Immortal in Death (In Death #3)(36)

“It’s not a problem.” Loosening up, Peabody smiled. “And it’s not exactly a sacrifice to look at him.” She glanced up as Eve swung toward the underground parking beneath a spearing white tower on Fifth. “Isn’t this one of Roarke’s buildings?”

“Most of them are.” The electronic attendant scanned her vehicle and passed it through. “This is his main office. It’s also the New York base of Redford Productions. I’ve got an interview with him re the Pandora homicide.” Eve slipped into the VIP spot Roarke had arranged for her, shut down her car. “You’re not officially attached to this case, but you’re officially attached to me. Feeney’s up to his ass in data, and I want another set of eyes and ears. Objections?”

“None come to mind, Lieutenant.”

“Dallas,” Eve reminded her as they stepped from the car. The safety barrier blinked on, surrounding the car to protect it from dings, scratches, and theft. As if, Eve thought sourly, it didn’t already have so many dings and scratches a thief would insult himself by looking twice. She strode up to the private executive elevator, entered her code, and tried not to be embarrassed. “Saves time,” she muttered.

Peabody’s eyes widened as they stepped onto thick carpeting. The car was large enough for a party of six, and boasted a lush arrangement of fragrant hibiscus. “I’m all for saving time.”

“Thirty-fifth floor,” Eve requested. “Redford Productions, executive offices.”

“Floor three-five,” the computer acknowledged. “East quadrant, executive level.”

“Pandora had a small party on the night she died,” Eve began. “Redford might be the last person to have seen her alive. Jerry Fitzgerald and Justin Young also attended, but left early after Mavis Freestone and Pandora fought. They alibi each other for the rest of the night. Redford remained with Pandora for a time. If Fitzgerald and Young are telling the truth, they’re in the clear. I know Mavis is telling the truth.” She waited a beat, but Peabody made no comment. “So we see what we can shake out of the producer.”

The elevator smoothly shifted to horizontal, gliding east. The doors opened and noise poured in.

Obviously Redford’s employees liked music with their daily grind. It rocked out of recessed speakers, filled the air with energy. Two men and a woman worked at a wide circular console, chatting cheerfully into ‘links, beaming at computer screens.

There appeared to be a small party in progress in the waiting area to the right. Several people milled around drinking from small cups or nibbling on tiny pastries. The sound of tinkling laughter and cocktail hour conversation underscored the lively music.

“It’s like a scene from one of his movies,” Peabody said.

“Hooray for Hollywood.” Eve approached the console and took out her badge. She chose the least obsessively pert of the three receptionists. “Lieutenant Dallas. I have an appointment with Mr. Redford.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” The man — or he might have been a god with his perfectly chiseled golden looks — smiled brilliantly. “I’ll tell him you’re here. Please help yourself to some refreshments.”

“Want to chow down, Peabody?”

“Those pastries look pretty good. We could cop some on the way out.”

“Our minds are in tune.”

“Mr. Redford would love to see you now, Lieutenant.” The modern-day Apollo lifted a section of the console, slipped through. “Just let me take you to him.”

He led them through smoked glass doors where the noise switched to clashing voices. On either side of the corridor, doors were open, and men and women sat at desks, paced, or reclined on sofas, wheeling and dealing.

“How many times have I heard that plot line, JT? It’s so first millennium.”

“We need a fresh face. Garboesque with Little Bo Peep innocence.”

“People don’t want depth, honeypot. Give ‘em a choice between the ocean and a puddle, they’re going to splash in the puddle. We’re all children.”

They approached a pair of double doors in sparkling silver. The guide opened them both with a dramatic sweep. “Your guests, Mr. Redford.”

“Thank you, Caesar.”

“Caesar,” Eve muttered. “I was so close.”

“Lieutenant Dallas.” Paul Redford rose from behind a U-shaped workstation in the same glittery silver as his doors. The floor he crossed was smooth as glass and decorated with swirls of color. Behind him was the expected spectacular view of the city. His hand clasped Eve’s with easy, practiced warmth. “Thank you so much for agreeing to come here. I’m juggling meetings all day and it’s so much more convenient for me than coming to you.”

“It’s not a problem. My aide, Officer Peabody.”

The smile, as smooth and practiced as the handshake, encompassed them both. “Please sit down. What can I offer you?”

“Just information.” Eve glanced at the seating arrangement, blinked. They were all animals: chairs, stools, sofas, all fashioned to resemble tigers, hounds, or giraffes.

“My first wife was a decorator,” he explained. “After the divorce, I decided to keep them. They’re the best memory of that time in my life.” He chose a basset hound for himself propped his feet up on a cushion shaped like a curled cat. “You want to talk about Pandora.”