His reaction, a slow blink, showed a bit of stupefied surprise she wouldn’t just know. “Bebe Hewitt? Majority owner and head of broadcasting? And my aunt,” he added with a half smile. “I know she’s juggling a lot of fires right now, but she’d want to talk to you. I can take you to her offices.”
“Lead the way.” Eve ignored the hot glances, the murmurs as she and Peabody went with Hewitt.
“Every reporter in here would kill for an exclusive with you.”
“If they did that, I’d arrest them.”
“Ha!”
“When did Mars get her own office?”
“A couple years ago. I’d just moved up from the pool—utility player. My aunt wanted me seasoned before I got a shot at political. I’m still mostly covering city council and minor protests, but I’m getting there.”
“Did you know Mars?”
“Not really. I mean not to socialize or jaw with, right? Low rung here, and a different beat. Same channel, get me, but those are different rungs on different ladders in different worlds.”
He escorted them into an elevator, took out a swipe card. “I do get this perk. I can go direct to Bebe’s floor. I don’t suppose you could get me a meet with Chief Tibble.”
“Not my function, sorry.”
“You gotta try.” He stepped out into a glossy, plush reception area with low gel sofas, privacy chairs, more screens, and a curved counter manned by three perfectly beautiful people.
“Hey, Vi, can you let Ms. Hewitt know Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody are here? Loved the vid,” he told Peabody.
“Me, too.”
“I hope you catch whoever killed Larinda. She was a real fixture around here.”
The perfectly beautiful Vi stood up. “I’ll take you to Ms. Hewitt.”
“Good luck,” Hewitt said, strolling back to the elevator.
Instead of a big, important office beyond several small, important offices, Vi led them to a very big, very important-looking conference room.
A woman—those scalpel-sharp cheekbones ran in the family—sat at the head of a long, highly polished red table. She wore black, and her hair, also black, was styled in a smooth coil at the nape of her long, slender neck.
On the table sat a basket of muffins, a platter of fruit, a couple of pots that smelled like pretty decent coffee. Five people sat around the table, working industriously with their tablets as she snapped out orders.
“Get started. Talk to Kit if you have any questions. Michael, I want to see that retrospective before noon. Now, I need the room.”
All five got to their feet, some still tapping and swiping, and hurried out.
“Bebe Hewitt.” She rose, a commanding six feet in her heels, willow slim with sharp, assessing eyes of icy blue. “I would have come to you if you hadn’t come to me. Please, sit, there’s coffee.”
“Before we get started, my partner needs access to Ms. Mars’s office. We’ll need to have her electronics taken in to Central.”
“I can’t accommodate that, without a warrant.”
“A warrant’s being issued.”
“Good. When it is, and legal verifies it, you’ll have what you need. Believe me, I don’t want to impede your investigation in any way, but I can’t violate Larinda’s rights, or the rights of the free media. I need more coffee.”
She pulled over a pot, poured. “Our responsibilities aren’t that different.”
“Aren’t they?”
Bebe studied Eve with those cool blue eyes. “We both serve the public. I believe in what we do here. I respect what you do. And I’m not stupid enough not to appreciate that you—and you as well, Detective—are damn good screen.”