by J. D. Robb
“K.T. was a talented actor whose work was celebrated and respected. As is often the case with artists, her temperament was often misunderstood by those outside.”
“Does anybody actually buy that bullshit? Amazing.”
In response, Valerie just folded her hands in her lap.
“Send me the list of your holo-conference attendees, and a copy of your brainstorming notes. I’ll take Steinburger now.”
“It would help considerably if you could speak with Joel in his office. We’re enormously busy this morning.”
“Sure. Lead the way.”
The offices were in the same section, hardly more than a thirty-second walk.
Power play, Eve decided when she went in—after Valerie’s knock and Steinburger’s answer. He sat behind his desk, a busy man. His office boasted a wall of screens, several of them tuned to media channels with the sound muted. His comp, ’link bank, disc files, memo cubes, crowded his expansive desk.
He, too, had a sofa, chairs, awards, photos—and a small conference table now holding the debris of meetings.
“Yes, yes, sit. I’ll be right with you. Valerie, I don’t know where the hell Shelby went off to. Get Lieutenant Dallas some coffee.”
“I’m good. You can leave,” she said to Valerie.
“I need Valerie to—”
“It’ll have to wait,” Eve interrupted. “This isn’t a business meeting, but a police investigation. You’re entitled to have your lawyer present, or you can designate Valerie as your legal representative. However, she would be under no legal constriction to hold what’s said in this room confidential.”
“This won’t take long, Valerie. We’ll deal with the next round in …” He checked his wrist unit. “Twenty. Take a break.”
“I’ll be close by.” Valerie stepped out, shut the door.
“I’m sorry to be abrupt,” Steinburger began. “We’re dealing with a great deal of difficulties, on every level. I’m told you’re here about some private investigator’s death, and you think it’s connected to K.T.’s murder.”
“That’s right. I need your whereabouts for last night, from ten until midnight.”
“Well, let’s see.” He scrolled through his book, searching with shadowed eyes. “I watched Valerie’s media conference, she did one via holo with the West Coast last night. It was booked from nine to ten. We reviewed that, then spent considerable time working on how to handle the situation.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Sorry?”
“Go on.”
“We discussed a memorial, here at the studio, and holding another on the Coast.” He sat back, swiveling in the chair. “We covered a lot of ground, how to respond, which specific interviews to accept or assign. It was a very full day as I’d worked with Roundtree and some associates earlier on what editing and amendments needed to be done on the script and the vid already shot. I think Valerie and I stayed at it until about one in the morning. Right now, I’m living on coffee and boosters.”
“Valerie stayed in the guest quarters in your New York residence.”
“We worked late, and wanted to get back at it early this morning.”
“While you were working late did you decide how to handle the media regarding Marlo and Matthew’s relationship?”
“You mean Marlo and Julian.”
“No, I don’t.” She stood up. “Thanks for your time.” She paused on her way to the door. “I meant to ask. Do you keep a car, a vehicle of some kind in the city?”
“I have a car, yes, but most often use our car service and driver so I can work more easily coming and going. Why?”
“Just curious.”
She stepped out.
Roundtree and Connie both had a vehicle, as did Steinburger. Easy enough to check rentals on the others.
She reconnected with Peabody. “We’ll take Asner’s apartment next. What did you get?”
“No alibi for Andi or Julian. Both of them claimed they stayed in, keeping a low profile due to the media hunt. Andi spoke with her husband, but that was about nine in the evening. He’s heading in to New York today so she won’t be alone. Julian admitted—or claimed—he had a bottle of wine, took a tranq with it. He remembered he contacted several friends back home during the evening, but doesn’t remember who or when, due to wine and tranq. And that he dropped his ’link, broke it, and threw it in the recycler.”
“Convenient.”
“Yeah. And you?”
