Unlike the early-morning pulse and mumble, Asner’s building held quiet midday. Everyone off to school, Eve thought, or to work, or to the shops, running errands.
The minute she unsealed and unlocked the door, she thought someone else had run errands.
“Well, either Asner was a really messy guy, or somebody beat us to it.” Peabody stood, lips pursed, as they surveyed the jumble of the small living area.
The contents of upended drawers scattered over the floor mixed with debris from closets, cabinets. In limp gray puffs, the stuffing spilled out, like disgorged intestines, from the cushions of the faded sofa and armchair.
“It’s empty, but let’s clear it anyway.” Eve drew her weapon, peeled off toward the tiny bedroom.
It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d come in sooner, she thought, replacing her weapon. But damn, it was annoying.
“The killer wanted to make sure he got all copies of the recording. Or Asner didn’t have the original in the office. Either way, this is a thorough job. Careful, too,” Eve observed as she picked her way through, “even with the mess. He didn’t heave things around—too much noise, somebody might complain that time of night.”
“He kills Asner, tosses the office. He took Asner’s wallet, and the vic didn’t have any key code on him. So —”
“Yeah. And I missed something. The vehicle. The killer didn’t have to have transportation. No PI can function without his own ride. He could have taken Asner’s vehicle.”
She took the steps in her mind. “Loading it up, driving it here, tossing the apartment, then ditching the car somewhere, ditching or destroying the electronics. It’s thorough. He had more time to think this one through.”
“But it’s still stupid, Dallas.” Peabody toed a pile of drawer junk. “It’s a recording of a couple of Hollywood stars getting some. It’s just … it’s just not big enough for all this.”
“Yeah, it seems stupid. Seems like overkill—all around. So, there’s more somewhere. Could be Harris had Asner do another job, and he dug up something on the killer. We could be chasing our tails on the recording. Red herring, or only part of the story.”
“His fee was pretty steep.”
“So, maybe fifty for each job. Fuck.” Eve slapped her hands on her hips. “We’re running in circles. Let’s get a search team in here, save ourselves the time. And we need to verify Asner has a ride, and if so get a BOLO out for it. I want the search team to bring sensors. Asner might’ve had a hidey-hole the killer didn’t look for or find. No computer or ’links here, so he took them. It’s a lot of hauling. Let’s check around, see if anyone saw somebody loading up last night.”
After spending considerable time learning nobody saw anything, heard anything, knew anything, there or at the office building—and being offered tattoos at ten percent discount, Eve and Peabody walked back to the car.
“Sometimes I think about it.”
“What?”
“Getting a tattoo,” Peabody told her. “Just a little one. Something fun, or meaningful, or—”
“Why would you pay somebody to cut a picture into your flesh?”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“Stick with temps.” Eve pulled out her communicator at its signal. “Dallas. Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Have it hauled in. It’ll need to be processed. They found Asner’s ride parked at the Battery Park Marina.”
“Marina, water, dumping ground.”
“Yeah. I think we should do a run, see which of our friends has a boat. What’s better than dumping a bunch of electronics off a pier?”
“Dumping them out in the river.”
“It could be our killer’s using a brain this time around. Let’s head in.” She wanted to put her feet up, and start using hers.
She found the ME’s report when she got to her office, and wished she’d felt able to carve out the time to talk to Morris in person. Still, the report verified her own on-scene. Multiple blows from behind, with the falcon statue. Reconstruction indicated two blows of considerable force came after the victim was prone, and the first two of four had been enough to kill.
The tox showed the vic had several ounces of bourbon in his system at TOD. No other signs of violence or struggle.
Eve added the report, Asner’s picture, the crime scene and apartment photos to her board.
Then she got a large coffee, sat down, put her boots on her desk.
She studied the board while she drank her coffee.
All sorts of connections, she thought. All sorts of egos. Throw in sex, money, fame.
Start with sex, she decided.
Connect Harris to Julian and Matthew. Indirect to Preston due to her threat to shout sexual harassment. She was tossing his alibi for now. In a tight-knit group, people lied for each other.
Possibility Harris connected by sex to others on the list, she mused. Sex was always a possibility.
Connect Matthew with Marlo, and again indirectly due to publicity hype, to Julian. That connects Harris and Marlo through sex, one degree removed—times two.
Connect Roundtree and Connie. Possibility one or both unfaithful at some time, either with the vic or one of the others. Harris claimed to have had an affair with Roundtree, cannot verify. Claimed Marlo engaged in sexual acts with Roundtree, cannot verify.
Connect Steinburger and Valerie, whether that sexual connection was past or present. Harris had had a talent for digging up dirt. Very possible she’d known, threatened to use the information somehow.
No discernible connection through sex with Andrea.
Money.
It just didn’t feel like money. These people had money, though more was always good. Then again, numbers, which equaled money in this case, were the reason for the publicity hype re Julian and Marlo, and the spin and cover on the continual problems with Harris.
So money. She needed to find out more about how that end of it worked for all involved.
Fame. That was like sex, wasn’t it? A rush, a need, and particularly applicable to this set of individuals. Celebrity. The need to have it, the need to maintain it, or grow it. And like sex and money, celebrity held power. Could be used to wield power, and to control.
Circling, circling, she thought. And yet …
Sex, money, fame, power. It was all a mix, all a stew these people worked in, lived in. And all of those things could be weapons, vulnerabilities. Could be threatened, lost, diminished.
Motive. To maintain power at all costs.
First murder. A snap of temper, or even the victim’s own clumsiness. Followed by impulse/calculation. Quick, opportunistic, no real plan or deep thought.
But the second, blow after blow? That’s anger, she thought, with a little desperation thrown in. From behind, not personal. Opportunistic again, grabbing the heavy statue. But not face-to-face. And a careful, thorough follow- through on murder two.
Laborious even, transporting the electronics, loading them into the victim’s car, doing the same at his apartment. Risky, too, though on the low side. Pumped with adrenaline, a definite task to accomplish, a plan of action.
And there had to be more to it than recovering a recording of two people having sex who were perfectly free to have sex.
Add blackmail to sex, money, fame, power.
“Dallas?”
Distracted, she frowned over her shoulder at Peabody. “Working.”
“I know, but K.T. Harris’s brother came in. He asked if he could talk to you. He’s been to the morgue. They’re going to release the body tomorrow. I thought you might want to talk to him, and didn’t think you’d want to do it in here.”
Eve looked back at the board, the crime scene and dead photos of Harris.
“Have somebody escort him to the lounge. I’ll be right there.”
