by J. D. Robb
“I believe her,” Peabody said when Eve assigned the officers to escort Marlo back to the loft. “It plays. It makes sense.”
“She’s an actor. Actors make fiction play and make sense. But yeah, I’m leaning in the same direction. So where’s K.T.’s blackmail preview?”
“Maybe it was a bluff.”
“I don’t think so. What interests me is why the killer took it. For another dose of blackmail, or for protection? After we get this damn media conference behind us, we need to head over to the vic’s hotel room. If she had part of the recording with her, the whole shot’s somewhere else.”
“I could take the search now while you do the media deal.”
“Nice try, Peabody.” She checked her wrist unit. “Let’s go get it over with so we can get back to doing what we actually get paid to do. I want this PI if he exists,” she added as they walked to Central’s main media room. “If he exists, he got paid. If he got paid, we can track it through the vic’s financials.”
“Maybe a cash deal. PIs who break-and-enter don’t like leaving a trail.”
“Maybe cash, but it would’ve been recent, and substantial for the trespassing. She had to find one who’d do it. We’ll find him.”
“He’d have checked the recording, to make sure he had something worth taking to the client.”
“Oh yeah. And odds are he made himself a copy for insurance. A PI who’d do this kind of sleazy domestic work probably specializes in same. It’s what she’d be after. With his client dead, he’s got two choices. He destroys the evidence, cleans up anything that he feels connects him to a DB—or he tries to cash in on the recording. I think with what we’ve got, we can finesse a tap on Marlo’s and Matthew’s ’links.”
“You don’t think they’d come to us if they got squeezed again?”
“They didn’t the first time, which is weight on getting the warrant. Meanwhile we want a thorough search of K.T.’s hotel room, her trailer, do a search for any safe boxes rented in her name—or yours.”
“Mine? Why—oh.” Peabody puffed out her cheeks. “In case she used that to cover herself.”
“I bet they have IDs—the cop characters. Prop badges to flash for the vid. Easy to use that to rent a safe box. It’s what I’d do. We’ll check the banks and rental facilities near the hotel. She’d want quick access if she stashed it away.”
They went into the prep area of the media room where Kyung waited.
“Timely,” he congratulated. “Is there anything you need or want before we begin?”
“To make it fast,” Eve said. “We’ve got a couple of new leads we need to get on asap.”
“Anything you want to share with the media?”
“No.”
“All right then, we’ll stick with what we’ve already discussed. There’s water on the table. You’ll be—”
“I’m not sitting at a table,” Eve told him.
“All right,” he said without missing a beat. “We’ll set up a large podium. I’ll give the media the rules of the road, introduce you both. You’ll take questions for about fifteen minutes. When it’s time, I’ll cut it off, and you’re done, free to pursue your new leads.”
He had a way, Eve decided. The podium appeared without delay. Kyung took his place behind it to make the announcement. He managed to do so with smoothness, friendliness, and sobriety all at once.
When he stepped back, Eve moved forward with Peabody just behind. Questions careened out instantly, shouted, overlapping, clashing. Eve simply stood, silent, scanning the crowd.
Full house, she thought, with most of them jumping out of their seats, hands raised. Cameras aimed like laser rifles.
She recognized Nadine’s usual camera operator, but Channel 75’s ace was noticeably absent.
Smart, Eve decided. You couldn’t get the story if you were the story. She imagined Nadine had arranged with Kyung to observe from one of the rooms honeycombed through the media center.
“K. T. Harris was murdered last night at approximately twenty-three hundred hours.”
Eve didn’t bother to pitch her voice above the fracas, ignored several shouted commands to speak up. “Her death occurred during a dinner party,” she continued in the same tone, “in the home of Mason Roundtree and Connie Burkette, and attended by several individuals connected to the in-progress vid adaptation of Nadine Furst’s book based on the Icove investigation.”
She gave it half a beat.