“A lot of calm and compassion from Connie, which seems genuine, but again. A lot of pissed off from Roundtree, and surprise that again seemed genuine re the two Ms. Connie knew. Marlo confessed all to her yesterday. The Roundtrees have two vehicles in New York, and were in separate areas of the house during the time in question.”
“No alibi.”
“No.Valerie and Steinburger state they worked together until one. Their stories match. And real neatly, too.”
“Oh-oh.”
“She bunked in his guest quarters, for efficiency.”
“And another oh-oh.”
“He also keeps a vehicle in New York. But most interesting to me was learning they both should stick with their jobs and not try acting. They suck at it. Valerie’s plugged in like a valve in a heart, and yet she pretended she didn’t know anything about the two lovebirds and kissy-face. I might’ve bought that if she hadn’t been so crappy at lying to me. And if she knew, Steinburger knew—and vice versa. But he also opted to lie, then didn’t even bother to demand what the fuck. He just let it slide away.”
“The third oh-oh might be the charm.”
“Just might. Let’s see if Asner’s apartment has anything to tell us.”
15
UNLIKE THE EARLY-MORNING PULSE AND MUMble, Asner’s building held quiet midday. Everyone off to school, Eve thought, or to work, or to the shops, running errands.
The minute she unsealed and unlocked the door, she thought someone else had run errands.
“Well, either Asner was a really messy guy, or somebody beat us to it.” Peabody stood, lips pursed, as they surveyed the jumble of the small living area.
The contents of upended drawers scattered over the floor mixed with debris from closets, cabinets. In limp gray puffs, the stuffing spilled out, like disgorged intestines, from the cushions of the faded sofa and armchair.
“It’s empty, but let’s clear it anyway.” Eve drew her weapon, peeled off toward the tiny bedroom.
It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d come in sooner, she thought, replacing her weapon. But damn, it was annoying.
“The killer wanted to make sure he got all copies of the recording. Or Asner didn’t have the original in the office. Either way, this is a thorough job. Careful, too,” Eve observed as she picked her way through, “even with the mess. He didn’t heave things around—too much noise, somebody might complain that time of night.”
“He kills Asner, tosses the office. He took Asner’s wallet, and the vic didn’t have any key code on him. So—”
“Yeah. And I missed something. The vehicle. The killer didn’t have to have transportation. No PI can function without his own ride. He could have taken Asner’s vehicle.”
She took the steps in her mind. “Loading it up, driving it here, tossing the apartment, then ditching the car somewhere, ditching or destroying the electronics. It’s thorough. He had more time to think this one through.”
“But it’s still stupid, Dallas.” Peabody toed a pile of drawer junk. “It’s a recording of a couple of Hollywood stars getting some. It’s just … it’s just not big enough for all this.”
“Yeah, it seems stupid. Seems like overkill—all around. So, there’s more somewhere. Could be Harris had Asner do another job, and he dug up something on the killer. We could be chasing our tails on the recording. Red herring, or only part of the story.”
“His fee was pretty steep.”
“So, maybe fifty for each job. Fuck.” Eve slapped her hands on her hips. “We’re ru
nning in circles. Let’s get a search team in here, save ourselves the time. And we need to verify Asner has a ride, and if so get a BOLO out for it. I want the search team to bring sensors. Asner might’ve had a hidey-hole the killer didn’t look for or find. No computer or ’links here, so he took them. It’s a lot of hauling. Let’s check around, see if anyone saw somebody loading up last night.”
After spending considerable time learning nobody saw anything, heard anything, knew anything, there or at the office building—and being offered tattoos at ten percent discount, Eve and Peabody walked back to the car.
“Sometimes I think about it.”
“What?”
“Getting a tattoo,” Peabody told her. “Just a little one. Something fun, or meaningful, or—”
“Why would you pay somebody to cut a picture into your flesh?”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“Stick with temps.” Eve pulled out her communicator at its signal. “Dallas. Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Have it hauled in. It’ll need to be processed. They found Asner’s ride parked at the Battery Park Marina.”
“Marina, water, dumping ground.”
