"Mr. Stiles occupies the apartment on the fiftieth floor. Five thousand. The deskman will clear you. Madam – "
"Does this say madam?" Eve asked and waited for the doorman's eyes to skim down, read her badge.
"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant, might I arrange to have your vehicle garaged during your visit? A valet will return it when you're ready to leave."
"That's a nice offer, but if I gave you the ignition code, I'd have to arrest myself. It stays right here."
Eve kept her badge out and walked into the building, leaving the doorman staring sadly at her pea-green police issue.
It was hard to blame him. The lobby area was lush and elegant, with gleaming brass and spearing white flowers. Huge squares of polished black tiles covered the floor. Behind a long white counter, a tall, slim woman sat gracefully on a stool and beamed welcoming smiles.
"Good morning. How may I direct you?"
"Kenneth Stiles." Eve laid her badge on the counter beside a brass pot teeming with flowers.
"Is Mr. Stiles expecting you, Lieutenant Dallas?"
"He'd better be."
"Just one moment please." She swiveled to a 'link, her smile never dimming, her voice maintaining that same smooth and pleasant tone of an expensive and well-programmed droid. "Good morning, Mr. Stiles. I have a Lieutenant Dallas and companion at the lobby desk. May I clear them?" She waited a beat. "Thank you. Have a lovely day."
Turning from the 'link, she gestured toward the east bank of elevators. "The far right car is cleared for you, Lieutenant. Enjoy your day."
"You bet. I used to wonder why Roarke didn't use more droids," she said to Peabody as they crossed the black tiles. "Then I run into one like that, and I understand. That much politeness is just fucking creepy."
The ride up to the fiftieth floor was rapid enough to have Eve's stomach jump and her ears pop. She'd never understand why people equated height with luxury.
Another droid was waiting for them when the doors slid open. One of Stiles's serving units, Eve concluded, done up in such stark and formal attire he made the dreaded Summerset look like a sidewalk sleeper. His steel gray hair was slicked back and matched with a heavy mustache that dominated his thin, bony face. The black of his slacks and long jacket was offset with snow-white gloves.
He bowed, then spoke in a fruity voice with a rolling English accent. "Lieutenant Dallas and Officer, Mr. Stiles is expecting you. This way, please."
He led them down the hall to double doors that opened into the corner apartment. The first thing Eve saw when she entered was the sweeping window wall that opened onto New York 's bustling sky traffic. She wished Stiles had drawn the privacy screen.
The room itself was wild with color, rubies and emeralds and sapphires tangled together in the pattern on the wide U-shaped conversation pit. Centered in it was a white marble pool where fat goldfish swam in bored circles among lily pads.
A strong scent of citrus spread out from the tidy forest of dwarf orange and lemon trees, heavy with fruit. The floor was a violent geometric pattern of color that on closer look shifted into an erotic orgy of naked bodies in inventive forms of copulation.
Eve strode across blue breasts and green cocks to where Stiles lounged – posed, she thought – in a saffron ankle-duster.
"Some place."
He smiled, a surprisingly sweet expression on his craggy face. "Why live without drama? May I offer you anything before we begin, Lieutenant?"
"No, thanks."
"That will be all, Walter." He dismissed the droid with a wave of his hand, then gestured Eve to sit. "I realize this is routine for you, Lieutenant Dallas, but it's new and, I confess, exciting territory to me."
"Having an associate murdered in front of you is exciting?"
"After the initial shock, yes. It's human nature to find murder exciting and fascinating, don't you think? Else why does it play so well through the ages?" His eyes were deep, dark brown, and very shrewd.
"I could have taken any number of tacks with this interview. I'm a very skilled actor. I could be prostrate, nervous, frightened, confused, sorrowful. I chose honesty."
She thought of Carly Landsdowne. "It seems to be going around. Record on, Peabody," she said, and sat.
And sank into the clouds of cushions. Biting off an oath, Eve shoved herself up, sat on the edge of the couch. Balanced, she read off the pertinent data and issued the standard warning.
"Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter, Mr. Stiles?"
"I do indeed." That sweet smile spread over his face again. "Might I say you read your lines with authority and panache, Lieutenant."
"Gee, thanks. Now, what was your relationship with Richard Draco?"
"Professional associates. Over the years, we worked together from time to time, most recently in the play that had its unusual opening night yesterday."
Oh yeah, Eve thought. He's enjoying this. Milking this. "And your personal relationship?"
"I don't know as we had one, in the way I assume you mean. Actors often…" He made a vague gesture with his hand and set the multicolored stone cuff bracelet on his wrist to winking cheerfully. "Gravitate toward each other, you might say: 'Like minds, like egos.' We marry each other with a kind of distressing regularity. It rarely lasts, as do the temporary friendships and other intimacies between players on the same stage."
"Still, you knew him for a number of years."
"Knew him, certainly, but we were never chums, let's say. In point of fact…" He paused again, his eyes glittering as happily as his bracelet. "I despised him. Loathed him. Found him a particularly vile form of life."
"For any particular reason?"
"For any number of very particular reasons." Stiles leaned forward, as if imparting confidences. "He was selfish, egocentric, rude, arrogant. All of those traits I could forgive, even appreciate as we who act require a certain sheen of vanity to do what we do. But under Richard's sheen was a sheer nastiness of spirit. He was a user, Lieutenant, one who not so quietly rejoiced at crushing hearts and souls. I'm not the least bit sorry he's dead, though I regret the method of his oh-so-timely demise."
"Why?"
"The play was brilliant, and my part one I relished. This incident will postpone if not cancel the rest of the run. It's very inconvenient."
"It's going to get a lot of publicity. That won't hurt you."
Stiles ran a fingertip down his chin. "Naturally not."
"And when the play resumes, it'll pack the house, night after night."
"There is that."
"So his death, in so dramatic and public a way is, on some levels, an advantage."
"Clever," he murmured, eyeing her more closely now. "That's cleverly thought out. We have a play within a play here, Lieutenant, and you're writing it well."
"You had access to the prop knife. And enough time to make the switch."
"I suppose I did. What a thought." He blinked several times as if processing new data. "I'm a suspect. How entertaining! I had seen myself as a witness. Well, well. Yes, I suppose I had opportunity, but no real motive."
"You've stated, on record, you hated Richard Draco."
"Oh, my dear Lieutenant, if I arranged the death of every person I disliked, the stage would be littered with bodies. But the fact is, however much I detested Richard on a personal level, I admired his talent. He was an exceptional artist, and that is the only reason I agreed to work with him again. The world might have rid itself of a nasty, small-minded man, but the theater has lost one of its brightest lights."
"And you, one of your toughest competitors."
Stiles's eyebrows lifted. "No indeed. Richard and I were much different types. I don't recall that we ever competed for the same role."
Eve nodded. It would be easy enough to check that data. She shifted tactics. "What's your relationship with Areena Mansfield?"
"She's a friend, one I admire as a woman and as an associate." He lowered his eyes, shook his head. "This business is very difficult for her. She's a delicate creature under it all. I hope you'll consider that."