Celebrity in Death

producing my book in a major screen event. I admire his work, a lot. But I found him pushy and petulant, and a little on the grabby side. He’s an ass-patter,” Nadine explained. “Tries to make it come off avuncular, but that didn’t wash for me so I’ve kept my ass at a distance.”
    “Sex and money are big elements of his makeup, and the need to exert power. Ass-patting women is just a way to show he’s the one at the wheel.”
    “You tracked him back to his housemate’s death? In college?”
    “The working hypothesis is the housemate did his papers, or sold him papers at a fee—or found out Steinburger was buying his grades to keep from getting the boot. Steinburger pushed him down the stairs at their off-campus place. Or, possibly, it was an accident, then covered up. But when you dig in, there have been a lot of accidents resulting in death connected to him over the years. Too many.
    “And I just got a recant, on record, from his alibi on the night Angelica Caulfield OD’d.”
    “Angelica Caulfield. Oh God, fuck me inside out and sideways. Mind-mamboing. You think he killed Angelica fucking Caulfield.”
    “I know he did. Just have to prove it. And there are more.”
    Eve ran them through quickly as Peabody came to the bench with a jumbo sleeve of popcorn. Absently, she tossed some to a squirrel.
    He was immediately joined by a swarm of his buddies.
    “Jesus, Peabody.” Eve drew her legs back in.
    “He looked hungry.”
    “Now he’s an army, and here comes the frigging air force.”
    Pigeons swooped so squirrel and bird gave each other the beady eye as they jostled for position.
    “Get that out of here,” Eve ordered, “before they mount the attack. I think that one’s got a weapon.”
    Looking aggrieved, and a little frightened, Peabody waded through the massing squirrels and pigeons and made a dash away with her sleeve.
    “It’s the Free-Ager in her,” Eve muttered.
    “There’s been speculation over Caulfield’s death and the paternity of the fetus for years. All the while … You can’t prove any of this. Yet. Or you wouldn’t be talking to me.”
    “Peabody contacted the water cops before she decided to play fairy godmother to the wildlife. They’ll send divers down. We’re going to find the electronics, some of them anyway. We’ve got him connected to the boat—and the owner of the boat, his alibi for Caulfield, recanted with a detailed explanation of why she initially lied. I can and will bury him in circumstantial up to his neck. There’s the partially open dome and his aversion to smoke.”
    “I can confirm that. Marlo and I had a couple of herbals in her trailer one day when we were going over a scene. He came by an hour later. You’d have thought we’d burned hazardous waste in there.”
    “We’ll be tracking down wits from all the murders. I should have the case file and the electronics on the Buster Pearlman suicide by the time I get back to Central. This afternoon we’ll hold a media conference, and I’ll announce that we’re investigating new information, new evidence, and believe we’re close to making an arrest.”
    “Trying to smoke him out?”
    “He’ll worry about it, try to backtrack his steps, figure out if he madea mistake. Off-balance, he’s more likely to make one now. Mira’s worried, and I think she has cause, that he may go as far as offing one of the others to throw suspicion onto them. He’s done it before.”
    “With the business partner. So you want me to add to the pressure, give him more of a nudge by pushing for an interview.”
    “If you get one you go in wired.”
    “Wait a minute—”
    “For your own protection, Nadine. He may decide you’re the one to off.”
    “Oh, bull. Why would he target me? We barely brushed by each other. I only went to the set a handful of times, to another handful of table readings or meetings.”
    “She pressured you to expand her part, to change some of the scenes, to twist the actual facts of the case to suit her desire for more screen time.”
    “I wouldn’t say pressured, but—”
    “She pushed for it—went to Roundtree, to Steinburger—who would probably be happy now to detail an argument he umped between you—once both of you are dead and unable to say it never happened, or not that way. She claimed your work was inferior, that you were, after all, just a reporter. Not Hollywood, not someone who really understood how to translate the story onto the screen.”
    “She never