“Yeah. I think we should do a run, see which of our friends has a boat. What’s better than dumping a bunch of electronics off a pier?”
“Dumping them out in the river.”
“It could be our killer’s using a brain this time around. Let’s head in.” She wanted to put her feet up, and start using hers.
She found the ME’s report when she got to her office, and wished she’d felt able to carve out the time to talk to Morris in person. Still, the report verified her own on-scene. Multiple blows from behind, with the falcon statue. Reconstruction indicated two blows of considerable force came after the victim was prone, and the first two of four had been enough to kill.
The tox showed the vic had several ounces of bourbon in his system at TOD. No other signs of violence or struggle.
Eve added the report, Asner’s picture, the crime scene and apartment photos to her board.
Then she got a large coffee, sat down, put her boots on her desk.
She studied the board while she drank her coffee.
All sorts of connections, she thought. All sorts of egos. Throw in sex, money, fame.
Start with sex, she decided.
Connect Harris to Julian and Matthew. Indirect to Preston due to her threat to shout sexual harassment. She was tossing his alibi for now. In a tight-knit group, people lied for each other.
Possibility Harris connected by sex to others on the list, she mused. Sex was always a possibility.
Connect Matthew with Marlo, and again indirectly due to publicity hype, to Julian. That connects Harris and Marlo through sex, one degree removed—times two.
Connect Roundtree and Connie. Possibility one or both unfaithful at some time, either with the vic or one of the others. Harris claimed to have had an affair with Roundtree, cannot verify. Claimed Marlo engaged in sexual acts with Roundtree, cannot verify.
Connect Steinburger and Valerie, whether that sexual connection was past or present. Harris had had a talent for digging up dirt. Very possible she’d known, threatened to use the information somehow.
No discernible connection through sex with Andrea.
Money.
It just didn’t feel like money. These people had money, though more was always good. Then again, numbers, which equaled money in this case, were the reason for the publicity hype re Julian and Marlo, and the spin and cover on the continual problems with Harris.
So money. She needed to find out more about how that end of it worked for all involved.
Fame. That was like sex, wasn’t it? A rush, a need, and particularly applicable to this set of individuals. Celebrity. The need to have it, the need to maintain it, or grow it. And like sex and money, celebrity held power. Could be used to wield power, and to control.
Circling, circling, she thought. And yet …
Sex, money, fame, power. It was all a mix, all a stew these people worked in, lived in. And all of those things could be weapons, vulnerabilities. Could be threatened, lost, diminished.
Motive. To maintain power at all costs.
First murder. A snap of temper, or even the victim’s own clumsiness. Followed by impulse/calculation. Quick, opportunistic, no real plan or deep thought.
But the second, blow after blow? That’s anger, she thought, with a little desperation thrown in. From behind, not personal. Opportunistic again, grabbing the heavy statue. But not face-to-face. And a careful, thorough follow-through on murder two.
Laborious even, transporting the electronics, loading them into the victim’s car, doing the same at his apartment. Risky, too, though on the low side. Pumped with adrenaline, a definite task to accomplish, a plan of action.
And there had to be more to it than recovering a recording of two people having sex who were perfectly free to have sex.
Add blackmail to sex, money, fame, power.
“Dallas?”
Distracted, she frowned over her shoulder at Peabody. “Working.”
“I know, but K.T. Harris’s brother came in. He asked if he could talk to you. He’s been to the morgue. They’re going to release the body tomorrow. I thought you might want to talk to him, and didn’t think you’d want to do it in here.”
Eve looked back at the board, the crime scene and dead photos of Harris.
“Have somebody escort him to the lounge. I’ll be right there.”
She sat for a moment, checking Harris’s family data to be certain she had it straight. She stood up, surprised to see rain splatting against her window. She’d been in too deep to notice.
