it keenly.”

“You’ve dealt with loss before. As that father figure, it must help you, and the others. The fact that you endured, survived, and coped. The tragic death of Sherri Wendall. You and she had been a Hollywood power couple during your marriage, and both dealt with the media microscope during your tumultuous divorce. You were no longer together when she died, but the loss must have been devastating nonetheless.”

“Sherri was one of the most intriguing women I’ve ever known—and loved. And talent, again?” He shook his head. “Who knows what she would have accomplished had she lived.”

“You were in Cannes—both of you—when she drowned. Had you and she made peace before her death?”

He shifted, just an instant’s discomfort. “Oh, I think we had. Great love often equals great conflict. We had both.”

“The accident, again, senseless, tragic. A slip, a fall, and a drowning death. It, in some ways, mirrors K.T.’s death. That must resonate with you.”

“I … One an accident, the other murder. But yes, both brilliant stars, gone too soon.”

“Another brilliant star you lost—we all lost, but a personal loss for you again. Angelica Caulfield. You were close, friends and colleagues. Some claim more than friends.”

Nadine saw the way his fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, the sudden, rigid set of his jaw. The camera would see it, too.

“Angelica was a dear friend. A troubled woman. Too fragile, I fear, to hold all the talent, to survive the needs of that talent, and the appetite of the public.”

“There remains endless speculation as to whether her death was suicide or accident, and of course over the paternity of the child she carried at the time of her death. You were close, as you said. Were you aware of her state of mind? Had she confided in you about the pregnancy?”

“No.” He said it sharply, too sharply, then regrouped. “I was, I fear, too involved in my own life. My wife was expecting our first child. I’ve always wondered if I’d been more … in tune, less wrapped up in my own world, might I have seen or felt something … I wish she’d felt able to confide in me, had turned to me as a friend. If she’d contacted me …”

“But she did come to see you, according to the reports at the time, just a few days before her death. At the studio.”

“Yes. Yes, she did. In hindsight … I have to ask myself, and have, did she seem troubled? Should I have noticed her rising despair? I only know I didn’t. She hid it well. She was an actress to the end.”

“Then you believe it was suicide.”

“As I said, she was a fragile, troubled woman.”

“I only ask because, again, according to reports and statements you’ve made in the past, you were adamant about her death being the result of an accidental overdose.”

He was sweating now, lightly but visibly.

“I have to say that with time, with healing, comes more clarity. Still, I can only say, with certainty, her death was a terrible loss. Now, Nadine—”

“If I could just circle this back. Three women—talented women, celebrated women—all part of your life in some way. An accident, an apparent suicide, and a murder. Yet another suicide with your partner and longtime friend Buster Pearlman.”

He tensed at that, visibly, and Nadine kept her eyes trained on his.

“You’ve had more than your share, Joel, of tragedy and personal loss. Even going back to the accidental death of a friend and college housemate, and of course the tragic accident that took the life of your mentor, the great Marlin Dressler. Does it weigh on you?”

His silence held a beat, then two. “Life is to be lived. I consider myself fortunate to have known them, fortunate to be in a position, to have work I love that allows me to know so many talented people. I suppose when a man has worked over half his life in an industry peopled with so much talent—along with the egos, the fragilities, the pressures—loss is inevitable.”

“Loss, yes. But murder? Let’s hope murder isn’t an inevitability.”

“I certainly didn’t mean to imply it was, but it is, unfortunately, a reality in our society—in our world.”

“And fodder for our entertainment, as K.T.’s role as then Officer Peabody in the screen adaptation of the infamous Icove case is what brought her, and you, to New York at this time. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, along with Peabody and the resources of the NYPSD, broke that case. Dallas is also heading the investigation into K.T.’s murder. Today she announced they’ve uncovered new information. She claims she believes they’re close to making an arrest. What do you think about that?”

“I hope it’s not theater.”

“Theater?”

“I understand the pressure, from her superiors and the media, has been intense. I hope the investigators are, indeed, close to learning who killed K.T. It will never make up for the loss, but it may give us all a sense of closure.”

“And relief?” Nadine said with a hint of a smile. “As one of the select group in attendance at the Roundtree/Burkette home that night, you’re a suspect.”

