“When you went back, you headed for the dressing rooms. Nowhere else?”
“No, I swear.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t know. I imagine. I wasn’t trying to be invisible.”
“I want to do this formally, putting it on record that you came to me with this information. That’s the best for you. Meanwhile, I want you to get a lawyer, a good one. Do it quietly and tell the rep everything you told me.”
“Okay.”
“Did you leave anything out, Nadine? Anything?”
“No. That’s all. I only saw him that once in his hotel room, then again onstage. I might have been a sap, Dallas, but I’ve come a long way. And I’m no coward. If I’d wanted the son of a bitch dead, I’d have killed him myself, not pawned it off on someone else.”
“Oh yeah.” Eve picked up the coffee, finished it up. “I know it. Talk to the lawyer. We’ll do the interview tomorrow.” She rose, then after a slight hesitation, patted Nadine’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
“You know what sucks here, Dallas? I was feeling so damn good about everything. Ever since—you know I do the therapy thing with Mira.”
Eve shifted her feet. “Yeah.”
“One of the things we got down to is I haven’t been open to love—not the real thing—since Richard. He really messed me up. Then last night, when I was in that hotel bar, I realized that now I could be. I wanted to be. Lousy timing all around. Thanks for listening.”
“Don’t mention it.” Eve signaled for Peabody. “Nadine, take that literally.”
*** CHAPTER FIVE ***
The calendar claimed spring was just around the corner, but it was taking a slow walk. Eve drove home in a thin, spitting sleet that was nearly as nasty as her mood.
Press conferences annoyed her.
The only good thing about it, as far as she was concerned, was that it was over. Between that and a day spent in interviews that gave her no more than a murky picture of people and events, she was edgy and dissatisfied.
The fact was, she shouldn’t be going home. There was more field work that could be, should be done. But she’d cut Peabody loose, much to her aide’s undisguised delight.
She’d take an hour, she told herself. Maybe two. Do some pacing, juggle her thoughts into some sort of order. She chugged and dodged through bad-tempered traffic and tried to block out the irritatingly chirpy sky blimp shouting about the new spring fashions on sale at Bloomingdale’s.
She got caught at a light, and in a stinking stream of smoke from a glide-cart currently on fire and being sprayed with gel foam by its unhappy operator. Since the flames seemed reasonably under control, she left him to it and tagged Feeney via her car ‘link.
“Progress?”
“Some. I got you backgrounds and current locations, financial data, and criminal records on cast and crew, including permanent theater personnel.”
Eve’s voice calmed. “All?”
“Yeah.” Feeney rubbed his chin. “Well, I can’t take full credit. Told you we were backed up here. Roarke passed it on.”
Her agitation returned. “Roarke?”
“He got in touch early this afternoon, figured I’d be doing the search. He had all the data anyway. Saved me some time here.”
“Always helpful,” she muttered.
“I shot it to your office unit.”
“Fine, great.”
Feeney kept rubbing his chin. Eve began to suspect the gesture was to hide a grin. “I started McNab on running patterns, probabilities, percentages. It’s a long list, so it’s not going to be quick. But I figure we should have simple eliminations by tomorrow, with a most-likely list to shuffle in with your interview results. How’s it going?”