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ody was right about one thing, covering them up hampered the investigation. “They involve Nadine.”
“Oh. I thought something was up there.”
“Look, she had a thing with Draco years ago. She came to me about it. He used her, dumped her, in his usual pattern. When Roarke and I went through his penthouse, we found those personal discs. The one I sealed—”
“Oh. He recorded sex with Nadine. Scum.” Peabody sighed. “She’s not a suspect, at least not one we’re looking at, so you wanted to spare her the embarrassment. Dallas, I’m sorry. All around sorry.”
“Okay, let’s forget it. Go wash your face or something so McNab doesn’t think I’ve been slapping you around.”
“Right. Boy, I feel like an idiot.”
“Good, that bucks me right up. Now, go pull yourself together so I can pry McNab out of whatever corner he’s hiding in, and we can get to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
• • •
By the time they were assembled in her office, Feeney had arrived. He’d reviewed the video of the play himself, had enlarged, re-focused, enhanced, and worked his e-magic so that the team was able to confirm the time frame of the switch.
The two courtroom scenes were side by side on a split screen, with Feeney in front, showing the minute difference in the shape of the knife, its angle of placement from one to the other.
“Whoever did the switch copped a knife that so closely resembled the dummy nobody would have noticed it without picking it up and giving it a good looking over.”
“The prop master?” McNab asked.
“He’d have no reason to do more than check to see that the knife was still on its mark. The courtroom set stayed—what do you call it—dressed throughout the performance. He’d have noticed if the knife was missing,” Feeney added. “According to his statement, he checked the set immediately after the scene change and immediately before it changed again. He had no reason to check otherwise.”
“That gives the perpetrator approximately five minutes.” Eve tapped her fingers on her mug. “However, we narrow that if we follow the line that Quim saw something or someone suspicious, as it appears he did during the scene break. Under three minutes to get the dummy knife hidden and be back wherever he needed to be. Onstage or in the wings.”
“Then the perp had to wait.” Peabody narrowed her eyes. “Wait, and count on no one making the switch through the next courtroom scene, through the dialogue and action. Wait out the play until Christine Vole grabs it up and uses it. That’s about thirty minutes. A long time to wait.”
“Our killer’s patient, systematic. I think he or she enjoyed the wait, watching Draco prance around, emoting, drawing applause, all the while knowing it was his last act. I think the killer reveled in it.”
Eve set down her coffee, sat on the edge of her desk. “Roarke said something last night. Life imitates art.”
Peabody scratched her nose. “I thought it was the opposite.”
“Not this time. Why this play? Why this time? There were easier, less risky, more subtle ways to off Draco. I’m thinking the play itself meant something to the killer. The theme of love and betrayal, of false faces. Sacrifice and revenge. The characters of Leonard and Christine Vole have a history. Maybe Draco had a history with his killer. Something that goes back into the past that twisted their relationship.”
Feeney nodded, munched on a handful of nuts. “A lot of the players and techs had worked with him before. Theater’s like a little world, and the people in it bump into each other over and over.”
“Not a professional connection. A personal one. Look, Vole comes off charming, handsome, even a little naive, until you find out he’s a heartless, ruthless opportunist. From what we’ve uncovered, this mirrors Draco. So who did he betray? Whose life did he ruin?”
“From the interviews, he fucked over everybody.” McNab lifted his hands. “Nobody’s pretending they loved the guy.”
“So we go deeper. We go back. I want you to run the players. Look for the history. Something that pops out. Vole destroyed a marriage or relationship, ruined someone financially. Seduced someone’s sister. Setback their career. You look for the data,” she told McNab and Feeney. “Peabody and I will chip away at the players.”
• • •
Eve decided to start with Carly Landsdowne. Something about the woman had set off alarms in her head since their first conversation.
The actress lived in a glossy building with full security, glitzy shops, and circling people glides. The expansive lobby area was elegantly spare, with water-toned tile floors, modest indoor shrubbery, and a discreet security panel worked into an arty geometric design in the wall.
“Good morning,” the panel announced in a pleasant male voice when Eve approached. “Please state your business in The Broadway View.”
“My business is with Carly Landsdowne.”
“One moment, please.” There was a quiet tinkle of music to fill the silence. “Thank you for waiting. According to our logs, Ms. Landsdowne has not informed us of any expected visitors. I’ll be happy to contact her for you and ask if she is able to receive guests at this time. Please state your name and produce a photo ID.”
