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“She’d do,” Eve concluded. “The same in general fits for Andrea, and we know there was the issue with the godson. He’d know that, too. Marlo and Matthew, very unlikely as he’d have to implicate both of them. That gets tricky and sticky. But Julian would work.”
“I wondered if you’d get to him.”
“Drunk, embarrassed, the issue of the underaged banging. Finds out Asner has the goods, too. Pissed. Kills Harris, cleans up with Asner. The thing is the guy doesn’t have killing
in him, not the Asner kind anyway. Not the planned-out, follow-through, beat-the-living-shit-out-of-somebody kind. And he’s just not smart enough to have pulled off two murders in two days.”
“I feel mildly insulted.”
“He’d have screwed up, and he’d bury himself in guilt and fear.” Amused, she gave Roarke a sidelong look. “He ain’t you, Ace.”
“And still, mildly insulted.” Roarke laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbed. “You need all of them. You need to take him down for all of them. You could bring him in on what you have now, and sweat him. You could break Valerie, add to that sweat. You’d have a good chance of closing it down on Harris and Asner.”
“Pretty good.” And she’d thought of it, weighed it in. “Yeah, pretty good. Not a sure thing, and not anything but circumstantial, coincidence, speculation at this point on seven others. Even the recant by Holmes doesn’t equal proof, just adds suspicion. More if we can dig back thirty years and prove he didn’t go to Mexico that night.”
“We can manage that,” Roarke promised her. “But that doesn’t equal proof he killed Caulfield either.”
“It would add more weight. Enough weight, joints and muscles start giving way. Maybe I won’t get them all. Odds are slim.”
“You have to try.”
“I can’t turn away from those faces.” The young, the old, the famous, the ordinary. “It may be that all I’ll be able to do is let him know I know. Let him know I’ll keep digging until I bury him. But before I settle for that, I’m going to try for a grand fucking slam.”
She snatched out her ’link. “Dallas.”
“Warrants coming through,” Reo told her. “And believe me, even with your slivers it was a job. How the hell was I supposed to know the judge I tapped is a major vid buff, with great admiration for Joel Steinburger? Jesus.”
“Maybe he’ll make more vids from his cage. I’ll get back to you when we find something.”
She clicked off, smiled fiercely at Roarke. “Batter up.”
Nadine settled into the club chair in Steinburger’s office, flashed her best camera-ready smile at him and crossed her legs. The man, she thought, wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but he covered it well. He sat across from her, a small table with pretty flowers between them, and one of his Oscars on display in the background.
He sat back, hands on the wide arms of the chair, the picture of a man in charge under difficult circumstances.
“I appreciate this, Joel. I know how busy you are, especially now. But because of especially now, it’s important—I’m sure you agree—to talk about what’s going on, how you feel, how you’re handling it. As head of the studio, everyone looks to you.”
He lifted a hand off the arm of the chair in a what-can-you-do gesture. “We can’t put up walls between ourselves and the public.”
“Exactly. Are you ready?”
“Anytime.”
“Good.” She glanced at her camera, gave him the nod.
“And we’re rolling.”
“This is Nadine Furst. I’m with acclaimed producer Joel Steinburger in his office at Big Bang Studios, New York. Joel, thank you so much for agreeing to talk to me today.”
“It’s always a pleasure, Nadine, even under these circumstances.”
“I know the murder of K.T. Harris has shaken to the core the industry, and the cast and crew of what will tragically be her last vid. Joel, you’re well-known for your hands-on, involved approach to projects like The Icove Agenda, and I know you and K.T. worked closely together on her role. How are you holding up?”
“It’s a raw wound, Nadine. A raw wound. To know that this talented actress, this fascinating, layered woman, this friend is gone, cut off from us in such a needless and tragic way. It’s incomprehensible.”
He leaned forward then, eyes slightly damp but intense, and she wondered why he’d never tried his hand on the other side of the cameras.
“K.T. was so invested in this role, the reality of it, the complexities of the character. She worked tirelessly to perfect her performance, to bring out the very best in the rest of the cast. I can’t begin to measure how much she’ll be missed.”
