"I haven't charged your client with those… lapses as yet. We're dealing with a larger theme here."
Curly scribbled something, tilted his pad for Larry to read. The two of them murmured together and looked grave.
"You have confirmed my client's appointment at Channel 75."
"Yeah, he had an appointment, which he canceled at eleven thirty-five. Odd that his diminished capacity and his emotional trauma eased off enough for him to take care of business." Before Moe could speak again, Eve turned and pinned Angelini with one hard stare. "You know Nadine Furst?"
"I know who she is. I've seen her on the news." He hesitated, leaned over to consult Moe. After a moment, he nodded. "I'd met her a few times socially, and spoke with her briefly after my mother's death."
Eve already knew all of that, and circled her quarry. "I'm sure you've seen her reports. You'd have a vested interest, as she's been covering the recent murders. Your mother's murder."
"Lieutenant, what does my client's interest in the news coverage of his mother's death have to do with the murder of Ms. Kirski?"
"I'm wondering. You have seen Nadine Furst's reports over the last couple weeks, Mr. Angelini."
"Of course." He'd recovered enough to sneer. "You've gotten a lot of airtime out of it, Lieutenant."
"Does that bother you?"
"I think it's appalling that a public servant, paid by the city, would seek notoriety through tragedy."
"Sounds like it pissed you off," Eve said with an easy shrug. "Ms. Furst has been getting plenty of notoriety out of it, too."
"One learns to expect someone like her to use someone else's pain for her own advancement."
"You didn't like the coverage?"
"Lieutenant," Moe said with her patience obviously straining. "Where's the point in this?"
"This isn't a trial, yet. I don't need a point. Were you annoyed by the coverage, Mr. Angelini? Angry?"
"I – " He broke off at a sharp look from Moe. "I come from a prominent family," he said more carefully. "We're accustomed to such things."
"If we could get back to the business at hand," Moe requested.
"This is the business at hand. Louise Kirski was wearing Nadine Furst's raincoat when she was killed. You know what I think, Mr. Angelini? I think the killer hit the wrong target. I think he was waiting for Nadine and Louise just happened to choose the wrong time to go out in the rain for cigarettes."
"It doesn't have anything to do with me." His eyes darted toward his attorneys. "It still doesn't have anything to do with me. I saw it. That's all."
"You said it was a man. What did he look like?"
"I don't know. I didn't see him clearly, his back was to me. It happened so fast."
"But you saw enough to know it was a man."
"I assumed." He broke off, struggling to control his breathing while Moe whispered in his ear. "It was raining," he began. "I was several meters away, in my car."
"You said you saw the victim's face."
"The light, she turned her head toward the light when he – or when the killer – went toward her."
"And this killer, who might have been a man, and who came out of nowhere. Was he tall, short, old, young?"
"I don't know. It was dark."
"You said there was light."
"Just that circle of light. He'd been in the shadows. He was wearing black," David said on a burst of inspiration. "A long black coat – and a hat, a hat that drooped down low."
"That's convenient. He was wearing black. It's so original."
"Lieutenant, I can't advise my client to continue to cooperate if you persist in sarcasm."
"Your client's in hip deep. My sarcasm's the least of his worries. We've got the three big ones. Means, motive, opportunity."
"You have nothing but my client's admission that he witnessed a crime. Further," Moe went on, tapping those dangerous nails on the conference table, "you have absolutely nothing to link him with the other murders. What you've got, Lieutenant, is a maniac on the loose, and a desperate need to appease your superiors and the public with an arrest. It's not going to be my client."
"We'll have to see about that. Now – " Her communicator beeped, twice, a signal from Feeney. Her adrenaline surged, and she masked it with a bland smile. "Excuse me, I'll only be a moment."
She stepped out of the room into the hallway. Behind her through the one-way glass, a huddle was in progress. "Give me good news, Feeney. I want to nail this son of a bitch."
"Good news?" Feeney rubbed his chin. "Well, you might like this. Yvonne Metcalf was in negotiations with our pal in there. Covert negotiations. "
"For?"
"The lead in some flick. It was all on the Q. T. because her contract for Tune In was coming up. I finally pinned her agent down. If she snagged the part, she was willing to ditch the sitcom. But they were going to have to up the ante, guarantee a three-feature deal, international distribution, and twenty hours' straight promo."
"Sounds like she wanted a lot."
"She was squeezing him some. My take from what the agent said is he needed Metcalf to guarantee some of the financial backing, but they wanted a chunk on the front end. He was scrambling to come up with it and save his project."
"He knew her. And she had the controls."
"According to the agent, he came in to meet Metcalf personally, several times. They had a couple of tete-a-tetes at her apartment. He got a little hot, but Metcalf laughed it off. She was banking that he'd come around."
"I love when it falls into place, don't you?" She turned, studying Angelini through the glass. "We've got a connection, Feeney. He knew them all."
"He was supposed to be on the coast when Metcalf got whacked."
"How much do you want to bet he's got a private plane? You know something I've learned since Roarke, Feeney? Flight plans don't mean squat if you've got money, and your own transpo. No, unless he comes up with ten witnesses who were kissing his ass when Metcalf went down, I've got him. Watch him sweat," she muttered as she swung back into the interview room.
She sat, crossed her arms on the table, and met Angelini's eyes. "You knew Yvonne Metcalf."
"I – " Off balance, David reached up, tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Certainly, I… everyone did."
"You had business with her, met her personally, you'd been to her apartment."
This was obviously news to Moe, who bared her teeth, tossed up a hand. "One moment, Lieutenant. I'd like to speak to my client privately."
"All right." Obliging, Eve rose. Outside, she watched the show through the glass, and thought it a pity that the law prevented her from turning on the audio.
Still, she could see Moe fire questions at David and could gauge his stuttering responses while Larry and Curly looked grim and scribbled furiously on their pads.
Moe shook her head at one of David's answers, stabbed him with one of her lethal red nails. Eve was smiling when Moe lifted a hand and signaled her back into the room.
"My client is prepared to state that he was acquainted with Yvonne Metcalf, on a professional level."
"Uh-huh." This time Eve leaned a hip on the table. "Yvonne Metcalf was giving you some grief, wasn't she, Mr. Angelini?"
"We were in negotiations." His hands linked together again, twisted. "It's standard for the talent side of a project to demand the moon. We were… coming to terms."
"You met her in her apartment. Argued?"
"We – I – we had meetings at several locations. Her home was one of them. We discussed terms and options."
"Where were you, Mr. Angelini, on the night Yvonne Metcalf was murdered?"
"I'd have to check my diary," he said with surprising control. "But I believe I was in New Los Angeles, the Planet Hollywood complex. I stay there whenever I'm in town."
"And where might you have been between oh, seven and midnight, West Coast time?"