In Death 10 - Witness in Death

service."
    "You consider that a performance?"
    "Of course. I have to be sober and sad and spout all the platitudes. It's going to be a hell of an act for the media." Carly gestured toward an attractive curved sofa of soft green in the living area. "I could have put on the same act for you, and quite convincingly. But it seemed such a waste of your time and my talent. Can I offer you coffee?"
    "No. It doesn't worry you to be a suspect in a murder investigation?"
    "No, because I didn't do it and because it's good research. I may be called on to play one eventually."
    Eve wandered to the window wall, privacy screened, and lifted her brows at the killer view of Times Square. The animated billboards were alive with color and promises, the air traffic thick as fleas on a big, sloppy dog.
    If she looked over and down, and it was the down that always bothered her, she could see the Gothic spires of Roarke's New Globe Theater.
    "What's your motivation?"
    "For murder?" Carly sat, obviously enjoying the morning duel. "It would, of course, depend on the victim. But parallelling life, let's call him a former lover who done me wrong. The motivation would be a combination of pride, scorn, and glee."
    "And hurt?" Eve turned back, pinned her before Carly could mask the shadow of distress.
    "Perhaps. You want to know if Richard hurt me. Yes, he did. But I know how to bind my wounds, Lieutenant. A man isn't worth bleeding over, not for long."
    "Did you love him?"
    "I thought I did at the time. But it was astonishingly easy to switch that emotion to hate. If I'd wanted to kill him, well, I couldn't have done it better than it was done. Except I would never have sacrificed the satisfaction of delivering the killing blow personally. Using a proxy takes all the fun out of it."
    "Is this a joke to you? The end of a life by violent means?"
    "Do you want me to pretend to grieve? Believe me, Lieutenant, I could call up huge, choking and rather gorgeous tears for you." Though her mouth continued to smile, little darts of angry lights played in her eyes. "But I won't. I have too much respect for myself and, as it happens, for you, to do something so pitifully obvious. I'm not sorry he's dead. I just didn't kill him."
    "And Linus Quim."
    Carly's defiant face softened. "I didn't know him very well. But I am sorry he died. You don't believe he killed Richard, then hanged himself, or you wouldn't be here. I suppose I don't, either, however convenient it would be. He was a little, sour-faced man, and in my opinion didn't think of Richard any more than he thought of the rest of us actors. We were part of his scenery. Hanging, it takes time, doesn't it? Not like with Richard."
    "Yes. It takes time."
    "I don't like suffering."
    It was, Eve thought, the first simple statement the woman had made. "I doubt whoever helped him into the noose thought about it. Are you worried, Ms. Landsdowne, that tragedies come in threes?"
    Carly started to make some careless remark, then looking into Eve's eyes changed her mind. "Yes. Yes, I am. Theater people are a superstitious lot, and I'm no exception. I don't speak the name of the Scottish play, I don't whistle in a dressing room or wish another performer good luck. But superstitious won't stop me from going back on that stage the moment we're allowed to do so. I won't let it change how I live my life. I've wanted to be an actor for as long as I can remember. Not just an actor," she added with a slow smile. "A star. I'm on my way, and I won't take a detour from the goal."
    "The publicity from Draco's murder may just give you a boost toward that goal."
    "That's right. If you think I won't exploit it, you haven't taken a good look at me."
    "I've taken a look at you. A good look." Eve glanced around the lovely room, toward the staggering view from the window. "For someone who hasn't yet achieved that goal, you live very well."
    "I like living well." Carly shrugged. "I'm lucky to have generous and financially responsible parents. I have a trust fund, and I make use of it. As I said, I don't like suffering. I'm not the starving-for-art type. It doesn't mean I don't work at my craft and work hard. I simply enjoy comfortable surroundings."
    "Did Draco come here?"
    "Once or twice. He preferred using his place. In hindsight, I see it gave him more control."
    "And were you aware he recorded your sexual activities?"
    It was a bombshell. Eve had her rhythm now, and recognized simple and utter shock in the eyes, in the sudden