by J. D. Robb
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.”
“And the production continues.”
“Of course. K.T. would have accepted no less. She was a consummate professional.”
“With a reputation for being difficult.”
He smiled now, with a hint of sorrow. “So many of the greatest stars earn that label because, in my opinion, they settle for no less than perfection. Yes, it can make for some fireworks on the set, but that light, that energy is what makes brilliance.”
“Would you share one of your memories of her with us?”
She let him go on, honestly believing he was making up the amusing anecdote as he went. But it served her purpose, relaxing him, lulling him. She’d soft-balled him, let him find that easy rhythm.
“Your insight into her,” Nadine continued when he wound down, “as an actor, as a woman, is a tribute.”
“It’s important, from my perspective, to understand all sides of the people I work with. We become, for a time, a family—and that means intimacy, conflict, jokes, frustrations. I think of myself as the father figure—one who sets the tone, guides the wheel. I have to anticipate and understand the needs of my family in order to draw out the best in them.
“We’ve lost one of our family now, suddenly and shockingly. We all feel it keenly.”
“You’ve dealt with loss before. As that father figure, it must help you, and the others. The fact that you endured, survived, and coped. The tragic death of Sherri Wendall. You and she had been a Hollywood power couple during your marriage, and both dealt with the media microscope during your tumultuous divorce. You were no longer together when she died, but the loss must have been devastating nonetheless.”
“Sherri was one of the most intriguing women I’ve ever known—and loved. And talent, again?” He shook his head. “Who knows what she would have accomplished had she lived.”
“You were in Cannes—both of you—when she drowned. Had you and she made peace before her death?”
He shifted, just an instant’s discomfort. “Oh, I think we had. Great love often equals great conflict. We had both.”
“The accident, again, senseless, tragic. A slip, a fall, and a drowning death. It, in some ways, mirrors K.T.’s death. That must resonate with you.”
“I … One an accident, the other murder. But yes, both brilliant stars, gone too soon.”
“Another brilliant star you lost—we all lost, but a personal loss for you again. Angelica Caulfield. You were close, friends and colleagues. Some claim more than friends.”
Nadine saw the way his fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, the sudden, rigid set of his jaw. The camera would see it, too.
“Angelica was a dear friend. A troubled woman. Too fragile, I fear, to hold all the talent, to survive the needs of that talent, and the appetite of the public.”
“There remains endless speculation as to whether her death was suicide or accident, and of course over the paternity of the child she carried at the time of her death. You were close, as you said. Were you aware of her state of mind? Had she confided in you about the pregnancy?”
“No.” He said it sharply, too sharply, then regrouped. “I was, I fear, too involved in my own life. My wife was expecting our first child. I’ve always wondered if I’d been more … in tune, less wrapped up in my own world, might I have seen or felt something … I wish she’d felt able to confide in me, had turned to me as a friend. If she’d contacted me …”
“But she did come to see you, according to the reports at the time, just a few days before her death. At the studio.”
“Yes. Yes, she did. In hindsight … I have to ask myself, and have, did she seem troubled? Should I have noticed her rising despair? I only know I didn’t. She hid it well. She was an actress to the end.”
“Then you believe it was suicide.”
“As I said, she was a fragile, troubled woman.”
“I only ask because, again, according to reports and statements you’ve made in the past, you were adamant about her death being the result of an accidental overdose.”
He was sweating now, lightly but visibly.
“I have to say that with time, with healing, comes more clarity. Still, I can only say, with certainty, her death was a terrible loss. Now, Nadine—”
“If I could just circle this back. Three women—talented women, celebrated women—all part of your life in some way. An accident, an apparent suicide, and a murder. Yet another suicide with your partner and longtime friend Buster Pearlman.”
He tensed at that, visibly, and Nadine kept her eyes trained on his.
“You’ve had more than your share, Joel, of tragedy and personal loss. Even going back to the accidental death of a friend and college housemate, and of course the tragic accident that took the life of your mentor, the great Marlin Dressler. Does it weigh on you?”
His silence held a beat, then two. “Life is to be lived. I consider myself fortunate to have known them, fortunate to be in a position, to have work I love that allows me to know so many talented people. I suppose when a man has worked over half his life in an industry peopled with so much talent—along with the egos, the fragilities, the pressures—loss is inevitable.”
“Loss, yes. But murder? Let’s hope murder isn’t an inevitability.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply it was, but it is, unfortunately, a reality in our society—in our world.”
