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“Did you usually go out together before the broadcast?”
“No. Normally, I take a short break, head out, have a quiet cup of coffee in this little café on Third. I like to—get away from the station, especially before the midnight. We’ve got a restaurant, lounges, a coffee shop in house, but I like to break off and take ten on my own.”
“Habitually?”
“Yeah.” Nadine met Eve’s eyes, veered away. “Habitually. But I wanted to make those calls, and it was raining, so . . . so I didn’t go. I lent her my raincoat, and she went out.” Her eyes shifted back, straight to Eve’s. And were devastated. “She’s dead instead of me. You know that, and I know that. Don’t we, Dallas?”
“I recognized your coat,” Eve said briefly. “I thought it was you.”
“She didn’t do anything but run out for a few cigarettes. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong coat.”
Wrong bait, Eve thought, but didn’t say it. “Let’s take this a step at a time, Nadine. An editor has a certain amount of power, of control.”
“No.” Slowly, methodically, Nadine shook her head. The sickness in her stomach had snuck into her throat, and tasted foul. “It’s the story, Dallas, and the on-air personality. Nobody appreciates, or even thinks of an editor but the reporter. She wasn’t the target, Dallas. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
“What I think and what I know are handled in different ways, Nadine. But let’s go with what I think for now. I think you were the target, and I think the killer mistook Louise for you. You’ve got different builds, but it was raining, she was wearing your coat, had the hood on. There either wasn’t time, or there wasn’t a choice once the mistake was realized.”
“What?” Dazed at having it all said so flatly, Nadine struggled to focus. “What did you say?”
“It was over quickly. I’ve got the time she left from the security desk. She waved to the guard. We’ve got Morse stumbling over her ten minutes later. Either it was timed extremely well, or our killer was cocky. And you can bet your ass he wanted to see it on the news before she’d gotten cold.”
“We accommodated him, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.” Eve nodded. “You did.”
“You think it was easy for me?” Nadine’s voice, raspy and thick,
burst out. “You think it was easy to sit there and give a report knowing she was still lying outside?”
“I don’t know,” Eve said mildly. “Was it?”
“She was my friend.” Nadine began to weep, tears rushing out, pouring down her cheeks and leaving trails in her camera makeup. “I cared about her. Damn it, she mattered to me, not just a story. She isn’t just a fucking story.”
Struggling to carry her own guilt, Eve nudged the glass toward Nadine. “Drink,” she ordered. “Take a minute.”
Nadine had to use both hands to keep the glass even partially steady. She would, she realized, have preferred brandy, but that would have to wait. “I see this kind of thing all the time, not so different from you.”
“You saw the body,” Eve snapped. “You went out on the scene.”
“I had to see.” With eyes still swimming, she looked back at Eve. “That was personal, Dallas. I had to see. I didn’t want to believe it when word came up.”
“How did word come up?”
“Somebody heard Morse yelling to the guard that somebody was dead, that somebody had been murdered right outside. That drew a lot of attention,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Word travels. I hadn’t finished my second call before I caught the buzz. I hung up on my source and went down. And I saw her.” Her smile was grim and humorless. “I beat the cameras—and the cops.”
“And you and your pals risked contaminating a crime scene.” Eve swiped a hand through the air. “That’s done. Did anybody touch her? Did you see anybody touch her?”
“No, nobody was that stupid. It was obvious she was dead. You could see—you could see the wound, the blood. We sent for an ambulance anyway. The first police unit was there within minutes, ordered us back inside, sealed the door. I talked to somebody. Peabody.” She rubbed fingers over her temples. Not because they hurt; because they were numb. “I told her it was Louise, then I went up to prep for broadcast. And the whole time I was thinking, It was supposed to be me. I was alive, facing the camera, and she was dead. It was supposed to be me.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be anyone.”
“We killed her, Dallas.” Nadine’s voice was steady again. “You and me.”
“I guess we’ll have to live with that.” Eve drew a breath and leaned forward. “Let’s go over the timing again, Nadine. Step by step.”
chapter thirteen
Sometimes, Eve thought, the drudge of routine police work payed off. Like a slot machine, fed habitually, mindlessly, monotonously, so that you’re almost shocked when the jackpot falls in your lap.