When she walked into the lounge with its vending machines, spindly tables and chairs, she picked out Brice Van Horn right away. He didn’t look anything like a cop. A big man, broad in the shoulders, with short, dark hair that looked freshly cut, he sat brooding down at a tube of ginger ale.
He had a rawboned, sunburned look about him—a corn-fed, farmer’s look to her eye. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt with boots that had seen a lot of miles.
He lifted his head when Eve approached the table, and she saw eyes as faded a blue as his jeans, and the lines fanned out from them from squinting into the sun.
“Mr. Van Horn, I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Ma’am.” He got to his feet, shifted the other chair. It took Eve a moment to realize he’d pulled it out for her. She sat so he would.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she began.
“We lost Katie a long time ago, but thank you.” He cleared his throat, folded his big, calloused hands. “I felt like I should come here. I didn’t want my ma … I guess it doesn’t matter what a child does or doesn’t. A mother’s always going to love her anyway. I didn’t want her to make this trip, so I asked her to stay back home with my wife and kids, told her she had to help look after the farm while I came to bring Katie home.”
He stared down at his ginger ale again, but didn’t drink. “I went to the place where she is. The doctor there …”
“Doctor Morris.”
“Yeah, Doctor Morris. He was very kind. Everybody’s been kind. I’ve never been to New York before, and I didn’t think people would be kind. You shouldn’t feel that way about places you haven’t been, people you don’t even know, but …”
“It’s a long way from Iowa.”
“Lord, yes.” A smile ghosted around his mouth, then vanished. “I know you’re the one who’s been looking after her.”
Eve felt the phrase keenly. “That’s right.”
“I wanted to thank you for that. Katie, she was a hard woman, but she was my sister. You know, it’s been more than five years before today since I laid eyes on her. I can’t do anything about that. Can’t do anything to change being mad at her all this time, having all the bad feelings I had for her. But she didn’t deserve to die like that. Do you know who killed her?”
“We’re actively investig
ating …” He looked so sad, she thought, so big and out of place. So lost. “I think I do, but I can’t prove it yet. I’m working on it. We’ll do everything we can to identify her killer, to get justice for your sister.”
“Can’t do more than that. Even after all Katie did, my ma’s kept up with what she’s doing. All the Hollywood shows and that—Ma watches. She told me Katie was working on a movie about you.”
The old-fashioned word suited him, Eve thought. “Not about me. About a case I worked.”
“They said how you were there when she died.”
“I was, yes.”
He nodded, looked off. “Ma wants to bury her back home. Katie hated everything about home, but Ma wants it, so … did you know her?”
“No, not really.”
“I guess we didn’t either—now, I mean. We only knew her before.” He took a drink, set the tube aside again. “My father was a hard man. He lived hard, died hard. Katie loved him. Or I don’t know if love’s what it was. She was like him, and I guess that’s why she was the way she was.”
Eve said nothing. If he needed to talk it out, she might learn something.
“He used to hurt my ma, used to hit her. He was big, like me. Like I am now, I mean. She’s not. She used to tell me to look after Katie, because Katie was younger. When he came home drunk and mean, she’d tell me to take Katie off, keep her away. I was just a kid. I couldn’t do anything to help my mother, not then. And Katie? She didn’t want to be away from him.”
He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “Nothing he did was wrong in Katie’s eyes, even when our ma was bleeding, she didn’t see he did wrong. When she got a little older, she’d tell him things—like if Ma talked to one of her friends too long or didn’t get some chore done. Sometimes she’d just make it up, make up something to get him going on Ma, especially if Ma said no to her about something, or wouldn’t let her have what she wanted.”
Learned early, Eve thought. Go with the power/take the power.
“He called Katie his princess, told her how she was better than anybody, how she had to go out and get whatever she wanted, take it if need be. She took that to heart. She was only a child, so maybe it wasn’t all her fault. And he’d buy her things, like a reward when she told him something about Ma. It got so Ma would give Katie most everything she wanted. You can’t blame her. But it was always more, and never enough.”