Page 45 of Celebrity in Death

“Sir.” She got to her feet, uneasy. Commander Whitney rarely came to her. More rarely came to her office and shut the door as he did now.

“K.T. Harris,” he said.

“Sir. The ME has determined her death a homicide. As I was on scene at the TOD, I was able to interview, with Detectives Peabody and McNab, all individuals also present.”

“Including yourself?”

“I’ll be writing that up, yes, sir. I should have a full report for you shortly.”

“Sit down, Lieutenant.”

He lowered to her visitor’s chair, frowned. “Why in God’s name don’t you requisition a replacement for this? It’s like sitting on bricks.”

She felt weird knowing her commander’s ass was one crappy cushion away from squatting on her candy. “Because nobody sits on bricks for long. Take the desk chair, Commander.”

He waved that away, sat for a moment, studying her board. He had a wide, dark face, lined from years and the weight of command. His hair, cropped short and close to the skull, showed thickening threads of silver.

“We have some areas of complication with this matter.” He nodded toward her flashing ’link. “Media?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yes, you will. That’s one complication. Another is your connection to the victim.”

“I had no connection to the victim.”

“Dallas, you had dinner with the victim shortly before her murder.”

“I had dinner with several people. I met the victim, spoke to her, only once. We had no connection, sir.”

“You had words with her.”

Eve’s face registered nothing, but inside there was a quick flick of surprised annoyance. “She had words, would be more accurate, Commander. The victim had been drinking, was, by all statements taken, a difficult individual. She spoke inappropriately and offensively during dinner, but not to me directly. My response was, I believe, brief and appropriate. And that was the end of it.”

“She was also portraying your partner in a major vid.” He gestured to her board. “Suspects at this time include individuals who are portraying yourself, your husband, other members of this department, other people who are associated with you personally.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The media will take that hay and mix it with manure.” He laid his wide hands on his thighs. “We need to get in front of that. Having you pass the case to another investigator won’t help at this point, and, he said before she could speak, “could bog down the investigation. But that can’t be ignored,” he added, pointing to her ’link. “We’ll need a clear statement from you, and from Peabody. We’ll hold a media conference this afternoon. And you’ll work with the media liaison on that statement, and on approach to the conference.”

“Sir,” she said, thinking she’d rather be stabbed in the eye with a needle pulled out of that manure-ripened hay.

“Both of us might prefer you and your partner give the case your complete energy and attention, but this is necessary. There are already media reports about bad blood between you and the victim, others playing up the angle of you heading the investigation of the death of the woman playing your partner. All of them grinding up the fact you were at dinner, that you were present when K.T. Harris died. We’ll deal with it, and will continue to deal with it until—as I trust you will—you close the case.”

He rose. “Conference Room One. Now. With Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”

Goddamn it, she thought as she walked with him to the bullpen, as he peeled off and she called to Peabody. “With me.”

This crap was already slowing down the work.

“What’s up?” Peabody asked.

“Fucking media,” Eve said under her breath. “Fucking media liaison, fucking media conference, fucking statements to same.”

“Oh.” Peabody blew out a breath. “I guess we knew this was coming.”

“Yeah, but I figured I’d have time to finish my prelim report first, get the labs back. Somebody already put it out there I had ‘words’ with the vic.”

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