“And fodder for our entertainment, as K.T.’s role as then Officer Peabody in the screen adaptation of the infamous Icove case is what brought her, and you, to New York at this time. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, along with Peabody and the resources of the NYPSD, broke that case. Dallas is also heading the investigation into K.T.’s murder. Today she announced they’ve uncovered new information. She claims she believes they’re close to making an arrest. What do you think about that?”
“I hope it’s not theater.”
“Theater?”
“I understand the pressure, from her superiors and the media, has been intense. I hope the investigators are, indeed, close to learning who killed K.T. It will never make up for the loss, but it may give us all a sense of closure.”
“And relief?” Nadine said w
ith a hint of a smile. “As one of the select group in attendance at the Roundtree/Burkette home that night, you’re a suspect.”
“As are you,” he shot back.
“Not guilty,” Nadine said, raising her right hand. “I know I’ll be relieved when Lieutenant Dallas makes an arrest. It’s disconcerting, don’t you find, Joel, to be under suspicion—and to have friends and colleagues on that same list?”
“I can’t and won’t believe any of us killed K.T.—our sister, our daughter, our friend. I suspect this ‘new information’ deals with an outsider.”
“An outsider?”
“Someone who gained entry by posing as catering staff, or valet, or what have you. A disturbed fan, perhaps. So, yes, I’ll be relieved when this is cleared up, the questions answered, and our lives returned to normal. I understand Lieutenant Dallas is doing her job, but to focus on us? Absurd. After all, we were all gathered together in one place at the time K.T. was killed. You were there yourself. I have to believe someone else followed K.T. up to the roof, and tragedy followed that. If—off the record.”
Nadine eased back, nodded to her camera. But said nothing as she knew the wire she wore would keep things very much on the record.
“I’m not going to cast suspicion or aspersions on my friends and colleagues on-screen.”
“I understand.”
“It’s bad for business,” he said flatly. “I’m sticking to it being an outsider—on the record. But I’m worried, I’m very worried something happened that night between K.T. and … one of us.”
“You suspect someone.” Nadine widened her eyes. “Joel!”
“I’m not going to discuss that, even off the record. It’s probably just the nerves of dealing with all this. The fact is, if she hadn’t gone up to indulge in the filthy habit of smoking, she might still be alive.”
“They do say even the herbals are bad for our health.”
“Worse yet when it’s one after the other mixed in with sense-dulling illegals like zoner.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “The combination reeks. I’m sorry. I’m upset—tired. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead and you don’t want that either. It’s bad for business as well.”
“Joel, I was there, too.” To enhance that connection, she leaned forward to lay a hand over his. Solidarity.
“I’m part of this. If you have reason to believe … If you think you know who killed her, tell me. I won’t go public.”
“I don’t feel right about it. Give me a day or two.” He turned his hand over, gave hers a pat and squeeze. “I need to think it through. I’m probably making too much of things. Now, Nadine, I really need you to wrap this up. It’s been a very long day.”
“Of course.” She settled back, signaled the camera again. She lobbed a couple of easy ones, to reset the tone, put him at ease.
And decided straight interview or undercover, it was going to play very well.
“Again, thank you so much for doing this. I know it’s a terrible time for everyone.”
“Life—and work—go on. I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t need to bother.”
“I’m heading out myself. As I said, long day.”
When he opened the door, Julian stopped pacing outside, hurried to him.
“Joel. Sorry, Nadine, I need to talk to Joel.”
“No problem. Julian.” Struck, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “You look so tired.”
“Everything feels off. I can’t work like this. I can’t handle all this. Joel—”
“Come on into my office. We’ll sit down, talk this out. Good night, Nadine.” As he turned, he sent her a long, sorrowful look over his shoulder.
“What the hell was that?” she muttered when Joel closed the office door. “What the hell?”
Inside, Julian began to pace again.
“Sit down, for Christ’s sake, Julian. You’re wearing me out.”
“I can’t sit. I can’t work. I can’t think or sleep. I’m one tangled nerve, Joel. Did you see Dallas, hear what she said? She’s going to make an arrest. What am I going to do? I should go talk to her, go talk to her and explain—”
“You’ll do no such thing. Pull yourself together! I told you I’d take care of things, didn’t I? It was an accident, and there’s no reason for you to pay any price for an accident. Will it bring her back?”
“No, but—”
“Do you want to risk going to prison, Julian?”
“No, God, no, but—”
“And ending your career, giving up everything you have, can have? For what?”
“I don’t know!” Julian pushed at his hair, clamped his hands on his temples as he paced and prowled. “It’s all so confusing. It keeps playing back in my head, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“You were drunk, Julian. You can’t be expected to remember clearly. Drunk, then in shock. My boy,” Steinburger said with such sympathy that Julian stopped, let out a long breath. “Listen now. It’s not your fault. You said you’d do as I said. You said you’d trust me.”