“As are you,” he shot back.

“Not guilty,” Nadine said, raising her right hand. “I know I’ll be relieved when Lieutenant Dallas makes an arrest. It’s disconcerting, don’t you find, Joel, to be under suspicion—and to have friends and colleagues on that same list?”

“I can’t and won’t believe any of us killed K.T.—our sister, our daughter, our friend. I suspect this ‘new information’ deals with an outsider.”

“An outsider?”

“Someone who gained entry by posing as catering staff, or valet, or what have you. A disturbed fan, perhaps. So, yes, I’ll be relieved when this is cleared up, the questions answered, and our lives returned to normal. I understand Lieutenant Dallas is doing her job, but to focus on us? Absurd. After all, we were all gathered together in one place at the time K.T. was killed. You were there yourself. I have to believe someone else followed K.T. up to the roof, and tragedy followed that. If—off the record.”

Nadine eased back, nodded to her camera. But said nothing as she knew the wire she wore would keep things very much on the record.

“I’m not going to cast suspicion or aspersions on my friends and colleagues on-screen.”

“I understand.”

“It’s bad for business,” he said flatly. “I’m sticking to it being an outsider—on the record. But I’m worried, I’m very worried something happened that night between K.T. and … one of us.”

“You suspect someone.” Nadine widened her eyes. “Joel!”

“I’m not going to discuss that, even off the record. It’s probably just the nerves of dealing with all this. The fact is, if she hadn’t gone up to indulge in the filthy habit of smoking, she might still be alive.”

“They do say even the herbals are bad for our health.”

“Worse yet when it’s one after the other mixed in with sense-dulling illegals like zoner.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “The combination reeks. I’m sorry. I’m upset—tired. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead and you don’t want that either. It’s bad for business as well.”

“Joel, I was there, too.” To enhance that connection, she leaned forward to lay a hand over his. Solidarity.

“I’m part of this. If you have reason to believe … If you think you know who killed her, tell me. I won’t go public.”

“I don’t feel right about it. Give me a day or two.” He turned his hand over, gave hers a pat and squeeze. “I need to think it through. I’m probably making too much of things. Now, Nadine, I really need you to wrap this up. It’s been a very long day.”

“Of course.” She settled back, signaled the camera again. She lobbed a couple of easy ones, to reset the tone, put him at ease.

And decided straight interview or undercover, it was going to play very well.

“Again, thank you so much for doing this. I know it’s a terrible time for everyone.”

“Life—and work—go on. I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t need to bother.”

“I’m heading out myself. As I said, long day.”

When he opened the door, Julian stopped pacing outside, hurried to him.

“Joel. Sorry, Nadine, I need to talk to Joel.”

“No problem. Julian.” Struck, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “You look so tired.”

“Everything feels off. I can’t work like this. I can’t handle all this. Joel—”

“Come on into my office. We’ll sit down, talk this out. Good night, Nadine.” As he turned, he sent her a long, sorrowful look over his shoulder.

“What the hell was that?” she muttered when Joel closed the office door. “What the hell?”

Inside, Julian began to pace again.

“Sit down, for Christ’s sake, Julian. You’re wearing me out.”

“I can’t sit. I can’t work. I can’t think or sleep. I’m one tangled nerve, Joel. Did you see Dallas, hear what she said? She’s going to make an arrest. What am I going to do? I should go talk to her, go talk to her and explain—”

“You’ll do no such thing. Pull yourself together! I told you I’d take care of things, didn’t I? It was an accident, and there’s no reason for you to pay any price for an accident. Will it bring her back?”

“No, but—”

“Do you want to risk going to prison, Julian?”

“No, God, no, but—”

“And ending your career, giving up everything you have, can have? For what?”

“I don’t know!” Julian pushed at his hair, clamped his hands on his temples as he paced and prowled. “It’s all so confusing. It keeps playing back in my head, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“You were drunk, Julian. You can’t be expected to remember clearly. Drunk, then in shock. My boy,” Steinburger said with such sympathy that Julian stopped, let out a long breath. “Listen now. It’s not your fault. You said you’d do as I said. You said you’d trust me.”

“I do. I do trust you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help, your support.”

