Celebrity in Death

couple of ex-wives I can approach, police reports I need to go through again—investigators to nudge. There’s no such fucking thing as a perfect murder. There will be mistakes, more connections. He may have gotten away with this for longer than I’ve been alive, but his time’s up.
    “It’s up,” she murmured. “And he’s going to pay for every face on these boards. I need coffee. Then let’s start working some small miracles.”
    Cold cases had their own tone, approach, dynamics. Memories faded or altered. Evidence was misplaced. People died.
    For once she had an advantage in the time zone area. It was early enough in California for her to start making contacts, asking questions, requesting additional data.
    She got lucky with Detective McHone—now Detective-Sergeant—who’d been secondary lead on the Buster Pearlman suicide.
    “Sure I remember. Pearlman downed enough barbs to kill himself twice. Waste of good scotch, or so my partner said at the time. He had the lead on that. He’s retired now, lives out in Helena, Montana. Spends all his time fishing.”
    “The data I’ve been able to access indicated Pearlman was—allegedly—embezzling funds from the studio.”
    “He’d skimmed fifty large just that morning, into an offshore account under his wife’s maiden name. She swore he wouldn’t steal a gum-ball. They weren’t living over their means. Their means were pretty damn good as it was. The funds skimmed came up to ten times what we found. Never could zero in on the rest.”
    “What tipped you to the embezzlement?”
    “The wife. She and the kids had been visiting her parents for a fewdays. When they got back, they found him. She said it couldn’t have been suicide. He’d never kill himself, never leave her and the kids. Pushed and pushed. It didn’t take long for us to find the money, or to smell out the problem at the studio. They had an audit scheduled for the next week.”
    “Tell me about Steinburger.”
    “Is he on your list for K.T. Harris?”
    “He was there, so he’s on the list.”
    “I remember he was adamant about Pearlman being innocent. About it being some kind of accident. Pretty damn pissed we’d smear a good man’s name, upset his family. Went public on it, too. Got a lot of play for standing up for his friend and partner, trying to support the widow and kiddies.”
    “Did it ever angle as a setup to you?”
    “It looked straightforward. The rest of the money was a puzzler, but from what the forensic accountants could pull out, he’d been dipping here and there for a couple years. Could’ve washed it a dozen different ways.”
    “No records,” Eve prodded. “No second set of books?”
    “He’d wiped his electronics. Given every last one of them a virus. We couldn’t do as much back then as we can now.”
    “Do you still have them?”
    “Jesus, that’s a while—what, fifteen years, give or take. I can’t tell you.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you’d check, D-S McHone. And given what we can do now, if those electronics are still in evidence, you may find something relevant on them.”
    “I haven’t thought about this case in God knows. I can check. You’re liking Steinburger for Harris.”
    “I am. And if he killed my vic, I’m betting he killed yours, too.”
    “Son of a bitch.”
    “That’s what I said.”
    She talked to more cops, made more notes, drank more coffee.
    Roarke came in, eyed the coffeepot on her desk. He went into the kitchen, came back with a bottle of water. “Change it up a bit.”
    “What, are you the coffee police?”
    “If so, you’d be doing life without parole. I’ve a couple of potentially interesting transactions. One a transfer from an account Steinburger has quietly buried under the name B.B. Joel.”
    “Big Bang Joel? Really?”
    “Not particularly inventive, but B.B. pays his taxes like a good boy. The day of Angelica Caulfield’s death, he transferred twenty thousand into a new account, one opened by Violet Holmes.”
    “The day of?”
    “Yes. The body wasn’t discovered until the next day.”
    “Possible premeditation. Setting up the alibi in advance. Wait a minute.” Eve swiveled back to her machine, calling up files as Roarke continued.
    “Holmes was, at that time, an emerging star—young, fresh, primed for her first major starring roll. Steinburger and Big Bang made her a full-fledged star. He and Holmes have been linked together a few times between marriages.”
    “She has a boat, moored