“Detective Peabody and I will take questions pertaining to this matter as long as said questions aren’t shouted at us by a roomful of reporters behaving like bratty children on a school field trip. You’ve got one,” she said to one of the reporters who dropped back in his chair, shot up a hand.
“Gralin Peters, UNN. As you were on the scene at the time of the murder, have you interviewed all attendees, and do you have any suspects at this time?”
“All individuals in the household at the time of Ms. Harris’s death were interviewed and gave statements immediately after the body was discovered. At this time we are reviewing those interviews and statements, doing follow-ups, and actively conducting the investigation. We can name no suspects at this time.”
“How does it feel knowing K.T. Harris, who was playing your partner in this vid, was murdered while you were right downstairs? BiBi Minacour, Foxhall Media Group.”
“It feels the same way it does when someone’s murdered anywhere in New York. It feels as though I need to find out the identity of said killer, gather evidence against him or her, and make an arrest.”
“Detective Peabody! Detective Peabody! Jasper Penn, New York Eye. Is it difficult for you to investigate the murder of the woman who played you in this vid and who resembled you so closely?”
“It’s an unusual situation, but no, it’s no more difficult than any other investigation.”
“Why aren’t both of you considered suspects? Loo Strickland, Need to Know.”
“We have alibis,” Eve said and earned a quick roll of laughter.
“But you and the victim argued publicly shortly before her murder.”
“That’s inaccurate. The victim made an unfortunate comment during dinner. I commented on her comment. I met the victim once, earlier that day on the set, very briefly. As the victim was late for the dinner party, then seated at the opposite end of the table from me during the meal, we did not have an opportunity to converse, and, in fact, this brief byplay was the only time the victim and I interacted, though indirectly.”
She started to take the next question when Strickland called out again. “What was her comment, and your response?”
She considered ignoring him, then figured someone else would ask. “You don’t ‘Need to Know’ as neither have any bearing on the investigation. Again, we didn’t speak directly, and there were many comments, responses, conversations before, during, and after the meal. It was, after all, a social occasion.”
“Lieutenant! Doesn’t having a social connection with not only the victim but other members of the cast and crew—including Marlo Durn, who’s playing you in this project—pose a conflict for you?”
“First, I only met Ms. Harris, Ms. Durn, and other members of the cast and crew yesterday morning, and this dinner party was the first social contact. So ‘social connection’ is a stretch. If either my partner or I believed the contact, the unusual connection would in any way influence or impede the investigation we would not be heading said investigation. K.T. Harris is our priority now. We stand for her.”
“Someone took her life,” Peabody said. “It doesn’t matter who she was, what she did for a living, whether she was a stranger or a friend. Someone took her life, and Lieutenant Dallas and I will use every resource of the NYPSD to identify her killer and see that Ms. Harris has justice. Those of you only looking for gossip are wasting our time. Time we need to spend doing our job.”
“But the circumstances are unusual, as Lieutenant Dallas stated herself,” someone called out. “You’re investigating t
he murder of an actress who would speak and act as Detective Peabody. During the course of the investigation you would interview and investigate the actors who speak and act as Lieutenant Dallas, as Roarke, as Detective McNab, Commander Whitney, and so on.”
“Murder’s hardly ever usual,” Eve said. “And I’m betting it never feels usual for the victim or the friends and family of the victim. Actors,” she continued. “Playing roles. The victim is not Detective Peabody. Marlo Durn is not me. I expect Ms. Durn will continue to portray other characters, both real and fictional, as I intend to continue to investigate murders and murderers. Right now, my focus, and my partner’s focus is on K.T. Harris. She’s ours now. My partner explained that very well. The Hollywood hype?” Eve added. “Play it up if that rocks you, if it bumps your numbers. I figure it’s your job. So, do your job. I’m going to do mine. Peabody.”
She stepped back from the podium, turned to walk out while more questions hammered at her back.
“Not quite as discussed,” Kyung said quietly. “But very good. Celebrity drives this train,” he added. “Hers, yours, the others at the dinner.”
