This time Whitney did smile. "That's quite a thought. However." The smile vanished. "In this case his connection and yours is considerably more tangible. You're among the witnesses. I prefer to look at that as an advantage in this instance. The fact that you were on-scene and were able to contain it quickly keeps this from being more unwieldy than it is. The media's going to be a problem."
"Respectfully, sir, the media is always a problem."
He said nothing for a moment. "I take it you've seen some of the early headlines."
She had. Running right after the flash of "Draco Dies for Art" had been annoying little tidbits such as: "Murder Most Foul! Renowned actor Richard Draco was brutally stabbed and killed last night, the murder committed under the nose of top NYPSD homicide detective, Lieutenant Eve Dallas."
So much, she thought, for plugging media leaks.
"At least they didn't refer to me as Roarke's wife until the third paragraph."
"They'll use him and you to keep the story hot."
She knew it. Detested it. "I've worked under media heat before, Commander."
"True enough." As his 'link beeped, he pushed its All Hold button and silenced it. " Dallas, this isn't an ordinary murder or even an extraordinary one. It's, as my grandchildren say, got juice, and you're part of it. You'll need to prepare carefully for the press conference at two. Believe me, the actors involved will play to the cameras. They won't be able to help themselves, and as they do, the story adds layers."
He leaned back, tapping his thigh. "I'm also aware you're not particularly interested in the public and media end of this. You'll have to consider that end, in this case, part of the job. Don't grant interviews or discuss any area of the case with any reporter prior to the press conference."
"No, sir."
"I want this to move fast. I've already requested the ME put a rush on the autopsy. The lab's on alert. We go by the book here, but turn those pages quickly. Has Areena Mansfield requested her lawyer or representative?"
"Not as yet."
"Interesting."
"I don't expect that to last long. She was shaken, but my impression is she'll want a rep once her mind clears. Her dresser confirms she was in the dressing room with Areena at every costume change. I don't put complete faith in her statement. The woman worships Mansfield. Meanwhile, I'm running background checks on all members of cast and crew. It's going to take some time. There are a lot of players here. Interviews are starting this morning."
"Are the estimates of three thousand witnesses in the ballpark?"
Just thinking about it made Eve's head throb. "I'm afraid they are, Commander. Obviously, we couldn't hold the audience members in the theater for long. We did a person-by-person ID for name and residence as each was released. Some statements were taken because, basically, some people couldn't shut up. Most of those, which I've reviewed, were disjointed and essentially useless."
"Divvy up the audience witnesses in the squad. I'll pull in some detectives from other areas. Let's run some eliminations to get those numbers down."
"I'll start that today, Commander."
"Delegate it," he ordered. "You can't be spared for drone work. Tag Feeney for the backgrounds on cast and theater personnel. I want this to close. He's to prioritize the backgrounds over his current caseload."
He'll moan over that one, Eve thought, but she was pleased to be able to pass that part of the load over to the e-detective. "I'll communicate that to him, Commander, and send him the list."
"Copies to my attention. After the press conference, I'll need you to clear any and all media interviews with me before confirmation. Dallas, you can expect to see yourself and your husband on-screen, in print, and blasted out of the goddamn tourist trams until this matter is satisfactorily closed. If you require a larger team, let me know."
"I'll start with what I have. Thank you, Commander."
"Be here, this office, at thirteen-thirty, for pre-media briefing."
It was dismissal, and acknowledging it, Eve headed out of the office and down the glide. Before she reached her level, she pulled out her communicator and contacted Feeney in the Electronic Detective Division.
"Hey, Dallas. Heard you caught a hell of a show last night."
"The reviews were a killer. Okay, got that out of my system. I've got direct orders from the commander. I'll be shooting you a full list of cast and crew from the play, and additional theater personnel. I need full backgrounds, with correlation runs. Any and all connections of any and all individuals with Richard Draco and/or Areena Mansfield."
"Love to lend a hand, Dallas, but I'm up to my nostrils here."
"Direct from the commander," she repeated. "He tagged you, pal, not me."
"Well, hell." Feeney's already hangdog face filled the screen with sorrow. She watched him drag a hand through his wiry rust-colored hair. "How many backgrounds we talking?"
"Including non-speaking roles, walk-on, tech and talent crew, concessions, maintenance, and so on? Four hundred, give or take."
"Jesus, Dallas."
"I've done Mansfield, but you could go deeper." Instead of sympathy, she felt amusement that lightened her step as she passed through the bullpen and gave Peabody the come-ahead sign. "Whitney wants it prioritized and rushed. Media conference at fourteen hundred. I need all I can get by then. You're authorized to put as many hands on the team as you need."
"Isn't that just dandy?"
"Works for me. I'll be in the field. Peabody 'll get you the list ASAP. Look for sex, Feeney."
"You get to be my age, you slow down on that some."
"Ha ha. Sex and illegals. I've got a tie already. Let's see if it spreads out any. I'll be in touch."
She pocketed her communicator, leading the way down to the lower level where her vehicle was parked. "Shoot the witness and suspect lists to Feeney. We're dumping backgrounds on EDD."
"Good for us." Peabody drew out her palm unit and began the transfer. "So… is he using McNab?"
"I didn't ask." Eve slid her gaze toward Peabody, then shook her head and coded open the locks on her vehicle.
"You want to know, don't you?"
Eve strapped in, started the car. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"About me and McNab."
"As far as I'm concerned, there is no you and McNab. It does not exist in my world. My aide is not having some weird-ass sexual fling with the fashion plate from EDD."
"It is weird," Peabody admitted, then let out a long sigh.
"We're not talking about it. Give me the first address."
"Kenneth Stiles, aka Sir Wilfred, 828 Park Avenue. And it's really good sex."
" Peabody."
"You were wondering."
"I was not." But she winced as a distressingly clear image of Peabody and McNab popped gleefully into her head. "Keep your mind on the job."
"I have lots of compartments in my mind." With a happy sigh, Peabody settled back. "Room for everything."
"Then make room for Kenneth Stiles and give me a rundown."
"Yes, sir." Obediently, Peabody took out her PPC. "Stiles, Kenneth, age fifty-six, a rare New York City native. Born and bred in midtown. Parents were entertainers. No criminal record. Educated by private tutor through secondary level with additional classes in drama, stage design, costuming, and elocution."
"Whoopee. So we've got a serious thespian on our hands."
"First performance at age two. Guy's won a pot load of awards. Always live stage. No video. An artist, is my guess. Probably temperamental and emotional."
"Won't this be fun. Has he worked with Draco before?"
"Several times. A couple of times with Mansfield. Last time in London. He's unmarried at the moment. Had two spouses and one formal cohabitation partner. All female."
Eve scanned for a parking place, rejected the idea, and pulled up to the front of the post-Urban War building on Park. Before she'd climbed out, the uniformed doorman was at her side.
"I'm sorry, madam, this is a non-parking zone."
"And this is a badge." She held up her shield. "Kenneth Stiles?"