Celebrity in Death (In Death #34)(114)

Nadine swiped at her damp eyes. “I didn’t make him puke.”

“I have that effect on people.”

Sniffling, Nadine found a seat, peeled off her ruined shoes. “Do you think I can get a drink—a real drink? From room service.”

“Fine with me. Just don’t drink anything from in here.”

Nadine limped over to the ’link. “Yes. I want a vodka martini, dry as the Sahara, three olives. And I want it pronto.”

She sat again. “How did Steinburger get him to take the pills?”

“Let’s hope Julian’s able to tell us. Got some blisters working there,” Eve noted.

Nadine winced, continued to rub her feet. “Shut up.”

“Since you earned them in the line, let’s see if the MTs have something for them.” Even as Eve spoke, one of the medics stepped out of the bedroom.

“Status.”

“Cleaned him out good. He’s conscious, feeling like serious crap, and stabilizing. We got him hooked up to an IV, get some fluids back in him. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”

Eve glanced over as Peabody and two uniforms came in. She gestured toward Nadine, turned back to the MT. “Does he need to?”

“Guy downs a buncha downers with his Cabernet or whatever, he needs some help. That’s auto into Psych for eval and observation. Twenty-four hours.”

“It wasn’t attempted suicide.” She tapped her badge. “It was attempted homicide.”

The MT looked dubious, but shrugged. “You say so.”

“I say so. Is he recovered enough, physically, to stay here?”

“Guy hadn’t barfed most of it up before we got here, you wouldn’t be asking. He needs to have somebody with him to monitor, but he’s stable enough. Pretty fried, but stable.”

“Somebody will stay with him, and I’ll have a doctor examine him.”

The MT looked around, glanced over to where Peabody took Nadine’s official statement. “Guess that’s it then.”

“Thanks for your help.” Eve stepped into the bedroom. Roarke sat on the edge of the bed with Julian propped up on a mountain of pillows. His face remained nearly as white as the linens as they carried on a halting, murmured conversation.

“You can tell her,” Roarke said. “She’ll help you.” Roarke rose. “The MT said clear liquids would be fine, for now. I’m going to go order him something up.”

“All right.” She moved over to the bed, looked down at Julian.

“Record’s on. Do you need me to read you your rights again, Julian?”

“No.” His voice rasped out, and he winced as he swallowed. “Throat’s sore.”

“I bet. Where did you get the pills?”

“I swear to God, I didn’t take any pills. I just had a couple glasses of wine.”

“Where did you get the wine?”

“Joel brought it over last night. He knew I was … upset. We only had one glass each. I’ve been drinking too much since … you know. I drink too much, I guess, when I’m upset.”

“So Joel brought you the bottle of wine, but you didn’t finish it last night.”

“Just one glass each. And it was fine. Just fine. I don’t know why it made me so sick tonight. I guess, maybe, I caught a bug or something.”

“You nearly caught an OD. The wine was full of Somnipoton.”

“Sleeping pills? No, I didn’t take any pills. I told the MTs. I didn’t take any medication.” Agitated, he tried to sit up straighter. “I have some of my own sleeping pills—Delorix—but I didn’t take any. I don’t think.”

He rubbed a hand up and down his throat, closed his shadowed eyes. “I don’t think I did,” he repeated. “I don’t remember taking any. Things get mixed up when I drink too much.”

“The sleeping pills were K.T. Harris’s prescription. The empty bottle was in with the other wine bottles.”

His brow furrowed in a combination of puzzlement and pain. “That doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t take her pills … did I? Why is this happening?”

“You talked to Joel tonight before you came back here. What did you talk about?”

He looked away. “I was upset. I’ve been upset, and I can’t think straight when I’m upset. He said I should come back, have some of the wine he gave me, take a whirlpool. Relax.”

“He said, specifically? For you to drink the wine he gave you?”

“Yes. It’s a nice wine, and I promised him I’d have a couple of glasses. I’d have a glass of wine while I relaxed in the tub, but I just didn’t have the energy for the tub, so—”

“If you had, you’d have drowned just like K.T.”

“I don’t understand, not any of this. I guess I’m being punished.” He let out a shaky breath. “I told Roarke.”

“What did you tell Roarke?”

“That I killed K.T.”

“Julian, are you confessing to the murder of K.T. Harris?”

“I didn’t murder her. I didn’t, but …” He let out a breath again, but this time it was an exhalation of relief. “I killed her.”