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“Oh yeah. There’s crème brûlée. I hid some so it wouldn’t get scarfed down. I’m counting on this interview to work enough calories off for me to eat mine.”
“Then you take the first shot at him.”
“Hot dog! Bad cop?”
“No, Peabody.”
“Damn it.” Peabody’s face fell. “You want me to soften him up so you can come in for the kill.”
“Let’s stick to our strengths and nail this bastard.”
“Then crème brûlée.”
“Then crème brûlée.”
Peabody went in first, alone. She worked on looking slightly intimidated as she read the data into the record.
“Lieutenant Dallas will be here in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Steinburger?”
“I don’t want anything but an explanation for this outrage. I’ll be speaking not only to your commander, but the chief of police and the mayor.”
“Yes, sir. I should let you know that, well, there have been some discrepancies in your statements. I realize the lieutenant may have … I realize this may seem like jumping in with both feet, but there are those discrepancies.”
“What are you talking about?” He slapped a hand on the table. “Be specific.”
“Well, specifically, we’ve spoken with Valerie Xaviar. She now states she saw Julian, and you, leave the theater for a time after the victim exited same—and she further states you told her the victim had an accident. Prior to the discovery of the body. So …”
“And you take her word over mine?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but she was pretty, well, specific. And then there’s the fifty thousand you transferred to her account. And the fact that you had an account under an assumed name. Um …” Peabody looked through the files as if searching for the name. “B.B. Joel.”
“I do that for privacy, and Valerie had earned a bonus. Though I’m rethinking that matter now.”
“Yes, sir. She also mentioned that you went out on the night A. A. Asner was killed.”
“She’s mistaken.”
“She was reluctant to give us that information. The lieutenant believes her. Especially with the incident tonight involving Julian Cross.”
“What incident? Be specific.” This time he pounded his fist on the table. “I was having dinner with a friend tonight, as you very well know. I haven’t seen Julian since I left the studio late this afternoon.”
“But you went to see him last night.” When Steinburger hesitated, Peabody pressed, gently. “You’d be on hotel security. You took him a bottle of wine.”
“He wanted company. He didn’t want to spend the evening alone. So I took over a bottle of wine. And I limited it to one glass, as he’s been drinking more than he should. He … hasn’t been himself.”
Playing me, Peabody thought, and felt those calories burn. “He ingested two or more glasses of that same wine tonight, along with an as yet unknown amount of Somnipoton.”
“Oh my God. Is he all right? Is he in the hospital? I should have known, should have known he might …”
“You were afraid he might try to harm himself?”
Steinburger shook his head, looked away.
In Observation, Roarke sipped from his own glass of wine.
“You’re not supposed to drink alcohol in here,” Eve told him.
“Arrest me. But let me finish this first. Aren’t you going in?”
