Celebrity in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “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 he
lp. 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.”