“On it. Here comes Nadine.”
“I see her.”
“This better be good.” Nadine clipped up to them. “It better be mega. I’m up to my ass in work putting this special together. I barely got three hours of sleep last night, and I ate two sticky buns for breakfast because they were there. Now I’m all the way the hell out here when I should be putting together my questions for that fucker McQueen.”
“It sounds like you could use a nice walk in the park. Peabody, take care of those items, will you? You can catch up to us.”
“I don’t have time for a goddamn walk in the park,” Nadine began, but Eve just strolled away.
“Oh. If I didn’t know she could kick my ass, I’d seriously try kicking hers.”
“Trust me,” Peabody told her. “It’s going to be worth the walk.”
20
If you had to be out in nature, Eve figured a city park did the job in a civilized manner. The wildlife ran to squirrels, pigeons, muggers, and the inevitable end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it prognosticator who invariably looked rattier than the squirrels.
She liked the flowers well enough. Someone actually planted them rather than them just sneaking up out of the ground when nobody was looking. And in addition to the weird chirp of a bird or buzz of some bloodsucking insect, came the comforting grumble of traffic.
“I’m not tromping all over Battery Park in these heels.”
Eve glanced down at the towering pumps in glossy tones of rust picked out in gold. “Why do you wear them if you can’t walk in them?”
“I can walk in them just fine, thanks. But I’ll be damned if I’ll hike in them.” Nadine plopped down on a bench, crossed the legs that ended in the no-hiking shoes, folded her arms. “What’s this about and why the hell couldn’t we deal with it on the ’link? My schedule’s blown to bits now.”
“You’re going to want to add something to the bits.”
Nadine simply gave her the steely eye. “Do you have any idea what goes into setting up a multipart special like this? The scheduling, the travel, the writing, the conceptualizing, wardrobe? Added to it, I’m doing the interviews, writing the questions, the setups, the narration. And I’m the christing executive producer. So—”
“Speaking of producers,” Eve said mildly as she dropped down on the bench, “I need you to get Steinburger to agree to an interview. You can dig into his thoughts of Harris’s murder, how it feels to be a suspect, how he and the others are handling her death while they continue to produce the vid. Like that.”
“Now you’re telling me how to do my job?” Temper spiked up over stress. “I swear to God, I may just try to kick your ass after all.”
“In those shoes?” Eve snorted. “Your ankles would snap like twigs.”
“Listen, Dallas, the media’s jammed with this already, and Steinburger, like the rest, is toeing the company line. Shock, upset, sorrow, and the show must go on. I’ve already talked to all of them, on record. If you’ve got something new, an angle I can work with, fine. Otherwise, it’s just reprise until you feed us more info. Unless you’re going to tell me Steinburger strolled up to the roof and killed Harris.”
“Off the record.”
Nadine’s eyes narrowed, flashed. “Oh, to borrow from you, Dallas, bite me. You drag me all the way downtown, lay out a tease like you suspect one of the most respected, successful, and revered producers in the business might have killed one of his most bankable if difficult actors? And you expect me to go off the record.”
“Off the record, or you take a hike in those ankle-killers, and I take one in my new, comfortable boots.”
“God! You piss me off.” Nadine studied Eve’s boots and sulked. “They’re nice boots.”
Eve shot out her legs, gave her boots a study in turn. “I guess they go with the coat.”
“I’m not even discussing the coat because it should be mine. I’d appreciate its soft, leathery goodness and superior lines a lot more than you.”
“I like it.” She waited a beat. “So do you want to sit here and talk about our clothes, or are we off-record?”
“Damn it. I—”
“Hold that thought.” Eve rose, strode over, and grabbed a skinny guy in a baggy jacket and camo pants by the arm. “Look, you and I both know that woman’s an idiot for carrying her purse that way.”
“What’s your deal?” He shoved at her, tried to yank free. Eve just shifted and tightened her grip.
“She’s an idiot, and so’s the woman with her. But they’re probably from Wisconsin or somewhere. So snatching their bags in the park is just bad public relations for the city.”
He sneered, fisted his free hand in warning. “Get outta my face, lady, or I’m calling the cops.”
“Okay, so you’re an idiot, too. I am a cop, moron. I’m sitting right over there, and I’m watching you scope your mark. It’s insulting.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But his fisted hand fell back to his side, and his voice took on a whine. “I’m walking here. I’m just walking here.”
“Do us both a favor. Just walk somewhere else. Now.”
When she let him go he didn’t walk. He ran like a rabbit away from the two women, possibly from Wisconsin, who strolled with their handbags dangling from careless fingers.
Eve walked back, sat on the bench. “Sorry for the interruption. Now where were we?”
“How did you know he was a purse snatcher?”
“He’s been stalking those two women for the last few minutes, keeping pace, eyeing the bags. Trying to gauge if he could do a double-snatch or just go for the one. I think he was going for the double. Anyway. If you want to know what I know, say the magic words.”
“Goddamn it.”
“Those aren’t the magic words.”
“All right, but it damn well better be good. It better be gold. We’re off the record.”
“Steinburger not only killed Harris and A. A. Asner, he’s killed at least seven other people. I think it’s more, but we’re sticking with the nine total right now. He’s been killing people for forty years.”
Nadine blinked once, slowly. “Joel Steinburger. Academy Award–winning, Kennedy Center–honoring, Big Bang Productions–founding Joel Steinburger, a killer, for four decades?”
“Starting with one of his housemates in college, and ending, if I have anything to do with it, with Asner.”
“Fuck me sideways.”
“Thanks, but you’re just not my type.”
“You’re sure.”
“I’m sure men are my type, but if I went for women, I’d do you.”
Nadine gave Eve a punch on the shoulder with the heel of her hand. “About Steinburger. Of course you’re sure. You wouldn’t tell me if you weren’t sure. Jesus. Jesus. I actually have to hike.” She pushed up, strode along the path, back and forth in her crazy high, glossy shoes. “This is huge. It’s bigger than huge. It’s a monster story. It’s Godzilla. And a book, oh yeah, the follow-up bestseller with a guaranteed vid to follow with the Hollywood scandal connection.”
“And only nine people, give or take, had to die.”
“Just give me a minute, would you? I’m restraining myself from doing the mambo over this, and that’s taking some work. Joel Steinburger: Producer in Death.”
“Maybe you can brainstorm your titles after we put him away.”
Nadine sat again. “All right, I’m finished with the glee portion of my reaction. It probably wouldn’t have been quite so gleeful except I don’t like him. I expected to, wanted to. The man’s producing my book in a major screen event. I admire his work, a lot. But I found him pushy and petulant, and a little on the grabby side. He’s an ass-patter,” Nadine explained. “Tries to make it come off avuncular, but that didn’t wash for me so I’ve kept my ass at a distance.”
“Sex and money are big elements of his makeup, and the need to exert power. Ass-patting women is just a way to show he’s the one at the wheel.”