“Then do what I tell you. Go back to your hotel. Pour yourself a glass or two of that very nice wine we had a bit of last night.”

“You said not to drink anymore.”

“That was last night.” Joel gave Julian a bracing pat on the back. “You’re not on the call sheet tomorrow. Indulge yourself. A nice glass of wine, while relaxing in your whirlpool. I know this has been a terrible strain on you. Put all this out of your mind for a while.”

“It’s all so mixed up, Joel.”

“I know. Follow my advice. Wine and whirlpool.”

“Wine and whirlpool,” Julian sighed, then repeated it with a nod when Steinburger stared at him. “Yes, I will. Wine and whirlpool.”

“You’ll see. It’s exactly the right solution. Tomorrow, everything will be fine. Just fine again.”

“It doesn’t feel like it ever can be.” Grief, guilt, sorrow swam in Julian’s eyes. “Joel, I’ve never hurt anyone before. I’ve never—”

“She hurt herself,” Steinburger said flatly. “You remember that. Tell you what. I’ll give you a lift. My driver’s ready for me. I’ll drop you at your hotel.”

“Okay. Maybe you could come up for a while. I hate being alone.”

“Best thing for you—we agreed, didn’t we? You follow Doctor Joel’s prescription tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll have dinner, and we’ll talk it all through. If you’re not feeling yourself again, we’ll talk about alternatives.”

“All right. Yes. Alternatives. Thanks, Joel.”

“What are friends for?”

Eve stood in the master bedroom of Steinburger’s apartment. She listened to Feeney’s roundup of Nadine’s interview while Roarke searched the dressing area.

Together with the search team, they’d already picked their way over the living area, the dining area, office, kitchen, even the terrace.

She had higher hopes for the second floor, but so far they’d scored a fat zero.

“Okay. Keep me in it,” she told him, then stuck her communicator back in her pocket.

“He told Nadine he was heading home—tired, long day—but he tagged a friend—some other producer, talked him into drinks and dinner out.”

“So we’ve more time before he gets here and expresses his outrage.”

“Yeah. Could be he wanted company. Could be he wanted an alibi. Nadine did a number on him, according to Feeney. Tied the dead ex-wife, the pregnant lover into it—even the business partner, college pal, and first wife’s great-grandfather. Made him sweat.”

Roarke glanced over as she came in. “Which you’ll enjoy watching, but that’s not what’s got that glint in your eye.”

“He asked her to go off-record. All keyed up. She’s smart, she had her camera turned off, but didn’t voice an agreement. Lawyers might quibble about the wire but we had a warrant for it. Anyway, he tried to play her, how he might know something, how he’s worried he knows something, but can’t say. Won’t cast stones at his friends, and so on.”

“You think he’s picked his patsy.”

“I think he’s got to move on it pretty soon, yeah. I shook him with the imminent arrest, then Nadine piles it on. But better yet, he slipped. Trying to cover for this alleged friend, he said Harris would still be alive if she hadn’t gone up to the roof to smoke.”

Roarke paused, lifted a shoulder. “That’s true enough and a matter of record.”

“But the zoner isn’t a matter of record. And he brought it in. How the combination of herbal and zoner reeks—his term.”

“Foolish to let his abhorrence of the habit slip him up. Still, not to put a damper on that glint, if it was common knowledge she mixed in illegals, it’s not particularly damning.”

“It keeps adding up. One after another, he said, too. If he wasn’t up there, how does he know she went through multiple, laced herbals inside the dome? She tripped him up some on the pregnant lover, too. Little trips. They add up to a fall.”

She turned, walked back to the bedroom. “He’s organized—in how he thinks, how he lives, how he works. How he kills. Not obsessively so, but careful. Still, there are little things. Too many sex enhancements and toys.”

“Can there be too many?”

“From his supply, he’s never met one he didn’t like. Sex is power. He’s got his awards and kudos in every single room. He has to see them wherever he goes in here. He’s got files of what appears to be every article, blurb, mention, photo with his name or face in it throughout his career. We’ve got his B.B. Joel account on his comps here, just as you predicted.”

“Which should help making the embezzlement connection, when I get my fingers into it again. Until then, it’s simply a secondary account—taxes meticulously paid.”

