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What she saw here was a woman who’d grown up with violence and anger, one who looked to have found escape or pleasure in acting, but who’d continued that anger/violence cycle to her own death.
Why? Eve wondered. And did why matter, really?
She swiveled around to her board. Had the victim known something about one or more of the cast and crew? Something she’d threatened the killer with, some sort of exposure—a career-damaging embarrassment?
Or had she just pushed somebody too hard for too long?
She swiveled back to read an incoming from the lab.
“Dallas?” Peabody stood in the doorway.
“Zoner mixed with the herbals—almost fifty-fifty.”
“Jeez, between that and the wine, she didn’t need the knock on the head to pass out.”
“Pretty sure bet once she went down, she didn’t get back up. Blood trace on the recovered pieces of burned rag. Vic’s blood. Only vic’s DNA on the butts recovered on scene. Drag marks on the heels consistent with skirting material and pattern.”
“That’s pretty quick work.”
“For a change. Let’s keep the zoner on the QT for now, see if anybody mentions that area of her habit.”
“Yes, sir. Carmichael’s bringing Andrea up.”
“Good.” Eve kept her eyes on the data. “Let’s give her a few minutes to settle in.”
One at a time, she told herself. They’d scrape away at some of that Hollywood polish and find out what was under it.
The more she learned about Harris, the less she liked her. But that didn’t make the dead less hers.
Chapter 8
Dressed in traffic-stopping red, her hair in glinting gold waves rather than Mira’s subtle sable, Andrea Smythe sat at the scarred table in Interview. She wore bold black hoops at her ears and a sparkle of black stones forming an elongated heart at the hollow of her throat.
She tipped her head with a smile when Eve and Peabody entered.
“It’s satisfying to know our set designer was so accurate. This looks very much like what we’re using.”
“Not much to design,” Eve commented. “Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview with Smythe, Andrea, on the matter of Harris, K.T. Case number H-58091.”
“So formal.”
“It’s not black-tie, but we take murder pretty seriously around here. We appreciate you coming in.”
“It seemed the wise choice, given the circumstances.”
“You’ve already been informed of your rights and obligations. Do you need me to read them to you again?”
“No. I have an excellent memory.”
“That should help.” Both Eve and Peabody took their seats. “Do you have anything to add to your statements from last night? Any corrections or changes to same?”
“No.”
“Would you like anything before we get started?” Peabody asked her. “Coffee? A soft drink?”
Andrea smiled again. “You’re to put me at ease while your lieutenant keeps me on edge. It’s a good rhythm. I think Marlo and K.T. captured it well for the camera. Not perfectly, but very well. I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”
“This isn’t a scene,” Eve reminded her. “There’s no script. And the body is very real.”
