Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(48)

“I’ve never harmed anyone in my life! I was home, from five to eight-thirty. And I was on my way out to meet Larinda. We had a nine o’clock reservation at Divine.”

The words tumbled out of him now, and had more of the ring of truth. “The bulletin came across my ’link. I was in utter shock. Utter. My driver will attest to it. I had a complete breakdown, and came here, directly here to the station, hoping against hope it had been some sort of mistake, or a terrible prank.”

“That covers you after eight-thirty. I’ll ask again, were you home alone between six and seven P.M.?”

“I … I was in a meeting.”

“With?”

“A potential guest.”

“Name?”

“If you won’t take my word for—”

“I won’t. Answer the question, or you can contact your lawyer from Central.”

Not just a flush this time, but a harsh stain of red on his cheeks. “A fresh young actress I hoped to introduce to more of my viewership, to help advance her career.”

“Name.”

He spent some time picking invisible lint off his sleeve. “Scarlet Silk.”

“Contact information.”

“I’d have to look that up.”

“Then do that. You were with Ms. Silk,” Eve continued as he pulled out his memo book, “from six to seven?”

“Yes.” He rattled off the contact information. “Now, I need to prepare for my show. This has been very upsetting. I need to compose myself and prepare.”

“All right.” Eve rose as he did. “Ms. Mars made her living on secrets, rumors, innuendo. Did she share any concerns with you over anyone who wished her harm?”

“She was fearless.” He laid his hand on his heart, made a fist there like a salute.

“Did you share with her any secrets, rumors, or innuendo you learned through your own channels?”

She saw the flicker, the way his eyes cut away. “I host a friendly, comfortable show for my viewership. I maintain a friendly and respectful relationship with my guests.”

“How about yes or no on the question?”

“Absolutely no.”

“All right. Thank you for your time.”

Eve stepped out, over to Mars’s door, cut the seal. “Peabody, run the fresh young actress with the porn name.”

“Already on that.”

They stepped in. Like her apartment, Mars kept her work space in complete darkness. Eve called for lights.

Unlike Day’s space, it held a desk, fussy, fancy, but a working desk with a slick little data and communication center. Floor-to-ceiling curtains of pale gold covered the windows behind it.

The sitting area, in the fancy/cozy style, used deeper golds and shimmering blues.

Like Day’s, hers offered a full bar and a dressing area.

Eve started to speak, then Nadine stepped to the doorway.

“Need something?” Eve asked her.

“This is you doing your job.” Nadine leaned on the jamb. “And me doing mine. If you’re about to do something the public doesn’t have the right to know, I can come in, close the door—and hold whatever needs to be held until. Otherwise, this can go into the pool.”

“Christ.” Eve chose to ignore her. “Peabody, alert EDD, the electronics will be tagged and waiting for pickup and transport.”

“Already did. Scarlet Silk—you nailed it, Dallas. I guess she could be called fresh and young. I guess she could be called an actress. And her name reflects her current videography. Her latest is Hard, Hot, and Hammered.”

“Figured. Contact her, verify his alibi.”

“Mitch’s?”

“You got your one-on-one, Nadine,” Eve reminded her, pulling open a drawer in the desk.

Unused memo cubes, a passcoded tablet, a couple of pens, a couple of cubes of sticky notes. Eve held up the notes. “Did she use these?”

Nadine shrugged. “You had your interview, Dallas.”

Already fed up by the swamp of bullshit in Day’s office, Eve rounded on her. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“Then don’t treat me like somebody who does.” Nadine stepped in, shut the door. “Larinda was well-known for slapping stupid stickies on comp screens, doors—even on the foreheads of her staff.”

“Where is her staff?”

“Mostly in cubes, in the area to the right. Neither she nor Mitch wanted their staff on top of them. Mitch, I think, because he likes his quiet time. Larinda because she enjoyed having them run back and forth at her beck. And she used them on a board—like you, sort of.”

“What board?”

“This one.” Peabody rolled out a white board covered in colored stickies. “I guess we could call it her case board.”

Some of the stickies held names, others what Eve thought of as motivations or acts: sex, dollar signs, illegals, abuser, rapist. Some feel-good on there, too: engaged, expecting, honeymoon, charitable interests. Arrows connected some of the notes, and on some she’d tagged initials in the corners.

“Too accessible to be her marks. These would be her, well, marks, but professionally. People she’s digging to dish on. Not illegal—it’s her job. But let’s tally up the names, coordinate them with the suspected dirt or offense. It could be somebody got wind of her scratching around and decided to take her out first.”