Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(12)

"I think you're right, Lieutenant. I think it's gardenia." Peabody let the grin spread as the blonde rushed back into the office. "She must be dim if she thinks you can call for a sweep that way."

"Dim or guilty. Bet she's got a little goodie stash in here. Who did you call?" Eve asked.

"Weather. It's hot, and it's going to stay hot. In case you wondered."

Chin up, the blonde stepped out again, and announced in her best lisp, "Mr. Fortney will see you now."

Eve followed in the wake of the woman's intense dislike.

Fortney was set up in one of the five office suites. The area appeared to have been decorated by the color-blind or the-insane ---possibly both as even Eve's casual sense of style was bombarded with the clashing colors and patterns that dominated walls, floors, ceiling.

Fortney's space had taken it one step further by adding animal prints that ran rampant over the walls in a jungle madness of leopard spots, tiger stripes, and splotches of unknown wildlife. Clear tables fashioned of glossy plates atop oddly phallic columns were used as accents.

His desk was a larger version of the tables, with the penislike columns painted a virulent red. He was pacing behind it as they entered, talking rapidly into a headset.

"We need to move on this within twenty-four. Up or down, no in between. I've got the outline, the projections, and the Q- factor. Let's wrap it up."

He gave a come-ahead gesture with a hand glittering with gold and silver bands.

While he continued to talk and pace, Eve sat in one of the tiger-striped chairs and studied him. He was posing for her, she had no doubt of it. So, she'd accommodate him.

He was artfully dressed in a tunic jacket and pants, both the color of green grapes. His hair was a dark magenta, worn long and sleek around a narrow, deeply carved face. His eyes too closely matched the shade of his suit to be natural.

Like his fingers, his ears glittered with gold and silver bands.

About six two, Eve judged-with the heeled sandals and well turned out for his type. Took his body seriously, she imagined, and enjoyed showing it off in fancy duds.

Since he was working hard to show her what a busy, and important man he was, she assumed he was neither.

He removed the headset, smiled at her. "I'm so sorry, Lieutenant Dennis. I'm just swamped today."

"Dallas."

"Dallas, of course, Dallas." He made a little ha-ha sound and walked to a long counter, bent down to the minifriggie beneath.

He continued to speak in his rapid-fire style, in a accent less tone that said West Coast to Eve. "It's just madness around here, my mind's going a thousand directions at once. Parched. Just parched. Drink?"

"No, thank you."

He took out a bottle of something orange and frothy and poured it into a glass. "Suelee tells me you were very insistent about seeing me."

"Suelee was very insistent I wouldn't see you."

"Well, ha-ha, just doing her job. Don't know what I'd do without my Suelee guarding the gates." He beamed, sat in an I'm-a-busy-but-personable-son-of-a-bitch style on the edge of his horrible red desk. "You'd be amazed how many people try to get in to see me on any given day. Comes with the territory, of course. Actors, writers, directors." He threw up a hand, waved it dramatically. "But I don't often have an attractive policewoman looking for a meeting."

His smile glittered, white and perfectly even. "So, tell me, what've you got? Play, vid, disc book? Cop drama's cooled off recently, but there's always room for a good story. The girl cop angle's good. What's your pitch?"

"Your whereabouts between midnight and three A.M. this morning."

"I don't understand."

"I'm primary on a homicide investigation. Your name's come up. I'd like to know your whereabouts during the time frame I just gave you."

"Murder? I don't- O oh!" With another laugh, he shook his head so his hair shook fashionably. "Interesting pitch. Let's see, my first reaction would be what? Shock, insult, fear?"

"A licensed companion was brutally murdered early this morning in Chinatown. You can speed up this process, Mr. Fortney, by telling me where you were between midnight and three."

He lowered his glass. "You're serious?

"Midnight and three, Mr. Fortney. "

"Well, my God. My God." He laid his free hand on his heart, patted it there. "I was home, of course. Pepper comes straight home after the show. We tend to go to bed early during a run. It's both physically and emotionally exhausting for her. People don't understand the strain of performing, night after night, and how few reserves one has left after-"

"I'm not interested in where Ms. Franklin was," Eve interrupted. Or in, your stalling tactics, she thought. "Where were you?"

"Well, home, as I said." His tone was a little testy now. "Pepper would have arrived by midnight, and she needs a bit of company and care after a show, so I always wait up to be there for her. We had a nightcap while she ran down, then we were tucked in before one, so she could get her beauty sleep. I can't understand why you'd possibly question me. An LC, in Chinatown? What could that have to do with me?"

"Can anyone verify that you were home during the time frame?"