Witness in Death (In Death #10)(5)

"I didn't ask that."

"Yes, you did."

"Okay, if I did, we'll have the follow-up. Why haven't you slept with her?"

A faint smile lifted his mouth. "Initially because she was married. Then, when she wasn't..." He ran a fingertip along the dent in Eve's chin. "I was. My wife doesn't like me to sleep with other women. She's very strict about it."

"I'll make a note of that." She considered her options, juggled them. "You know a lot of these people, or have impressions of them anyway. I'm going to want to talk to you later." She sighed. "On the record."

"Of course. Is it possible this was an accident?"

"Anything's possible. I need to examine the knife, and I can't touch the f**ker until Peabody gets here. Why don't you go back there, do a pat and stroke on your people? And keep your ears open."

"Are you asking me to assist in an official police investigation?"

"No, I am not." And despite the circumstances, her lips wanted to quiver. "I just said keep your ears open." She tapped a finger on his chest. "And stay out of my way. I'm on duty."

She turned away as she heard the hard clop of what could only be police-issue shoes.

Peabody's were shined to a painful gleam Eve could spot across the length of the stage. Her winter-weight uniform coat was buttoned to the throat of a sturdy body. Her cap sat precisely at the correct angle atop her dark, straight hair.

They crossed the stage from opposite ends, met at the body. "Hi, Dr. Mira." Peabody glanced down at the body, pursed her lips. "Looks like a hell of an opening night."

Eve held out a hand for her field kit. "Record on, Peabody."

"Yes, sir." Because it was warm under the stage lights, Peabody shrugged out of her coat, folded it, set it aside. She clipped her recorder to the collar of her uniform jacket.

"Record on," she said as Eve coated her hands and evening shoes with Seal-It.

"Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, on-scene, stage set of New Globe Theater. Also in attendance, Peabody, Officer Delia, and Mira, Dr. Charlotte. Victim is Richard Draco, mixed race male, late forties to early fifties."

She tossed the Seal-It to Peabody. "Cause of death, stabbing, single wound. Visual exam and minimal amount of blood indicate a heart wound."

She crouched, and with her coated fingers picked up the knife. "Wound inflicted by what appears to be a common kitchen knife, serrated blade approximately eight inches in length."

"I'll measure and bag, Lieutenant."

"Not yet," Eve murmured. She examined the knife, dug out microgoggles, examined it again from hilt to tip. "Initial exam reveals no mechanism for retracting the blade on impact. This is no prop knife."

She shoved the goggles up so they rested on the top of her head. "No prop knife, no accident." She passed the knife to Peabody's sealed hand. "It's homicide."

CHAPTER TWO

"I could use you," Eve said to Mira while the sweepers worked over the crime scene. Draco's body was already bagged, tagged, and on its way to the morgue.

"What can I do for you?"

"We've got a couple of dozen uniforms logging names and addresses of audience members." She didn't want to think about the man-hours, the mountains of paperwork that would go into interviewing over two thousand witnesses. "But I want to start the interview process on the main players before I kick them clear for the night. I don't want anybody lawyering on me until I get a better handle on the setup."

Right out in the open, Eve thought as she studied the stage, the set, the tiers after tiers of plush velvet seats that had held a rapt audience.

Someone was cool and cocky. And smart.

"People are comfortable with you," she went on. "I want Areena Mansfield comfortable."

"I'll do what I can."

"Appreciate it. Peabody, you're with me."

Eve crossed the stage, moved into the wings. There were uniforms scattered throughout the backstage area. Civilians were either tucked behind closed doors or huddled in miserable little groups.

"What do you give our chances of keeping the media locked out of this until morning?"

Peabody glanced over at Eve. "I'd say zero, but that's optimistic."

"Yeah. Officer." Eve signaled a uniform. "I want guards posted at every entrance, every exit."

"Already done, sir."

"I want the guards inside. Nobody leaves the building, not even a cop. Nobody comes in, especially reporters. Clear?"

"Yes, sir."

A corridor bent off the wing, narrowed. Eve scanned the door, vaguely amused by the gold stars affixed to several of them. Name plaques were displayed as well. She stopped by the door marked for Areena Mansfield, knocked briefly, then walked in.

She only lifted her eyebrows when she saw Roarke sitting on a royal blue daybed, holding Areena's hand.

The actress had yet to remove her stage makeup, and though tears had ravaged it, she was still stunning. Her eyes darted to Eve and were instantly full of fear.

"Oh God. Oh my God. Am I going to be arrested?"

"I need to ask you some questions, Ms. Mansfield."

"They wouldn't let me change. They said I couldn't. His blood." Her hands fluttered in front of her costume, fisted. "I can't stand it."