“I do. I do trust you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help, your support.”
“Then do what I tell you. Go back to your hotel. Pour yourself a glass or two of that very nice wine we had a bit of last night.”
“You said not to drink anymore.”
“That was last night.” Joel gave Julian a bracing pat on the back. “You’re not on the call sheet tomorrow. Indulge yourself. A nice glass of wine, while relaxing in your whirlpool. I know this has been a terrible strain on you. Put all this out of your mind for a while.”
“It’s all so mixed up, Joel.”
“I know. Follow my advice. Wine and whirlpool.”
“Wine and whirlpool,” Julian sighed, then repeated it with a nod when Steinburger stared at him. “Yes, I will. Wine and whirlpool.”
“You’ll see. It’s exactly the right solution. Tomorrow, everything will be fine. Just fine again.”
“It doesn’t feel like it ever can be.” Grief, guilt, sorrow swam in Julian’s eyes. “Joel, I’ve never hurt anyone before. I’ve never—”
“She hurt herself,” Steinburger said flatly. “You remember that. Tell you what. I’ll give you a lift. My driver’s ready for me. I’ll drop you at your hotel.”
“Okay. Maybe you could come up for a while. I hate being alone.”
“Best thing for you—we agreed, didn’t we? You follow Doctor Joel’s prescription tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll have dinner, and we’ll talk it all through. If you’re not feeling yourself again, we’ll talk about alternatives.”
“All right. Yes. Alternatives. Thanks, Joel.”
“What are friends for?”
Eve stood in the master bedroom of Steinburger’s apartment. She listened to Feeney’s roundup of Nadine’s interview while Roarke searched the dressing area.
Together with the search team, they’d already picked their way over the living area, the dining area, office, kitchen, even the terrace.
She had higher hopes for the second floor, but so far they’d scored a fat zero.
“Okay. Keep me in it,” she told him, then stuck her communicator back in her pocket.
“He told Nadine he was heading home—tired, long day—but he tagged a friend—some other producer, talked him into drinks and dinner out.”
“So we’ve more time before he gets here and expresses his outrage.”
“Yeah. Could be he wanted company. Could be he wanted an alibi. Nadine did a number on him, according to Feeney. Tied the dead ex-wife, the pregnant lover into it—even the business partner, college pal, and first wife’s great-grandfather. Made him sweat.”
Roarke glanced over as she came in. “Which you’ll enjoy watching, but that’s not what’s got that glint in your eye.”
“He asked her to go off-record. All keyed up. She’s smart, she had her camera turned off, but didn’t voice an agreement. Lawyers might quibble about the wire but we had a warrant for it. Anyway, he tried to play her, how
he might know something, how he’s worried he knows something, but can’t say. Won’t cast stones at his friends, and so on.”
“You think he’s picked his patsy.”
“I think he’s got to move on it pretty soon, yeah. I shook him with the imminent arrest, then Nadine piles it on. But better yet, he slipped. Trying to cover for this alleged friend, he said Harris would still be alive if she hadn’t gone up to the roof to smoke.”
Roarke paused, lifted a shoulder. “That’s true enough and a matter of record.”
“But the zoner isn’t a matter of record. And he brought it in. How the combination of herbal and zoner reeks—his term.”
“Foolish to let his abhorrence of the habit slip him up. Still, not to put a damper on that glint, if it was common knowledge she mixed in illegals, it’s not particularly damning.”
“It keeps adding up. One after another, he said, too. If he wasn’t up there, how does he know she went through multiple, laced herbals inside the dome? She tripped him up some on the pregnant lover, too. Little trips. They add up to a fall.”
She turned, walked back to the bedroom. “He’s organized—in how he thinks, how he lives, how he works. How he kills. Not obsessively so, but careful. Still, there are little things. Too many sex enhancements and toys.”
“Can there be too many?”
“From his supply, he’s never met one he didn’t like. Sex is power. He’s got his awards and kudos in every single room. He has to see them wherever he goes in here. He’s got files of what appears to be every article, blurb, mention, photo with his name or face in it throughout his career. We’ve got his B.B. Joel account on his comps here, just as you predicted.”
“Which should help making the embezzlement connection, when I get my fingers into it again. Until then, it’s simply a secondary account—taxes meticulously paid.”
Damned if he wasn’t dulling her glint. But she pushed on. “And there’s the file you found, with background checks, deep bio on everyone involved in this project—right down to the last gofer—that’s power-tripping again.”
