“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.
DRESSED IN TRAFF IC-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.”
“I’m aware. Should I have played the part?” Andrea lifted her shoulders. “Worn mourning black, put on my solemn face? I could call up a tear or two. But black’s not my best color, and it’s no secret K.T. and I weren’t close. I’m sorry she’s dead. I’m sorry, philosophically, that death is part of life, and I think—outside fiction—murder is a fucking coward’s game. A selfish, self-serving fucking coward’s game. Other than that, her death means little to me.”
“Inconvenient though, isn’t it? Given the shooting hasn’t wrapped?”
Andrea lifted her shoulders again, crossed her legs. “Her scenes were nearly done, and Roundtree will find a way to work around her. He’s a brilliant and innovative director.”
“And there’s the boost from the media buzz.”
“True enough. It’s the nature of the beast. The machine will make a great deal more out of K.T. dead than they did—or would have—out of her alive. Ironic, isn’t it? She’ll finally have all the fame and attention she craved. She only had to be murdered to get it. And that’s unnecessarily cold,” Andrea added with a sigh. “Even for her. I’m sorry I said that.”
“You’ve made it clear you didn’t like Harris, found her personally and professionally … difficult’s the word that keeps coming up. Is that accurate?”
“Bloody bull’s-eye.”
“You and she had the occasional confrontation?”
“Occasional. I doubt there was anyone working on the Icove project who escaped a confrontation with K.T. Again, the nature of the beast.”
“You’ve been forthcoming about the tone of your relationship with the victim, your feelings about and toward her. That’s why I have trouble understanding why you haven’t been forthcoming about the argument you had with her last night, shortly before she was murdered.”
“Did we argue last night?” Andrea spread her hands and smiled. “I couldn’t say. We exchang
ed unpleasant words so often, they blur.”