by J. D. Robb
“You’ve narrowed your list considerably.”
“The killer opened the pool dome.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he or she tried to close it. If Harris had opened it, there’d be no reason for the killer to close it. None I can see. The dome was partially open when we discovered the body.”
“I remember that, yes.”
“It’s acting up, doesn’t close properly unless you turn it off and on again. The killer didn’t know. Connie would have, as she used the pool daily.”
“Are you thinking someone came in from the outside?”
She paused with a fry halfway to her mouth. “Outside what?”
“The dome, darling.”
“Shit. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. How would they get up there?”
“All manner of ways,” he said, smiling. “Sometimes the best way to get in is to go down. A remote to open the dome, a weak spot security-wise, I’d imagine.”
“You’re thinking like a B-and-E man.”
“Not anymore. Or only in the service of my wife.”
“Ha. I’ll have to run probabilities now that you put it in my head, but I don’t think anybody came from out or up. I think the killer opened the dome from the inside. Harris had or was smoking those doctored herbals, and six of them would put up a hell of a cloud in a smallish, enclosed area. She couldn’t have been up there long, but there were six butts.”
“Enclosed dome, smoke. Yes, I can see that. He wanted the fresh air. Or she. You seem to be down to two of each. Julian and Steinburger, Andrea and Valerie.”
“Or a combination thereof. Somebody could be covering for somebody. And I’m looking at Steinburger and Valerie, as—as far as I know—they’re the only ones lying to me. She’d be more likely to cover for him than him for her.”
“Unless she knows too much about him, things he’d prefer didn’t get out. He might be willing to cover for her then.”
“Yeah. They used to bang, and people tend to blab after a bang.”
“I’ll be sure to guard my tongue.”
“It’s usually tired from all the work during the bang,” she pointed out, and made him laugh.
“True enough.”
“What I can’t get is—saying it is Steinburger. Why kill her? I mean, lots of reasons, sure, but why now? Why not string her along, pay her off, do what she wants until the project’s complete? He’d have given himself a major headache by offing one of his own stars.”
“The boar or the river,” Roarke said. “Neither choice is particularly pleasant, but you have to make one. Sometimes under pressure.”
“That’s good.” Eve pointed at him. “That’s pretty good. On one hand you’ve got the mutant pig with the big, sharp teeth who wants to chew your leg off. On the other, the river with jagged rocks where you may or may not bash yourself into bloody pieces.”
“Most people jump.”
“Because the threat from the mutant pig is more immediate. Better to take your chances with the water and rocks. But better altogether to kill the mutant pig, then stroll away on dry land.”
“I’m beginning to wish I’d suggested pork instead of steak.”
When she laughed, he topped off her wine.
“Easy on that,” she said. “I’m going to switch to coffee. I have to dig into Steinburger and Valerie. If I’m right and they’re in this, there’s something to be found. If a PI can find it, I sure as hell can.”
“I have every faith, and so have faith you can handle a glass and a half of very nice Cabernet. Tell me why you’ve zeroed in on Steinburger. It’s not just because he wasn’t truthful.”
“If you lie to a cop, you’ve got a reason. Often the reason’s stupid, but it’s there. More, he went on the offensive in the first interview.”
“And offense is defense.”
“There you go. Add one more. This has been about power and control. Hers against the freaking world from what I can tell. Who has the most power and control on this project—in the industry—among the players we’ve got?”
“The one with the money. It’s nearly always the case.”
“Yeah, being a rich bastard, you’d know.”
“Naturally.”
“Steinburger’s the one with the money. He owns the production company, and has the longest, shiniest rep. He’s labeled one of the most powerful men in Hollywood.”
“You’ve been reading the trades.”
“Know your turf,” Eve said. “He likes the spotlight, does a lot of publicity, pumps on the hype. And he’s a liar, he’s defensive, he’s the hand on the money wheel. He’s also got a young, attractive liar at his disposal in Valerie. It’s enough for me to choose that direction.” She smiled again. “Even if I fall into a bog.”
17
Roarke lingered over his wine while Eve updated her board.
She seemed relaxed in the work, and despite the manner of her waking that morning more rested than she’d been since their return from Dallas.
Her wounds had healed. He thought—hoped—the wounds that didn’t show had begun their healing as well.
“I can hear you worrying from over here,” she told him.
“Actually I was just enjoying the view of my wife, and thinking she looks well.”
“It’s the first solid workout I’ve put in since … awhile. I needed it.” She continued her update. “I talked with Mira a little.”
“Did you?”
“She gave me some things to think about, and I will. I’m dealing, Roarke.”
He got up, walked behind her, wrapped his arms around her. “So am I.” He kissed the top of her head, then stepped back. “If I didn’t think you were dealing, I would’ve let you beat me in the game.”
“Like hell.”
He laughed, hugged her again, harder. “You’re right. But that just shows I’d never pander. I have too much respect for you.”
“And the shit keeps rising. You have too much ego to take a dive.”
“My ego and my respect both cast long shadows.”
