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“Angelica Caulfield, pregnant, won’t let go, threatens to tell your wealthy, also pregnant wife.” Eve added Caulfield’s photo to the others. “She gets what we’ll call the Julian Cross treatment—only it worked with her.
“I can keep going, right down the line. The media’s going to crucify you. And I’m going to pass them the hammer and spikes while my partner and I lock you in a cage for every life you ended.”
“Who do you think they’ll believe? I’m the most powerful man in the industry. You’re just a cop who married money.”
“You’re right. I’m just a cop.”
“I tried to help you,” Peabody said, sorrow in her eyes now. “We have a witness who saw you entering Asner’s office on the night he was murdered.”
“You’re lying. No one saw me.”
Peabody nodded. “Sometimes people work late.”
“If you think anyone will take some cheap lawyer’s or sleazy bail bondsman’s word over mine, you’re mistaken.”
“How do you know who has the other offices on Asner’s floor?” Eve asked him. “Oops! You were there, Joel. On that floor because you contacted Asner and arranged to meet him at his office. He happened to be with someone when you contacted him. I have her statement, too. You contacted him, arranged for the meet, then you killed him.”
“That’s absurd. I … went to speak with him because K.T. told me she’d hired him. I only went to speak with him, to buy back any data he might have gathered.”
“Was he already dead, too?”
“No. Yes. Yes.”
“No? Yes? It’s hard to think under pressure, isn’t it? Hard to think when it’s all coming down on you. You usually have more time, more space. You get to plan things out better. You didn’t wipe the bird off as thoroughly as you thought.”
One lie, Eve thought, deserved another. Why not add a phantom print to Peabody’s phantom wit?
“He attacked me. It was self-defense. I only protected myself when he came at me.”
“Beating his brains out when he was on the ground? I don’t think so. Neither will the jury. You beat him to death,” Eve said, leaning in. “Then you took his files, his electronics, his ’link—and that contact you made to it will be there. It’s amazing what EDD can do. And you stole your friend’s boat, took it out, dumped it all. Your friend, Violet? She recanted, on the record, her alibi for you on the night of Caulfield’s death—and stated you asked her to do so.”
“That’s ridiculous. Vi’s simply angry with me since she’s only been able to get home-screen roles. I can hardly prop up the career of every washed-up actress I’ve known.”
“She didn’t sound angry, did she, Peabody?”
“Just the opposite. She’s really fond of you, Mr. Steinburger. She was really grateful for the break you gave her way back, paying her so she could hire that mag consultant. She really thought it was sweet of you to want to surprise your wife with a big party. I mean to say she really believed that’s why you asked her to cover for you so she was glad to lie about you being with her and the consultant—on the night you killed Angelica Caulfield.”
“Your alibis are tumbling down, Joel. Violet’s, Valerie’s. With the fifty thousand in bribe money also on record now. Electronics are coming up from the river. Oh, and also from the Coast. We’ve got Pearlman’s comps in our EDD now. Technology’s advanced since you framed him, staged his suicide. We’re tracking the skimmed funds back to that private account of yours.”
“Angelica was a neurotic, unhappy woman with a taste for drugs and alcohol. Pearlman was weak and greedy.”
“All that may be true, but neither of them self-terminated. You got rid of them, like you got rid of a nosy paparazzo, and a young assistant who got too clingy, an ex-wife who maybe pushed the wrong buttons. I’ve got nine on your scoreboard, Joel, and I’ll be looking for more. If they’re there, I’ll find them.”
“You’ll find nothing.” He reached up, loosened his tie slightly. “There’s nothing to find.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But you’re done. You’re over.”
“I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive! I have more power, more influence than you can dream of. I’ll crush you.”
“You’re done,” she repeated, watching his color rise again. “You’re over. Unexpected wits, sloppy murder weapon wiping, a botched kill tonight, with Julian alive to spill everything.”
Eve let out a half laugh, eased a hip on the table—disrespect and light contempt in every gesture.
“And you just had to bitch to Nadine. She was wearing a wire, by the way, about the stench zoner added to Harris’s herbals. When that was one of those little details we kept back.
“You got cocky. Getting away with murder for so long, you got overconfident. Trying for two in two days, then following it up with a third? Hey, nobody could expect some slick Hollywood type to pull that off.”