“I’m not a celebrity.”
“You are, and you’ll just have to deal with that. On your own, as the wife of a wealthy, powerful man, as the central character in a best-selling book—and screen adaptation. Actually, while the celebrity is the juice, it may give you more room and freedom on the priority. On the investigation. Many of these stories will chase the star angle. If the victim had been just anyone drowned at a party, there’d be no particular interest. For a time, the interest will be on her, you, the others who are stars, not on the workings, the nit and grit of what you’re doing about her death.”
“That’s a point. We’re going to get to the nit and grit now.”
“Good luck with it. And Detective Peabody? Very well done. Very well done indeed.”
“Thanks.” She cleared her throat as she walked with Eve. “I didn’t even know I was going to say anything until I was already saying it. It just seemed like nobody really cared she was dead—murdered. Just that she was murdered during the shoot, while we were there, while she was playing me. It just wasn’t really about her at all.”
“No, it wasn’t. Kyung’s right. Let them play that up, roll around in it. We’ll do the caring.”
“Even though she was a bitch.”
“Even though. Contact McNab, get him to start looking through her financials, see if he can find anything that connects to the PI. We’ll take it to the vic’s hotel after we get Marlo’s recording.”
“You know what would happen if it leaked? The recordings—either or both?”
“Yeah, so let’s make sure we keep it plugged.”
10
EVE UNSEALED THE RECORDING HER ESCORT officers had bagged, labeled, and logged. “Close the door, Peabody.”
Wanting a bigger screen than the mini, Eve plugged it into her comp, ordered a read-and-play. Then crossed her fingers her machine would cooperate.
It hiccupped a couple times, flickered, then steadied with Marlo’s face filling the screen.
“Marlo Durn and Matthew Zank.”
“Hey, how come you get top billing?”
She laughed, then angled the recorder so both of them came into view. Eve recognized the earrings Marlo had worn the night before. “Durn and Zank—alpha order. Let’s make sure it worked.”
After a short blank space, the recording picked up. “Okay.” Marlo’s voice, quieter now, and the view a semi-obstructed one of an elevator. “We both know how we’re going to deal with it. She’s going to be pissed, right off, that I’m with you.”
“Fuck her. She may be crazy, but she can’t be as pissed as I am. I want to punch her face in.”
“Matthew.”
“Okay, you punch her. Girl on girl—better, and sexy.”
“Jesus,” Eve muttered, “what is it with men and girl fights?”
“Plus,” Matthew continued, “you’re ripped—seriously ripped—since you’ve trained for Dallas.”
“I’d love to try it.” The recorder caught a partial view of flexed female biceps. “But this is better. It’s good she’ll be pissed, like we talked about. She’ll go off about what she did, she’ll go off on her threats about making that sex recording public.”
“Bitch. Still … I’d kind of like to see it. Private showing? You and me?”
Marlo laughed again, and the angle changed so Eve saw Matthew’s torso, then up to his grinning face. “I’ll bring the popcorn. But we need to get it first. And if this works, she’ll trade it. She won’t risk her career over this. Will she?”
“It’s going to be okay, babe. It’ll all work out. She’s going to find out she can’t mess around with Zank and Durn. Inverted alpha order.”
“I really love you.” The screen shifted as they walked into the lounge. “When this is finished, when we’re all done, let’s go somewhere for a while. Find an island, a mountaintop. Somewhere we can keep us between us, just a little while longer.”
“Anything you want. Anywhere you want.” The screen blurred.
Obviously, Eve thought, however Marlo had rigged up the opening in her bag, it was now pressed to some part of Matthew as they embraced.
“Doesn’t sound like murder being planned,” Peabody commented.
“Not yet.”
“Okay.” Marlo moved back, let out a deep breath. “Action.”
“Exterior scene, night,” Matthew murmured as they walked out on the roof terrace. “God, it’s gorgeous out. I liked it better when we came up before, just sat out.”
