Witness in Death

"Then the perp had to wait." Peabody narrowed her eyes. "Wait, and count on no one making the switch through the next courtroom scene, through the dialogue and action. Wait out the play until Christine Vole grabs it up and uses it. That's about thirty minutes. A long time to wait."

"Our killer's patient, systematic. I think he or she enjoyed the wait, watching Draco prance around, emoting, drawing applause, all the while knowing it was his last act. I think the killer reveled in it."

Eve set down her coffee, sat on the edge of her desk. "Roarke said something last night. Life imitates art."

Peabody scratched her nose. "I thought it was the opposite."

"Not this time. Why this play? Why this time? There were easier, less risky, more subtle ways to off Draco. I'm thinking the play itself meant something to the killer. The theme of love and betrayal, of false faces. Sacrifice and revenge. The characters of Leonard and Christine Vole have a history. Maybe Draco had a history with his killer. Something that goes back into the past that twisted their relationship."

Feeney nodded, munched on a handful of nuts. "A lot of the players and techs had worked with him before. Theater's like a little world, and the people in it bump into each other over and over."

"Not a professional co

"From the interviews, he fucked over everybody." McNab lifted his hands. "Nobody's pretending they loved the guy."

"So we go deeper. We go back. I want you to run the players. Look for the history. Something that pops out. Vole destroyed a marriage or relationship, ruined someone financially. Seduced someone's sister. Setback their career. You look for the data," she told McNab and Feeney. "Peabody and I will chip away at the players."

Eve decided to start with Carly Landsdowne. Something about the woman had set off alarms in her head since their first conversation.

The actress lived in a glossy building with full security, glitzy shops, and circling people glides. The expansive lobby area was elegantly spare, with water-toned tile floors, modest indoor shrubbery, and a discreet security panel worked into an arty geometric design in the wall.

"Good morning," the panel a

"My business is with Carly Landsdowne."

"One moment, please." There was a quiet tinkle of music to fill the silence. "Thank you for waiting. According to our logs, Ms. Landsdowne has not informed us of any expected visitors. I'll be happy to contact her for you and ask if she is able to receive guests at this time. Please state your name and produce a photo ID."

"You want ID? Here's some ID." Eve shoved her badge up to the needle-sized lens of the camera. "Tell Ms. Landsdowne Lieutenant Dallas doesn't like waiting in lobbies."

"Of course, Lieutenant. One moment, please."

The music picked up where it had left off, and it had Eve gritting her teeth. "I hate this shit. Why do they think recorded strings do anything but cause a

"I think it's kind of nice," Peabody said. "I like violins. Reminds me of my mother. She plays," Peabody added when Eve just stared at her.

"Thank you for waiting. Ms. Landsdowne will be happy to see you, Lieutenant Dallas. If you would proceed to elevator number two. You have been cleared. Have a safe and happy day."

"I hate when they say that." Eve strode to the proper elevator. The doors opened, and the same violin music seeped out. It made her snarl.

"Welcome to The Broadway View." A voice oozed over the strings. "We are a fully self-contained, fully secured building. You are welcome to apply for a day pass in order to tour our facilities, including our state-of-the-art fitness and spa center, which offers complete cosmetic, physical, and mental therapies and treatments. Our shopping area can be reached through public or private access and welcomes all major debit cards. The View also offers its patrons and, with proper reservations, the public, three five-star restaurants as well as the popular Times Square Cafe for those casual dining needs."

"When is it going to shut up?"

"I wonder if they have a swimming pool."

"If you are interested in joining our exclusive community, just press extension ninety-four on any house-link and request an appointment with one of our friendly concierges for a tour of our three model units."

"I'd rather have all the skin peeled from my bones," Eve decided.

"I wonder if they have efficiencies."

"Please exit to the left and proceed to apartment number two thousand eight. We at The View wish you a pleasant visit."

Eve stepped out of the car and headed left. The apartment doors were widely spaced down a generously sized hallway. Whoever'd designed the place hadn't worried about wasted space, she decided. Then she had the uncomfortable feeling she was going to discover her husband owned the building.

Carly opened the door before Eve could buzz. The actress wore a deep blue lounging robe, her feet bare and tipped with ripe pink. But her hair and face were done and done well, Eve noted.

"Good morning, Lieutenant." Carly leaned against the door for a moment, a deliberately cocky pose. "How nice of you to drop by."

"You're up early," Eve commented. "And here I thought theater people weren't morning people."

Carly's smirk wavered a bit, but she firmed it again as she stepped back. "I have a performance today. Richard's memorial 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, pi

"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."