“Was Roundtree with you?”
“Of course. They shut down production for the day yesterday, for obvious reasons. And also to add to security. Added to it all was the problem of logistically shooting a handful of scenes that involved K.T. Mason, Nadine, and the scriptwriter holo-conferenced off and on during the day, working that out. After dinner, Mason went down to view and edit, to make some of the changes work more smoothly. I don’t think he came to bed until after two, then he wanted to be at the studio by six, for a breakfast meeting with Joel and two of the studio execs who’d come in from California.”
“What were you doing while he worked?”
“I put a droid on the ’links, programmed to get me only in case of emergency. I’d had enough. I read scripts in bed, or intended to. I think I must’ve gone under by nine.”
“So you and your husband weren’t actually together in the same area of the house during the time in question?”
Connie sat silent for a moment. “No. If you’re asking if either of us has an alibi, I’d have to say I don’t. I didn’t take any communications, didn’t speak to or see anyone from about eight-thirty until Mason took the script I’d been reading out of my hands and climbed into bed at about two this morning.”
“Okay. Thanks for the time.”
“That’s it?”
“For now. If you could send Roundtree in, we’ll keep this moving so he can get back to work.”
While she waited, Eve made notes, took a moment to poke around the office. The walls held numerous framed photos. Roundtree with various actors—some she recognized, some she didn’t. Of Roundtree on some outdoor location, high in a crane, baseball cap backward on his head as he scowled at a monitor. One of his Best Director Oscars sat on a shelf along with some other awards, and she noted a football trophy for MVP, from his Sacramento high school, in what she calculated would have been his final year.
Family photos sat on the desk, facing the chair.
He walked in, kind of lumbering, like a bad-tempered bear. “I’m supposed to apologize, but fuck that. I don’t like anybody coming on my set and telling me what to do.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“And if you try shutting us down, you’re going to have a fight on your hands.”
“Then why don’t you take the stick out of your ass, sit down, get this done so we don’t have to face that issue?”
He bared his teeth at her, then grinned. “Fuck it. I like you. You piss me off, but I’ve been living with you for better than six months now. You’re a hard-nosed, hard-ass, hardworking bitch. I like that.”
“Yay. Where were you between ten and midnight?”
“Working. I’m a hard-nosed, hard-ass, hardworking son of a bitch.”
“At home. Alone.”
“I don’t like somebody breathing over my shoulder. We’ve got a goddamn problem. I have to fix it. I’ve got a cast and crew tied up in knots. Connie …” He dropped into a chair, and for the first time let the fatigue show. “She loved that fucking lap pool.”
He sat, tugging his goatee, brooding. “I surprised her with it a couple years back. Had it done when we were back on the Coast. She loved to swim, and she uses it every day we’re in New York. Every morning, even if she’s working and has a six A.M. call, she uses the pool first.”
He trained those sharp blue eyes on Eve, and the anger and bitterness came clearly. “Do you think she’s going to be able to do that now? Go up there, enjoy her morning swim? She feels responsible for what happened to K.T.”
Eve angled her head, thinking how Connie had said the same of him. “Because?”
“She laid into K.T. after dinner. She planned the party, right down to the goddamn mints. It was her idea to have the whole stinking thing, and now she’s sick about it, and trying to hold up for everybody else. That’s who she is.”
He rolled his shoulders back. “Now what the fuck is this about some PI, and what’s it to do with any of us?”
“Harris hired Asner to plant cameras in the loft Marlo and Matthew are living in, in SoHo.”
His brow beetled. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”
Eve laid it out for him, or as much as she wanted to lay out. And watched him absorb, chew on, spit out until he shoved to his feet and prowled the office.
“Idiots. Bunch of idiots. What the hell do I care if Marlo and Matthew want to screw like college kids on spring break? Christ’s sake. And I swear to fucking
He kicked his desk, a sentiment and gesture she understood as she was prone to the same.
“Why the hell didn’t you arrest this Asner asshole?”
“I would have, but it’s hard to book a dead guy.”
“Shit.” He dropped into the chair again. “What a fucking mess.”
“How much damage would the recording do, if it leaked?”
“How the hell do I know? You can’t figure the public. You just do good work, try to pick good people, good scripts, then throw the dice. It’ll be embarrassing, for Marlo and Matthew, and for Julian, but that won’t last. It’ll make the studio look stupid, at least to those who know how they fabricate some of the hype. Other than that, it’s still rolling the dice.”
Peabody poked her head in when Eve sent Roundtree out.
“Want an update?”
Eve crooked her finger.
“Nadine’s still a little pissed she didn’t latch onto the Marlo/Matthew connection before you did. She wants exclusives right, left, and sideways. She contacted everybody we’re talking to via ’link yesterday, and actually managed to get into Julian’s hotel room—with his permission—for a one-on-one in the afternoon. She didn’t have much to add, which I figured was what you wanted me to find out, but she’s digging like a terrier.”
“Good.”
“Preston’s alibied. I verified. He and Carmandy were in her room until after midnight. We can check hotel security on that, but it feels solid.”
“All right.”
“Matthew’s in the studio, was actually in his trailer. He and Marlo came in together this morning. Steinburger and Valerie are also here. They’ve been in his office working on spin and media angles.”
“Why don’t you take the lovebirds—separately. Then Andrea. I’ll take Valerie first, then Steinburger, round it out with Julian.”
“Works for me. I’ll get Valerie on her way.”
Eve busied herself with more notes, linking names with lines until Valerie clipped in on her important shoes. She wore an earlink, had a pocket ’link, and a PPC clipped to what Eve supposed was a fashionable belt. She carried two go-cups.
“Mango smoothies,” she said, setting one on the table. “I thought you might like one. Now.” She sat, crossed her legs. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by giving me your whereabouts last night, between ten P.M. and midnight.”
Valerie held up one finger in a one-moment gesture, and unclipped her PPC. “Let me check my calendar. It’s cross-checked, of course, in my memo book. I have that in my briefcase in Joel’s office. I holoed with reporters on the West Coast until ten. I believe my memo book will have that conference ending at approximately ten after the hour, as it ran over a bit. I had a meeting scheduled with Joel at ten-thirty. I believe we brainstormed and handled a variety of issues until about one this morning.”
“And where did you conference and meet and brainstorm?”
“At Joel’s pied-à-terre. I stayed in the guest quarters last night to simplify the situation.”
“Situation?”
Valerie maintained her pleasant, slightly smug expression. “K.T. Harris’s murder is a situation.”
“At least. Are you and Joel Steinburger sexually involved?”
“No. That’s insulting.”