Damned if he wasn’t dulling her glint. But she pushed on. “And there’s the file you found, with background checks, deep bio on everyone involved in this project—right down to the last gofer—that’s power-tripping again.”

“But not illegal.”

“No, not illegal.”

“But this might be.”

“What have you got?” She pounced, nearly bowled him over as he turned.

“Easy, darling. False bottom in this cabinet, and beneath that a small safe drawer. Which I’ve handily opened. And in that—”

“Codes. Pass codes, swipe cards, keys—all nicely labeled. Here’s the code for the marina gate, for the boat security. Oh, baby. Codes for Roundtree’s home, studio office, his vehicle.”

“You may have found your patsy.”

“Can’t use Roundtree but his wife’s a strong possible. Still, there’s a lot of other people in here. That’s the pal he called tonight.” She gestured. “That’s his home’s pass code, swipe card for the guy’s country club locker. Codes for all the trailers, as far as I can tell, being used on this production.”

“Nosy bastard, isn’t he?”

“He has to control it all. Won’t be shut out. Has to have access and the power it gives him. Plus, useful for setting someone up to take a fall.”

“It appears Steinburger has some explaining to do.”

“Big-time. This proves he had access to the boat. And see this here?”

“Not labeled.”

“3APIS2C. Triple A—A. A. Asner, Private Investigation, Suite 2-C. I’m betting that’s the code for Asner’s vehicle. Maybe he tossed it in here just in case, or wanted it to remind himself of what he pulled off. But that’s more explaining to do.”

She went back to the bedroom for an evidence bag. “I dump these on him, add in the zoner, the list of murders, the boat. I’ll break him down.”

She sealed the evidence, labeled it. “I’m going to let the team handle the vehicle. We’ll go swing by the studio office. Then we’ll pay a visit to Ce Soir.”

He thought she looked like a warrior, coolly prepared for battle. “I can get us a good table. I happen to know the owner.”

“You happen to be the owner, but we’re not eating. We’re going to interrupt Steinburger’s meal and ruin his fucking night.”

“Sounds promising.”

“We can get something from Vending while he sweats in Interview.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

“It’s not that bad. Hold on.” She pulled out her ’link. “Dallas.”

“Listen, Dallas—”

“Nadine, even though we established you’re not my type, I may do you after all. You killed that interview.”

“I’m aquiver. You’ve seen it already?”

“No, but Feeney summed it up. I could get him to do you, too.”

“Aw, you’re too good to me. What about Roarke?”

“No.”

“But not good enough. Listen, Dallas, I was nearly to the station, but I hopped out of the van, grabbed a cab. I’m heading back downtown, to the hotel—Julian’s hotel. I’ve got this nagging feeling.”

“About what?”

“Did Feeney tell you how Steinburger hinted around—off the record—about being afraid something happened between one of them and K.T., how he was worried?”

“Yeah, yeah. You think he meant Julian?”

“Julian was waiting outside the office. He looked terrible, which isn’t easy when you’re that gorgeous. Tired, upset, strung out. Scared—once I started thinking, I think scared. And Joel took him into his office—but as he did, Joel sent me this look. And, it’s nagging me. I think he was setting it up, Dallas. Giving me a look that said this is who I’m worried about, trying to protect. And if I’m right—”

“Then he’s planning for Julian to have an accident or off himself due to guilt. We’ll check it out.”

“Where are you?”

“Steinburger’s place, and we found a few interesting items.”

“It’ll take you longer to get there than me. But will you come? Even if I’m wrong, I think Julian knows something, and I think he’s vulnerable enough to spill it.”

“Leaving now. Do me a favor, get hotel security to go up with you. Make something up, but don’t go up there alone.”

“Julian wouldn’t hurt me—or anyone. But all right.”

“I trust her instincts,” Roarke said when Eve frowned at the blank screen.

“So do I. We’ll skip the office for now, go straight to Julian’s hotel room. I’ll let Peabody know the status.”

As she contacted her partner, Eve wondered just how the hell Stein-burger could kill—or induce a man to suicide—while he himself enjoyed a fancy dinner with a friend on the other side of town.