Celebrity in Death (14 page)

Not Peabody, she thought idly. Peabody had a distinctive clump. This was a purposeful stride.

Whitney, she thought, straightening at her desk seconds before her commander stepped in.

“Dallas.”

“Sir.” She got to her feet, uneasy. Commander Whitney rarely came to her. More rarely came to her office and shut the door as he did now.

“K.T. Harris,” he said.

“Sir. The ME has determined her death a homicide. As I was on scene at the TOD, I was able to interview, with Detectives Peabody and McNab, all individuals also present.”

“Including yourself?”

“I’ll be writing that up, yes, sir. I should have a full report for you shortly.”

“Sit down, Lieutenant.”

He lowered to her visitor’s chair, frowned. “Why in God’s name don’t you requisition a replacement for this? It’s like sitting on bricks.”

She felt weird knowing her commander’s ass was one crappy cushion away from squatting on her candy. “Because nobody sits on bricks for long. Take the desk chair, Commander.”

He waved that away, sat for a moment, studying her board. He had a wide, dark face, lined from years and the weight of command. His hair, cropped short and close to the skull, showed thickening threads of silver.

“We have some areas of complication with this matter.” He nodded toward her flashing ’link. “Media?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yes, you will. That’s one complication. Another is your connection to the victim.”

“I had no connection to the victim.”

“Dallas, you had dinner with the victim shortly before her murder.”

“I had dinner with several people. I met the victim, spoke to her, only once. We had no connection, sir.”

“You had words with her.”

Eve’s face registered nothing, but inside there was a quick flick of surprised annoyance. “She had words, would be more accurate, Commander. The victim had been drinking, was, by all statements taken, a difficult individual. She spoke inappropriately and offensively during dinner, but not to me directly. My response was, I believe, brief and appropriate. And that was the end of it.”

“She was also portraying your partner in a major vid.” He gestured to her board. “Suspects at this time include individuals who are portraying yourself, your husband, other members of this department, other people who are associated with you personally.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The media will take that hay and mix it with manure.” He laid his wide hands on his thighs. “We need to get in front of that. Having you
pass the case to another investigator won’t help at this point, and”—he said before she could speak—“could bog down the investigation. But that can’t be ignored,” he added, pointing to her ’link. “We’ll need a clear statement from you, and from Peabody. We’ll hold a media conference this afternoon. And you’ll work with the media liaison on that statement, and on approach to the conference.”

“Sir,” she said, thinking she’d rather be stabbed in the eye with a needle pulled out of that manure-ripened hay.

“Both of us might prefer you and your partner give the case your complete energy and attention, but this is necessary. There are already media reports about bad blood between you and the victim, others playing up the angle of you heading the investigation of the death of the woman playing your partner. All of them grinding up the fact you were at dinner, that you were present when K.T. Harris died. We’ll deal with it, and will continue to deal with it until—as I trust you will—you close the case.”

He rose. “Conference Room One. Now. With Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Goddamn it, she thought as she walked with him to the bullpen, as he peeled off and she called to Peabody. “With me.”

This crap was already slowing down the work.

“What’s up?” Peabody asked.

“Fucking media,” Eve said under her breath. “Fucking media liaison, fucking media conference, fucking statements to same.”

“Oh.” Peabody blew out a breath. “I guess we knew this was coming.”

“Yeah, but I figured I’d have time to finish my prelim report first, get the labs back. Somebody already put it out there I had ‘words’ with the vic.”

“You didn’t, not really. She was just an asshole.”

“Remember that.”

They walked into the conference room. There another board stood, immediately pissing Eve off as she saw her own ID shot beside Marlo’s, Roarke’s beside Julian’s, and right down the line.

The man who completed the board stood tall in a snappy smoke-gray suit. His glossy black hair curled to the nape of his neck. Cuff links glinted silver at his cuffs.

He turned, a stranger to her with a striking face highlighting his mixed-race heritage with mocha cream skin, long, dark eyes tipped at the corners and heavily lashed. When he smiled, his mouth bowed and showed a hint of dimple at the left corner.

“Lieutenant Dallas.” His voice was the same as his skin, rich and creamy. “Detective Peabody.”

“This is Kyung Beaverton,” Whitney told them. “He works with Chief Tibble, who has assigned him to us for the duration of this matter.”

“Kyung, please.” He held out a hand to Eve, then Peabody. “I’m pleased to help you navigate the media maze we expect, and are, in fact, already in. Will you sit?”

Eve ignored the question. “Start by telling me why you’ve got us up there with the suspects.”

“Because the media will, and again, have already done so. It’s annoying, but reality often is. You aren’t she; she is not you, but this connection will be made over and over. So we address it.”

He spread his long-fingered hands. “While you respect the actor portraying you, she is only portraying a reflection, and indeed on a case already investigated and closed. You expect Marlo Durn will continue to portray other characters, fictional and nonfictional, while you will continue to investigate homicides. Your priority, at this time, is the investigation of the unfortunate death of—”

“The ME’s determined homicide,” Whitney told him.

“Ah. The murder of K.T. Harris. You will be pursuing all possible leads in this matter, and can and will not discuss the details of an active investigation.”

“Okay.” Eve relaxed a little. He didn’t seem to be as much of a dick as liaisons she’d dealt with before.

“It’s been reported you argued with the victim prior to her death.”

“That’s inaccurate.”

“Good.” He lifted a finger, wagged it like a teacher at an exceptional pupil. “Excellent, in fact. Please sit. I was able to … requisition the brand of coffee you prefer. We’ll have coffee, and you’ll tell me—
exactly
—what passed between you and the victim. Detective Peabody, please feel free to add your own thoughts, or anything you overheard said at the table during this byplay.”

“Byplay.” Eve studied Kyung as he programmed coffee for all. “That’s a good one. Quick spin.”

