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 with 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.”