Celebrity in Death (29 page)

Eve angled her head, thinking how Connie had said the same of him. “Because?”

“She laid into K.T. after dinner. She planned the party, right down to the goddamn mints. It was her idea to have the whole stinking thing, and now she’s sick about it, and trying to hold up for everybody else. That’s who she is.”

He rolled his shoulders back. “Now what the fuck is this about some PI, and what’s it to do with any of us?”

“Harris hired Asner to plant cameras in the loft Marlo and Matthew are living in, in SoHo.”

His brow beetled. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

Eve laid it out for him, or as much as she wanted to lay out. And watched him absorb, chew on, spit out until he shoved to his feet and prowled the office.

“Idiots. Bunch of idiots. What the hell do I care if Marlo and Matthew want to screw like college kids on spring break? Christ’s sake. And I swear to fucking
God
on a mountaintop, if that stupid, selfish, crazy-ass bitch wasn’t dead I’d strangle her.”

He kicked his desk, a sentiment and gesture she understood as she was prone to the same.

“Why the hell didn’t you arrest this Asner asshole?”

“I would have, but it’s hard to book a dead guy.”

“Shit.” He dropped into the chair again. “What a fucking mess.”

“How much damage would the recording do, if it leaked?”

“How the hell do I know? You can’t figure the public. You just do good work, try to pick good people, good scripts, then throw the dice. It’ll be embarrassing, for Marlo and Matthew, and for Julian, but that won’t last. It’ll make the studio look stupid, at least to those who know how they fabricate some of the hype. Other than that, it’s still rolling the dice.”

Peabody poked her head in when Eve sent Roundtree out.

“Want an update?”

Eve crooked her finger.

“Nadine’s still a little pissed she didn’t latch onto the Marlo/Matthew connection before you did. She wants exclusives right, left, and sideways.
She contacted everybody we’re talking to via ’link yesterday, and actually managed to get into Julian’s hotel room—with his permission—for a one-on-one in the afternoon. She didn’t have much to add, which I figured was what you wanted me to find out, but she’s digging like a terrier.”

“Good.”

“Preston’s alibied. I verified. He and Carmandy were in her room until after midnight. We can check hotel security on that, but it feels solid.”

“All right.”

“Matthew’s in the studio, was actually in his trailer. He and Marlo came in together this morning. Steinburger and Valerie are also here. They’ve been in his office working on spin and media angles.”

“Why don’t you take the lovebirds—separately. Then Andrea. I’ll take Valerie first, then Steinburger, round it out with Julian.”

“Works for me. I’ll get Valerie on her way.”

Eve busied herself with more notes, linking names with lines until Valerie clipped in on her important shoes. She wore an earlink, had a pocket ’link, and a PPC clipped to what Eve supposed was a fashionable belt. She carried two go-cups.

“Mango smoothies,” she said, setting one on the table. “I thought you might like one. Now.” She sat, crossed her legs. “How can I help you?”

“You can start by giving me your whereabouts last night, between ten
P.M.
and midnight.”

Valerie held up one finger in a one-moment gesture, and unclipped her PPC. “Let me check my calendar. It’s cross-checked, of course, in my memo book. I have that in my briefcase in Joel’s office. I holoed with reporters on the West Coast until ten. I believe my memo book will have that conference ending at approximately ten after the hour, as it ran over a bit. I had a meeting scheduled with Joel at ten-thirty. I
believe we brainstormed and handled a variety of issues until about one this morning.”

“And where did you conference and meet and brainstorm?”

“At Joel’s pied-à-terre. I stayed in the guest quarters last night to simplify the situation.”

“Situation?”

Valerie maintained her pleasant, slightly smug expression. “K.T. Harris’s murder is a situation.”

“At least. Are you and Joel Steinburger sexually involved?”

“No. That’s insulting.”

“Insulting because you’re no longer sexually involved? Because I have two different statements verifying you had been previously.”

“It’s no one’s business, and not at all pertinent. Mr. Steinburger and I are not involved in the way you imply.”

“But you were?”

“Briefly. Several months ago. We ended that phase of our relationship amicably, and work together. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh. And last night, you and Mr. Steinburger worked together in his pied-à-terre, from ten-thirty until one.”

“That’s correct. I conferred with my assistant, as I recall. All of us are putting in considerable overtime.”

“On the situation.”

“Yes.”

“How are you handling the Matthew-and-Marlo-as-lovers portion of the situation?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Tell me this. How much overtime did you put in on K.T. Harris while she was alive?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, how did you spin, cover up, keep quiet, her addiction problems, her threats, the blanket dislike for her on this project?”

“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.”

UNLIKE THE EARLY-MORNING PULSE AND MUM
ble, 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.”