“Good, quick—and plausible—spins are my job. I’m good at my job, Lieutenant, as I know you and your partner are at yours.”

He smiled, winningly. “You don’t, like, even resent all of this. I don’t blame you. You’re not required to like the media maze, which is why you’ll do well to let me guide the direction.”

He smiled again as he set the pot of coffee on the table. “I do like it. We do better at our work if we enjoy it, don’t we?”

No, not a dick, but a manipulator. A smooth one. That she could respect. “Okay, Kyung, here’s how it went.”

She gave him the “byplay” essentially word for word.

“An appropriate response to an inappropriate statement,” Kyung commented. “Was anything else said?”

“Not between us. I figured she had a problem with members of the cast, and that problem was enhanced by her drinking. As I didn’t know she’d end up dead, I didn’t pay much attention to her.”

“She called you a bitch.” Peabody hunched her shoulders when eyes shifted to her. “After everybody started talking again, she muttered ‘bitch’ under her breath. McNab told me later. He was sitting next to her. It pissed him off, but he said he ignored her because he figured you didn’t want any more, um, byplay.”

“He was right. Plus, if somebody doesn’t call me a bitch once a day, I figure I’m not doing my job.”

Kyung smiled at that. “I think you’ll do very well with the media, with just that tone and attitude.”

Eve eyed him. “The liaison usually pushes me to play nice, be diplomatic. And wear lip dye.”

“Different circumstances, different styles.” He merely shrugged. “I believe you should be just as you are, just have responses ready for questions we expect will be asked. And when you’re asked about this incident at dinner—and you will be—you should respond as you did to me. Argument is inaccurate. Ms. Harris made an inappropriate comment to which you casually responded. This byplay was the only time you and Ms. Harris spoke during the evening. If you would say this in a matter-of-fact, unhurried way, then take another question, it should do well enough.”

He lifted his hands, palms up, cuff links glinting. “If the point is pressed, repeat, expand only that you and Ms. Harris had only met twice, briefly, and simply didn’t know each other. At this point you are focused on finding the person responsible for her death. I’ve heard you say in other statements involving murder that the victim belongs to you now. If this feels right and suitable, say that.”

“She does belong to me now.”

“Yes, keep the dialogue on that point, on the investigation insofar as you can discuss it publicly. They will ask, and often, how it feels to
investigate the murder of the woman who portrays your partner, who resembles your partner.”

“K.T. Harris was not my partner. She was an actor doing her job. My job is to find out who took her life.”

He smiled again. “I feel a bit superfluous. Is Marlo Durn a suspect?”

“Ms. Durn, as everyone who was present at the time of the murder, was interviewed. She’s been cooperative. It’s too early in the investigation to term anyone specifically as a suspect.”

“How do you feel about questioning, investigating the woman who plays you in
The Icove Agenda?
”

“Again, she’s not me, but okay, yeah, there’s a thread of strange. Most homicide investigations have a few threads of strange woven in.”

“Don’t you feel this unusual connection may bias you or affect your work?”

“Why would it?”

“Here, I can help.” He pressed his palms together, gestured them forward like in prayer. “If you follow up that natural question with the statement that if you believed the investigation would in any way be affected by the fact the actors in
The Icove Agenda
are portraying you, your associates, you would not head the investigation.”

“Because I’m standing for K.T. Harris now,” Eve finished. “And identifying the individual who caused her death, bringing that individual to justice is what I’m sworn to do as an officer of the NYPSD. Period. Now fuck off so I can do my job.”

“Perfect. If you’d just think that last part rather than verbalizing it, perfect.” He gave her his big, white-toothed smile. “I’m having a hard time understanding why you’re considered such a difficult assignment by my colleagues.”

“Because most of them are assholes. So far, you’re not.”

“Hopefully that will continue. Now, Detective Peabody, let’s go over potential questions and responses.”

“I have to talk to the media?”

She didn’t squeak it, but came dangerously close.

“Harris played you, you were present at the dinner party, there when Harris was killed. You are second lead on the investigation. It’s best to handle this through this media conference rather than piecemeal.”

Eve watched him coach Peabody. He seemed satisfied with her responses as well, tweaking them here and there, helping her stay brief and on point.

“You’ll be fine,” he decreed. “Let me say the media will continue to squeeze every ounce of juice out of this story, then find a way to make more. Lieutenant, I understand your husband will have his own media team, and that someone in his position knows how to handle the media. But, in this case, I’d like to coordinate with his people.”

“That’s up to him.”

“Yes, but if I tell you my intentions up front, I won’t be an asshole.”

She let out a half laugh. “I’ll get word to him that you’re not one.”

“Appreciated. I’ll be with you both prior to the conference, and through it. If you need anything from me beforehand, I’ll make myself available.” Kyung got to his feet. “Commander Whitney, I’ll get to work.”

“Thank you for your time.” He sat another moment after Kyung went out. “Who are you bringing in for follow-ups?”

“Andrea Smythe, Julian Cross, Matthew Zank. To start, sir,” Eve told him.

He nodded. “Let’s keep it as quiet as possible. Arrange for them to come in through the secured garage. I’ll clear it. Have someone who won’t be starstruck escort them to Interview.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you leaning toward one of them?”

“Not at this time.” Knowing he expected at least a general oral report, she itched to stand. But it seemed awkward. “We’re going to look for any connection between the vic and any of the household staff, the catering crew. But none of the cast members or crew who attended had any liking for the vic, and in general the opposite. That’s often enough motive for murder, particularly when the death appears, as this one, to have been the result of an argument or confrontation. A shove, a fall, a drag and roll into the pool. Alcohol may have been a factor. There was a lot of it. The vic made herself disagreeable, difficult. She caused delays and friction on set, made demands.”