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“Theater?”
“I understand the pressure, from her superiors and the media, has been intense. I hope the investigators are, indeed, close to learning who killed K.T. It will never make up for the loss, but it may give us all a sense of closure.”
“And relief?” Nadine said with a hint of a smile. “As one of the select group in attendance at the Roundtree/Burkette home that night, you’re a suspect.”
“As are you,” he shot back.
“Not guilty,” Nadine said, raising her right hand. “I know I’ll be relieved when Lieutenant Dallas makes an arrest. It’s disconcerting, don’t you find, Joel, to be under suspicion—and to have friends and colleagues on that same list?”
“I can’t and won’t believe any of us killed K.T.—our sister, our daughter, our friend. I suspect this new information deals with an outsider.”
“An outsider?”
“Someone who gained entry by posing as catering staff, or valet, or what have you. A disturbed fan, perhaps. So, yes, I’ll be relieved when this is cleared up, the questions answered, and our lives returned to normal. I understand Lieutenant Dallas is doing her job, but to focus on us? Absurd. After all, we were all gathered together in one place at the time K.T. was killed. You were there yourself. I have to believe someone else followed K.T. up to the roof, and tragedy followed that. If—off the record.”
Nadine eased back, nodded to her camera. But said nothing as she knew the wire she wore would keep things very much on the record.
“I’m not going to cast suspicion or aspersions on my friends and colleagues on-screen.”
“I understand.”
“It’s bad for business,” he said flatly. “I’m sticking to it being an outsider—on the record. But I’m worried, I’m very worried something happened that night between K.T. and... one of us.”
“You suspect someone.” Nadine widened her eyes. “Joel!”
“I’m not going to discuss that, even off the record. It’s probably just the nerves of dealing with all this. The fact is, if she hadn’t gone up to indulge in the filthy habit of smoking, she might still be alive.”
“They do say even the herbals are bad for our health.”
“Worse yet when it’s one after the other mixed in with sense-dulling illegals like zoner.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “The combination reeks. I’m sorry. I’m upset—tired. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead and you don’t want that either. It’s bad for business as well.”
“Joel, I was there, too.” To enhance that connection, she leaned forward to lay a hand over his. Solidarity.
“I’m part of this. If you have reason to believe... If you think you know who killed her, tell me. I won’t go public.”
“I don’t feel right about it. Give me a day or two.” He turned his hand over, gave hers a pat and squeeze. “I need to think it through. I’m probably making too much of things. Now, Nadine, I really need you to wrap this up. It’s been a very long day.”
“Of course.” She settled back, signaled the camera again. She lobbed a couple of easy ones, to reset the tone, put him at ease.
And decided straight interview or undercover, it was going to play very well.
“Again, thank you so much for doing this. I know it’s a terrible time for everyone.”
“Life—and work—go on. I’ll walk you out.”
“You don’t need to bother.”
“I’m heading out myself. As I said, long day.”
When he opened the door, Julian stopped pacing outside, hurried to him.
“Joel. Sorry, Nadine, I need to talk to Joel.”
“No problem. Julian.” Struck, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “You look so tired.”
“Everything feels off. I can’t work like this. I can’t handle all this. Joel—”
“Come on into my office. We’ll sit down, talk this out. Good night, Nadine.” As he turned, he sent her a long, sorrowful look over his shoulder.