“What shape is the respect shadow?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Because the ego shadow’s shaped like a penis. So I wondered.”
He turned her around, flicked a finger down the dent in her chin as she sent him a big, sunny smile. “I believe I’ll take the shadow of my penis to my office. Is there anything in particular you want me to look for?”
“Sex and money.”
“I thought we’d done talking about my ego.”
“That’s a good one. Sex and money as applies to Steinburger and/or Valerie. Because there’s something there. She looked too damn smug this morning. Like she’d just got laid, or got a big bonus in her paycheck. There’s something.”
“I’ll see if I can find the something.”
“One thing I’m chewing over. If the killer arranged the meet with Asner with murder in mind, he’d have taken a weapon. But he used a statue—Maltese falcon.”
“Really? Killing the erstwhile Sam Spade with the black bird. It’s very nice irony.”
“I don’t imagine Asner thought so, but yeah. Point is, either the killer opted for the irony and the convenience, or didn’t bring a weapon. If no weapon, the meet wasn’t about murder. It just ended up that way.”
“Another fork in the road, another choice.” Roarke nodded. “Maybe the meeting was to be a negotiation, and the killer didn’t care for the terms.”
“So, the hell with it. I’ll just bash your brains in. Killing comes easier the second time for a lot of people. Once it’s seen as a solution why not use that solution again?”
She studied the crime scene stills of both victims.
“I don’t think either of these murders was planned as much as decided on the spot. Back to the game again. Once you make one turn, you have to make another, or backtrack. You can’t unkill, so he made the next turn.”
“And there’s usually another to come. If it’s Steinburger, and he’s u
sed Valerie for cover, she’s another threat. Another turn may be to eliminate that threat.”
“Yeah, it might. Taking it now, that’s very risky, but down the road, at another fork. He might see it as another viable choice. I need the why. I can pressure him with the why. Otherwise all I’ve got are impressions.”
Hands in her pockets, she rocked back on her heels thinking about turns in the road, choice, consequence.
“For an amateur he’s done a good job of cleaning up after himself. So far.”
“Maybe he’s done it before,” Roarke suggested. “Taken this fork, made this choice.”
She stopped, turned. “Done it before? Wouldn’t that be interesting? Could that be the why? Sex and money,” she said to Roarke as she strode to her desk. “I’m going to take a deeper look at his background, see who else might be dead.”
“That’s perfect, isn’t it? I’m sex and money; you’re dead bodies. What a team we are.”
“Best to stick with our strengths.”
What if he had done it before? she wondered. Accidental, deliberate, momentary impulse.
And got away with it.
And what if, she continued, Harris either knew or suspected—had Asner working on digging deeper.
Eve sat back a moment. And who was running down a fork in the road now? A waste of time, a rush to nowhere if she was wrong. But with no evidence, what choice was there but a walk in the dark?
“Computer, search for Steinburger, Joel—as identified in these files. Match with any deaths associated with him.”
Acknowledged. Working …
“Secondary task. Search for any unsolved murders in which subject was detained, questioned, or connected. Further task, search for any self-terminations or accidental deaths connected to subject or Big Bang Productions.”
She pushed up as the computer acknowledged the tasks. She went into the kitchen, programmed coffee, and took it with her back to her board.
Facts, she thought. Harris threatened Marlo, Matthew, Julian, Preston, Andrea, Connie.
Harris had words or confrontations with Matthew, Julian, Andrea, and Connie on the night of her death.
Harris spent time in the dome on the roof, smoking zoner and herbal tobacco.
Harris incurred an injury due to a fall on the back of the head.
Death by drowning.
It was only supposition that she’d had a ’link in her bag, and the preview of the recording as well. Solid supposition, high probability, but not fact.
Dome partially opened.
Blood washed away with bar rag and pool water.
As she went through it again, Eve fiddled with the arrangement on the board.
Harris hired Asner to plant recorders in the loft shared by Marlo and Matthew.
Asner did so, retrieved same, provided Harris with a copy.
Again, it was only supposition he’d retained the original.
Witness statement rather than hard fact had Asner tagged on his personal ’link, then making arrangements for a meet.
Asner met the killer in his office. That was fact.
Asner died as a result of multiple, violent blows with a bronze statue.
Killer, because who the hell else, removed all records and electronics, using Asner’s car to transport.
Asner’s vehicle found at marina.
Task one complete …
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got. Data on-screen.”
The list was long, but she’d expected it. She’d deliberately aimed the first search wide.
Three out of four grandparents, his father, a stepmother, one sibling—various cousins, aunts, uncles, and one ex-wife. She ordered family members as a subset.
Nonfamily made for a longer list. A college roommate, several actors, other industry professionals, his gardener, his longtime family doctor, a business partner, his current wife’s former voice coach (retired at the time of her death).
Eve ordered subsets of professional associates, another of nonbusiness or nonindustry connections.
She then ordered the computer to cross-reference any connections on or between subsets, and to generate another subset with those results.
As she studied the list, the computer informed her there were no unsolved murders, other than those currently under investigation, connected with the subject.
