“You tracked him back to his housemate’s death? In college?”
“The working hypothesis is the housemate did his papers, or sold him papers at a fee—or found out Steinburger was buying his grades to keep from getting the boot. Steinburger pushed him down the stairs at their off-campus place. Or, possibly, it was an accident, then covered up. But when you dig in, there have been a lot of accidents resulting in death connected to him over the years. Too many.
“And I just got a recant, on record, from his alibi on the night Angelica Caulfield OD’d.”
“Angelica Caulfield. Oh God, fuck me inside out and sideways. Mind-mamboing. You think he killed Angelica fucking Caulfield.”
“I know he did. Just have to prove it. And there are more.”
Eve ran them through quickly as Peabody came to the bench with a jumbo sleeve of popcorn. Absently, she tossed some to a squirrel.
He was immediately joined by a swarm of his buddies.
“Jesus, Peabody.” Eve drew her legs back in.
“He looked hungry.”
“Now he’s an army, and here comes the frigging air force.”
Pigeons swooped so squirrel and bird gave each other the beady eye as they jostled for position.
“Get that out of here,” Eve ordered, “before they mount the attack. I think that one’s got a weapon.”
Looking aggrieved, and a little frightened, Peabody waded through the massing squirrels and pigeons and made a dash away with her sleeve.
“It’s the Free-Ager in her,” Eve muttered.
“There’s been speculation over Caulfield’s death and the paternity of the fetus for years. All the while … You can’t prove any of this. Yet. Or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”
“Peabody contacted the water cops before she decided to play fairy godmother to the wildlife. They’ll send divers down. We’re going to find the electronics, some of them anyway. We’ve got him connected to the boat—and the owner of the boat, his alibi for Caulfield, recanted with a detailed explanation of why she initially lied. I can and will bury him in circumstantial up to his neck. There’s the partially open dome and his aversion to smoke.”
“I can confirm that. Marlo and I had a couple of herbals in her trailer one day when we were going over a scene. He came by an hour later. You’d have thought we’d burned hazardous waste in there.”
“We’ll be tracking down wits from all the murders. I should have the case file and the electronics on the Buster Pearlman suicide by the time I get back to Central. This afternoon we’ll hold a media conference, and I’ll announce that we’re investigating new information, new evidence, and believe we’re close to making an arrest.”
“Trying to smoke him out?”
“He’ll worry about it, try to backtrack his steps, figure out if he made a mistake. Off-balance, he’s more likely to make one now. Mira’s worried, and I think she has cause, that he may go as far as offing one of the others to throw suspicion onto them. He’s done it before.”
“With the business partner. So you want me to add to the pressure, give him more of a nudge by pushing for an interview.”
“If you get one you go in wired.”
“Wait a minute—”
“For your own protection, Nadine. He may decide you’re the one to off.”
“Oh, bull. Why would he target me? We barely brushed by each other. I only went to the set a handful of times, to another handful of table readings or meetings.”
“She pressured you to expand her part, to change some of the scenes, to twist the actual facts of the case to suit her desire for more screen time.”
“I wouldn’t say pressured, but—”
“She pushed for it—went to Roundtree, to Steinburger—who would probably be happy now to detail an argument he umped between you—once both of you are dead and unable to say it never happened, or not that way. She claimed your work was inferior, that you were, after all, just a reporter. Not Hollywood, not someone who really understood how to translate the story onto the screen.”
“She never … not exactly. Besides she wasn’t going to get it.”
“But she went at you the night of the party. Drunk, obnoxious, insulting. Maybe she gave you a little physical push. You responded. You didn’t mean to kill her, but things got out of hand.”
“Hey!”
“Now you’re riddled with guilt. Trying to cope with it by throwing yourself into another project. But it’s eating at you. You know, even though we’re friends, I’m sniffing it out, and I’ll do my job. You can’t face that. The scandal, the pressure, the threat of doing time. So, you take the easy way out and kill yourself.”
“I do not. You know damn well I’d never kill myself, and you’d vow to avenge my death, should it happen, while fighting tears over my beautiful, stylish corpse.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. The point is, he doesn’t know either of us well enough to know I’d never buy that you offed yourself. You could be, for him, a very convenient, beautiful, and stylish corpse.”
“I get your point. I still think there are more convenient corpses.”
“So do I, but since I don’t want to have to spend my time avenging your death and fighting tears, why take chances? You go wired.”
“I’ll get the interview, and I’ll go wired—on the condition I get an exclusive one-on-one with you, and a full hour with you on Now.”
For form, Eve scowled. “This isn’t about media scoops and ratings, Nadine. It’s about stopping a killer who’s not only slipped the law for forty years, but profited from it.”
“If it wasn’t about the media, you wouldn’t be talking to me, or asking for my help. You need the media on this. You need me, and I’ll play it your way. You just have to play the aftermath mine.”
“Maybe I should let him off you.”
“You like me too much. Plus there’s that whole protect-and-serve thing.” She dug her notebook out of her bag, made a few quick notes. “I’m also going to need your cooperation with the book I’ll be writing on this, and for that I’ll be putting my considerable resource skills into those other murders. And I’ll share.”
She slid the book back in her bag, closed it. Gave Eve her cat smile.
“You know and I know it’s going to take research, resources, and manpower to put together the evidence to build all those cases.”
Eve frowned down at the toe of her boots, as if reluctant. “All right. Deal. But it has to be today. Right after the media conference.”
“Done. We were both going to agree to all this anyway, but it was a nice break in the park.” Nadine got to her feet. “I’ll be at the conference, and I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve set up the interview with Steinburger.”
Eve watched her walk away on her impractical shoes, then got up to find Peabody and make sure she hadn’t been eaten by squirrels.
Back at Central, she issued a request—through two uniforms she sent to the studio—for Valerie to come into Central, answer a few more questions.
“We’ll go to her if she balks,” Eve told Peabody, “but I’d rather do it here. Make it formal, a little disturbing—and before the media conference. We’ll let her know we’re making an announcement shortly.”
“And she’ll spread that word at the studio.”
“I wouldn’t want Steinburger to miss it. I want someone on him. We can’t trail him at the studio, but when he leaves, someone’s on him. We need to know if he approaches any of the others. He doesn’t get a chance to add to his kill score.”
“Baxter and Trueheart?”
“Yeah, if they’re not on something hot. Soft clothes. Fill them in. I’ll alert Feeney and EDD about Nadine’s wire, and update the commander.” She checked the time. “And let’s keep on top of the water cops and the divers.”
It didn’t take long. She added a check-and-confirm with Kyung, began to skim the case file, delivered efficiently from California, then smiled at Peabody’s text re Valerie. The publicist was in the house.
A few props never hurt, Eve decided, and gathered some files, tucked them under her arm. She walked out to the bullpen.