Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(39)

“Bebe Hewitt.” She rose, a commanding six feet in her heels, willow slim with sharp, assessing eyes of icy blue. “I would have come to you if you hadn’t come to me. Please, sit, there’s coffee.”

“Before we get started, my partner needs access to Ms. Mars’s office. We’ll need to have her electronics taken in to Central.”

“I can’t accommodate that, without a warrant.”

“A warrant’s being issued.”

“Good. When it is, and legal verifies it, you’ll have what you need. Believe me, I don’t want to impede your investigation in any way, but I can’t violate Larinda’s rights, or the rights of the free media. I need more coffee.”

She pulled over a pot, poured. “Our responsibilities aren’t that different.”

“Aren’t they?”

Bebe studied Eve with those cool blue eyes. “We both serve the public. I believe in what we do here. I respect what you do. And I’m not stupid enough not to appreciate that you—and you as well, Detective—are damn good screen.”

She closed her eyes a moment, drank. “Larinda’s assistant is Ross Burkoff. He should be helpful to you. I’m reasonably sure he handled a great deal of her personal business as well as professional.”

“We’ll speak with him. I also need to speak with Mitch L. Day.”

Bebe let out a small sound that ended in a quick smirk. “That didn’t take long. His office is directly across from Larinda’s.”

Eve recognized the meaning behind the smirk. “You’re aware they’re involved.”

Now Bebe’s smirk deepened, but there was a touch of annoyance in it. “The place is crawling with reporters—and I was one myself for a lot of years. Their involvement was a poorly kept secret until a few weeks ago, when Mitch’s wife kicked him out.”

“How pissed off was the wife?”

“Sashay? She doesn’t get pissed—that might put lines in her face. She discards and moves on. She didn’t care about Larinda any more than you’d care about a cloud rolling over the sun for a minute. You wait until it’s gone. And Mitch? He was like a chipped wineglass.” Bebe lifted her shoulders. “You wouldn’t keep the glass once it’s chipped, right? You just toss it out, get another.”

“Who else was Mars close to?”

“I don’t know that she was ‘close’ to anyone particularly.”

“You didn’t like her.”

Bebe took some time with her coffee, not hedging to Eve’s mind, but aligning her thoughts into words first. “She was superior at her work, had an amazing network of contacts, an enthusiastic fan base—and she knew how to keep them happy and tuning in. She had a strong and appealing on-screen presence, and her ratings were stellar—and growing. She will be missed, and she’ll be very hard to replace. And no, I didn’t like her.”

Bebe added a shrug. “I didn’t have to like her. I imagine you work with and respect the work of any number of people you don’t like on a personal level.”

“Why didn’t you like her?”

“Offscreen, off camera, away from the public, she was a piranha. Careless with people, with feelings. Full of herself, full of demands—most of which I’d meet because she brought in revenue. She earned her own show, her specials, her fussy accommodations and travel demands. She lured in the talent and gave the viewers what they wanted.

“She was a soaring diva and often a pain in my ass, but she leaves a hole in my house that’s going to take time to fill.”

“Why don’t you tell me where you were last night at eighteen-forty?”

“Really?” After a quick blink of surprise—much like her nephew’s—Bebe let out a genuine laugh. “I’m much too smart to kill one of my golden geese, but let me think … What time is that in English? I can never make the translation in my head.”

“Sorry. Six-forty.”

“That’s easy. I was having dinner—pre-theater—with my husband, my brother and his wife, and my parents, who’re visiting from St. Thomas. We had six o’clock reservations at Andre’s. Curtain was at eight. I got the text about Larinda right before curtain. Do you need the names and contacts of my alibis?”

“No, just wondering. Who sent you the text?”

She opened her mouth, shut it, seemed to consider. “One of our reporters—the metro beat. He’d gotten a tip from someone who’d been in the bar when it happened. He’s not going to give you that name, Lieutenant, and he wasn’t the only one who got tagged from the bar. I hadn’t reached the lobby, turned my ’link back from vibrate when other tags from other reporters started coming in, as I know they starting coming in to my competitors.”

“Okay.” Eve glanced down at her own signaling ’link. “That’s the warrant. Peabody, get a printout—two copies—for Ms. Hewitt and her legal department.”

“I’ll have them look it over right away.”

“Good. Then my partner will expect access to the office and anything else that pertains to this investigation.”

“I locked down her office personally—I did so last night—to ensure no one went in, disturbed anything. Reporters,” Bebe said again. “If I’d been young and eager, I might have snuck in to see what I could find. No one’s been in. She always locked her office, and the security scan showed no one had gone in since she did so at five-ten yesterday evening.”