Celebrity in Death (In Death #34)(116)

But she saw it begin to sink in.

“It all got tangled. What I thought happened, pieces I remembered, what he said happened. It didn’t fit right, but he said … He was just there, when I ran out of the dome, to the lounge. I told him what happened. He said … he’d take care of it. Not to tell anyone. Not to spoil the evening for the others. He killed her. He was going to kill me. Why? Why?”

“It’s kind of his hobby.” She looked over as Nadine opened the door.

“Can he have a break? Some food?”

“Yeah. We’re done for now.”

“Joel,” Julian said quietly, staring hard at his own hands. “Joel. He’s almost like a dad. He let me think I killed K.T. He let me think I did that. And it made me sick to think I had. Am I going to be arrested?”

“No. But don’t lie to me again.” She walked over to Nadine. “First, contact the house doctor—or if you want to call in a favor, tag Louise. He should have a doctor look him over.”

“I already tagged Louise.”

“Okay. Second. He’s going to talk to you, and you’re going to get fodder for that book you’re thinking about. Keep it under wraps while I go nail this f**ker closed. But you can leak—in, say, thirty minutes—that Joel Steinburger’s been arrested.”

Eve walked out. “Peabody, with me. You, too,” she said to Roarke, “if you want to.”

“Always.”

“I bet Steinburger’s having brandy and dessert about now. Let’s go spoil his after-dinner liqueur.”

Since Roarke owned the place, with all its raw brick, deep wood paneling, and dark red leather, Eve knew she didn’t have to badge her way in.

She just wanted to. Wanted to cause the sort of scene that drew an audience and tipped tags to the media. She glanced at her wrist unit. Nadine had a five-minute head start.

She’d earned it.

“Sir.” Spotting Roarke, the maître d’ sprang to attention. “I’ll have a table ready in just a moment.”

“Joel Steinburger.” Eve held up her badge.

“Of course. Mr. Steinburger and Mr. Delacora are enjoying dessert. I’ll show you to their booth.”

Eve had already spotted him—a rear corner, facing out. See and be seen, she thought. He swirled brandy, an important and satisfied look on his face as he spoke with his wiry, wild-maned companion.

“I see him.” Ignoring the maître d’, she crossed the restaurant.

Steinburger’s expression changed when he saw her approach. The furrowed brow, she thought, a mix of annoyance and concern. Then the polite resignation as he set down the brandy, started to rise.

“Lieutenant. Nick, this is the genuine article. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, Nicholas Delacora.”

“A pleasure,” Delacora began.

“It’s probably not going to be. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Has there been an arrest?” Steinburger asked.

“Funny you should ask. Joel Steinburger, you’re under arrest for the murder of K.T. Harris, for the murder of A. A. Asner,” she continued, spinning him around, yanking his hands behind his back as he blustered. “And the attempted murder of Julian Cross. He didn’t die,” she added.

Dishes clattered; the murmur of conversation turned to a buzz.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Oh, and we’ve got more.” She cuffed him. “A lot more. Hope you ate hearty, Joel, because you won’t be dining in style for the rest of your life. You have the right to remain silent,” she began, and reeled off the Revised Miranda while diners gaped. “Officers.”

The uniforms she’d called in took Steinburger by both arms. “Book him, Peabody. Additional charges to come.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

“I’ll be along shortly.”

She enjoyed, a great deal, watching the cops perp-walk Steinburger out.

“Sorry about dessert,” she said to Delacora. “It looks good, too.”

“Is this a joke?” he demanded.

“No. It really does look good.” She frowned when she saw Roarke talking to the maître d’, walked to him. “Look, I’m sorry if arresting a murderer puts people off their dinner, but—”

“On the contrary, I think it stirred some appetites. Including mine. I’m hungry and I’m not risking food poisoning from Central’s vending machines.”

“I don’t have time to sit down to a fancy dinner.”

“We’re getting it delivered.”

“Oh.” She angled her head. “Good idea.”

23

NATURALLY HE ORDERED ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY, but Eve couldn’t complain since she was stuffing rosemary chicken in her mouth while she stood in Observation.

“I can’t believe he didn’t lawyer up yet.” Peabody scooped up a fingerling potato.

“He’s too pissed for a lawyer—yet. And he needs to prove he’s in power. He’s Joel f**king Steinburger. He’s still thinking of spin, too, I bet. Let’s take Valerie first, let him soak in it a little longer.”

“She’s scared,” Peabody told Eve. “The uniforms said she shook all the way here when they picked her up on Accessory. And cried all the way through booking.”