“That’s too damn bad,” Eve muttered.
Accidental or self-termination proved a different matter. There were plenty.
Eve got more coffee and began to sift through.
At some point Roarke sent her the record of a transfer, the evening before, of fifty thousand from Steinburger’s to Valerie’s accounts.
She copied it to her file before starting a second board.
She believed coincidence was as rare as an honest thief, and that if she scraped away long enough, thoroughly enough coincidence revealed pattern.
It was pattern she saw now as she took a step back from the new board.
“Son of a bitch.” She walked over to Roarke’s open office door. “Come have a look at this, will you? I need a fresh eye.”
“I have two you can borrow. I’ve just been playing around a bit with the financials,” he said as he rose.
“There may be more of that to come.”
“I do love the legitimate opportunity to poke into other people’s private affairs. It keeps me honest.”
“More or less.”
“You’ve expanded, I see,” he commented about her second board. She’d centered Steinburger’s ID shot, fanned out others from it. Below each circling photo was a date.
“What do these people have to do with Steinburger, and your current case?”
“Oddly? They’re all dead. Chronologically. Bryson Kane, college roommate. They, along with two others, shared an off-campus rental. Kane died as the result of injuries sustained in a fall down a flight of stairs. His death was ruled accidental, the high level of alcohol in his system a contributing factor. Due to a similar intake of alcohol, the other roommates, including Steinburger, slept through the sound of the fall. The body was discovered by one of the other roommates in the morning. Kane was twenty.”
“Young.”
“The next wasn’t so young. Marlin Dressler, eighty-seven, greatgrandfather of Steinburger’s fiancée at the time—and first ex-wife. Also a bigwig in Horizon Studios, where Steinburger had his first job in the industry—basically an assistant to Dressler’s assistant. Dressler had a getaway place in Northern California. He fell off a cliff.”
“Is that so?”
“He was an avid hiker, an amateur botanist. He had, allegedly, hiked up the canyon from his getaway place, collecting samples. He lost his footing, broke his leg, a couple of ribs, incurred internal bleeding. The ME estimated it took him twelve hours to die. After Dressler’s death, Steinburger moved a couple rungs up the ladder.”
“Handy for him.”
“Yeah, isn’t it? Dressler died six years after Kane. Three years later—I’ll add Steinburger had married the fiancée, and had moved up again at Horizon—Angelica Caulfield, an actress—”
“Yes, I’ve seen her work.”
“She was known for her excesses as much as her work. Nobody was particularly surprised when she died of an overdose. There was some surprise that she was pregnant at the time of her death, about five weeks into it. Father unknown. While it was rumored Steinburger might have been romantically involved with her—which he vehemently denied—the rumor was never substantiated, and in fact there were plenty of rumors about Caulfield’s other lovers. Steinburger, however, was one of the producers of her last project, and had, in fact, campaigned hard with the studio to cast her. His wife was also expecting their first child at the time of Caulfield’s death. While her death was officially ruled accidental, there was—and still is—speculation of self-termination.”
“But not foul play.”
“Not yet. Forward four years. Jacoby Miles, a paparazzo who’d hounded Steinburger, among hordes of o
thers, was beaten to death with a ten-pound dumbbell inside his home. All of his cameras and electronics had been taken. Police believed Miles had walked in on a robbery in progress, and in fact, subsequently arrested a B-and-E man apprehended in the same neighborhood a few weeks later. While the B-and-E man denied the burglary and murder, he served twenty-five years for same. Within a month of the murder, Steinburger and his wife separated and filed for divorce. Two days after the divorce was final, Steinburger married his second ex-wife.
“Sherri Wendall,” Eve added, tapping the next ID. “An actress known for her comedic timing and fierce temper. Their marriage lasted four years, was described as tumultuous. Three years after their divorce, Wendall died in what was determined to be an accidental drowning due to a fall and alcohol consumption. It was the tragedy and scandal of the Cannes Film Festival that year. Steinburger attended, as one of the partners in the fledgling Big Bang Productions.”
“She was brilliant, really. You’ve seen some of her vids.”
“Yeah. Funny lady. Five years after the funny lady drowned in the south of France, Buster Pearlman, one of Steinburger’s partners, ingested a terminal cocktail of barbiturates and single malt scotch. The ruling of self-termination was additionally fueled by speculation of embezzlement on his part, and what Steinburger regretfully testified was the threat of internal audit.”
“Yes,” Roarke murmured, “I’ll be looking more at finances.”
“We go seven years. A long stretch, so I’ll be going over the interim again. Allys Beaker, twenty-two. An intern at the studio, found dead in her apartment. She’d slipped in the shower, the report claims, and fractured her skull. Her ex-boyfriend was detained and questioned, but there was no evidence to charge him with anything. He did, in his statement, claim he believed Allys was seeing someone else, an older man, a married man. This supposition was reinforced by a female friend of the deceased, who stated Beaker believed the man she was involved with intended to leave his wife and marry her. Steinburger was two years married to his last ex-wife.
“Which brings us to current events. So, with this data, what do you see here on the board?”