“Where did we put her?”
“Interview A,” Peabody told her.
“Let’s do this. Brisk and formal,” she added as they headed toward Interview. “Clarifying. We have this media thing shortly, want to make sure we have all the correct information. And when I go in on her, feel free to look somewhat distressed on her behalf.”
“It’ll be good acting practice for my cameo. Preston just sent me a message. I have a line: ‘It’s the police.’ I could say it like that—like a statement. Or maybe like I’m alarmed. ‘It’s the police!’ Or maybe sort of like a question. ‘It’s the police?’”
“Yeah, that’s a puzzler.”
“Well, I want to do a good job. Maybe with a little hesitation. ‘It’s … the police!’ My family’s completely juiced about this. They’re going to let McNab do it with me, like we’re standing together, and I say it to him. We’re going to be a couple.”
“Of what?”
Eve pushed open the interview room door.
“Ms. Xaviar.” Eve gave Valerie a nod as she called for record on, then read in the particulars. “Thank you for coming in,” she began, then continued before Valerie could respond. “You’ve already been read your rights on this matter. Do you require me to read them to you again?”
“No, but I’m not sure why you asked me to come.”
Eve sat, laid down her files. “Unlike on-screen, actual murder investigations involve a lot of repetition and routine. I want to confirm a few points from your previous statements and make sure we have an accurate record of your version of events.”
“My version?”
“Five people see the same event. Every one of them is going to report it with variations. Nobody sees the same thing the same way, do they?”
“So you’re asking everyone to come in again?”
Eve said nothing, only glanced down as she opened a file.
“Would you like something before we start, Valerie?” Peabody offered a smile in contrast to Eve’s chilly formality.
“No. No. I’d like to get this done. We’re very busy right now.”
“We’re a little busy around here, too.” Eve’s tone could have frozen a fiery pool in hell. “What with investigating a couple of murders, and dealing with the media you and your associates are so fond of.”
“We’re doing another media conference today.” Peabody oozed enthusiasm and naïveté. “We get to announce we have new information and expect an early arrest.”
“Peabody.”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. But Valerie’s in the media business, so she knows how it works. Dallas doesn’t like to show our hand,” Peabody told Valerie, “but the brass wants the buzz.”
“Of course. You’re going to arrest someone? You know who killed K.T.?”
“We’re—”
“Peabody!” This time Eve snapped it out. “We’re not here to discuss confidential and official details of the investigation, nor will those details be given to the media. Whatever buzz the brass wants.”
“I might be able to help. It is my field, and I’d—”
“We’re covered.” Eve took a slim tablet out of the file, swiped it on. “You stated you were seated here during the screen show in Roundtree’s theater on the night of K.T. Harris’s murder. Is this correct?”
“Ah …” Valerie leaned forward, studied the seating chart Eve had created. “Yes. I think so. I was seated toward the back and to the right.”
“To the best of your recollection is the rest of this chart accurate?”
“I really didn’t pay that much attention, but I do remember Marlo and Matthew moved over to this corner, where you have them, and Roundtree was in the front, near you and your husband. Joel was behind me as was Julian. So it looks correct there.”
“And in your statement given the night of the murder you said you didn’t notice anyone leaving the theater during the show.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were seated toward the back, and to the right. Now the area outside the doors had the lights on low, but there were lights on out there. And when the doors opened—as we know they did more than once during the screen show as it is fact that the victim, the killer, Nadine Furst, and Connie Burkette exited the theater—the light from the opening door would angle over your seat. Those doors opened several times, but you didn’t notice?”
“I was, as I said before, doing a little work, which is why I sat in that area. And I may have been a seat over. It’s hard to remember exactly.”
“Which was it? Here?” Eve tapped the screen. “Or here? Or maybe here?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Now you’re not sure.” Eve sat back, eyes cool, nodded. “Yet you seemed sure when you gave your initial statement.”
“I didn’t know the exact seat would be so important.”
“You didn’t know where you were seated, if you were seated, if you saw someone leave, if you left yourself, would be important to a murder investigation?”
“I never left that theater.” A trace of panic threaded through her voice. “Julian or Joel would have seen me if I had. They were behind me.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Yes.”
“But not of where you were seated. You know where two other people and—from previous statements—where the vic sat, but you can’t quite remember where you were.”
“I was here.” Agitated, Valerie slapped her finger on the tablet.
“Now you’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“You were seated here, but never noticed the light from the opening door.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s funny, because I ran a reconstruction and putting myself in this seat—the seat you’re now sure you used—I sure as hell noticed the brief wash of light from the door.”
“Obviously you’re more observant than I, or more sensitive to a change in light.”
“That must be it. It couldn’t be that you’re lying.”
Valerie tried for insulted, but that panic slipped through again. “I don’t have any reason to lie.”
“You have your career. I bet it’s important to you. Moving on, you’ve also stated that you were at Joel Steinburger’s New York residence at the time of A. A. Asner’s murder. Are you sure about that?”
“Of course.”
“Just checking. Neither you nor Mr. Steinburger left the residence at any time that evening, that night, and through to the morning?”
“No.”
“You’re sure because you spent every minute of that time together.”
“We worked late, until after midnight—nearly one A.M., trying to get ahead of the story, anticipate the angles. I stayed in the guest quarters as it was so late when we finished, and we agreed to put in some time in the morning.”
“How much do you get paid for that kind of overtime?”
“Excuse me?”
“I wonder what you get for putting in all that time.”
“My job requires flexibility and often entails long and odd hours. I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Cops are nosy. I’m nosy, so I wonder if the time you put in explains the fifty thousand Mr. Steinburger transferred to your account yesterday morning.”
Agitation switched to shock—covered fairly well, Eve thought, with sputtering outrage. “You looked into my personal finances? What right do you have to—”
“Every. This is murder. What did you do for fifty large, Valerie?”
“My job! Joel values exceptional work, which I provide. Handling the fallout from K.T.’s death has involved a lot of extra time, extra hours, and some innovation. He gave me a bonus.”
“But you said your job requires flexibility and often entails long hours.”
“It does.”
“And how often are you given a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for doing your job? Because unless it was in cash, and went unreported, which would mean you didn’t pay taxes on it, I didn’t see anything comparable in the last two years.”
“I can only speculate Joel felt these circumstances, and my handling of them, warranted the bonus.” She looked away, and her throat worked. “You’d have to ask him.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that. Are you sleeping with him again, Valerie?”
“I am not! I don’t have to sleep with an employer to advance my career.”