“We’ll do it again. When this thing’s settled.”
“It’s a date. Okay. K.T.!” he called out. “You wanted to have this out. Let’s do it.”
“I don’t see her. Maybe she didn’t come up yet.”
“She wasn’t in the theater. Damn it, K.T., stop screwing around.”
They continued to walk. Lights played off the surface of the corner of the pool as they entered the dome.
“Maybe she’s—”
“Oh God!”
“Marlo, what—oh Jesus!”
The image tilted, tipped, showed Matthew racing toward the pool, jumping in fully dressed, turning over the floating body to reveal K.T.’s face.
Marlo let out a choked scream, and the view slid and blurred as the purse fell to the pool skirt. Eve saw her legs and feet, running, watched her drop to her knees, reach out to help Matthew pull the body to the side. Their voices, their words, mixed and jumbled.
What happened?
Help me get her out.
Is she dead? Oh God, is she dead?
Give me room, give me room. She’s not breathing.
She watched Matthew perform CPR, try mouth-to-mouth while Marlo rubbed K.T.’s hand between hers as if to try to warm it.
Come back, come back! Come on!
She’s cold. She’s so cold. Should I find a blanket?
She’s gone, Marlo. She’s gone.
He sat back on his heels, pale, dripping. His breathing sounded raw, labored, while Marlo knelt, shuddering.
“We should call for an ambulance. My ’link.”
But Matthew took her hand. “She’s dead. She’s dead, Marlo.”
“But, she can’t—how? There must be something.”
“I can’t get her back. She’s dead. She’s … she’s cold.”
“Oh, Matthew.” With the body between them, they leaned toward each other, all but fell on each other. “What do we do? What should we do? Dallas and Peabody. We have to go down, tell them.”
“Yeah. Jesus, I’m shaking. Some hero. I need a minute. I just need a minute.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” She held him, then jerked back. “The recording. We have to get it.” She scrambled to her feet.
“Marlo, don’t touch anything.”
“I’m just going to take the recording. It must be in her purse. It’s right here. If the police find it, they could think—Matthew, they
could think we killed her, or fought with her, or … It’s not here. There’s nothing here. Does she have a pocket? Is it on her somewhere?”
“Marlo, stop. Stop. She doesn’t have anything. She must’ve lied. Just lied, and now she’s dead.” His words came out as if they’d been scraped against a rasp. “She’s dead, and we’re not doing anything.”
“You did everything you could.” Marlo dropped down beside him, stroked his dripping hair. “She must’ve hit her head and fallen in. She was drunk, and she fell and drowned. Look, there’s her glass, some wine spilled and a broken glass. It was an awful accident. God, Connie’s going to be sick about it. We should go down now. Come on, baby, let’s go down, get help.”
“Yeah. Yeah. What do we tell them, Marlo?”
“The truth. We came up, and we found her. You pulled her out, and you couldn’t save her. We don’t have to tell anybody the rest. It doesn’t matter to anybody but us.”
“You’re right. I wanted to hurt her, Marlo. I wanted to see her squirm. I don’t know how to feel about that now.” He took a breath, took another, got to his feet. “How did you feel when I told you she was dead?”
“What? Horrible. Horrified. Scared. Sick.”
“Okay, that’s what you feel when we go down. We haven’t had time to calm down any, or think about it. We found her, pulled her out, tried CPR, then went down for help. None of the rest changes what happened, right?”
“No. No, it doesn’t.” She picked up her purse. “Ready?”
“Ready. We should run.”
They said nothing as they ran downstairs. The record continued as they played it out for Eve. At some point Marlo laid her bag aside. For a time there was a snatch of conversation, the partial image of someone going by. Then the record announced end of time.
“It’s the way they said it happened,” Peabody said.
“Yeah. They’re both pretty good at their work, so … We make sure it’s legit. I want Feeney to run the original through all the tests. We’ll make a copy for the files.”