“We can’t?”
“I can arrange for a private facility, a private examiner. Jesus Christ, do you know how much one of those Internet hounds would pay for a picture of K.T. Harris, naked on some slab in the morgue?”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I need—”
“What you need has to wait because you have the right to remain silent. And I suggest you fucking do so until I finish Mirandizing you.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked genuinely shocked. “What is she talking about?” he demanded of Mira.
“Joel,” Mira began as Eve continued to recite. “Take a breath. Take a moment. Lieutenant Dallas has to do her job.”
“I have to do mine! Everybody involved in this production requires I give this incident all my attention, and make certain it’s handled properly.”
“Do you understand your rights and obligations?” Eve asked him.
“You’re not going to treat me like a criminal.” He folded his arms. “I want my lawyers.”
“Fine. Contact them. We’ll go down to Central and wait for them to get there. No problem.”
“You can’t—”
“Yes, I can.” Eve slapped her badge on the table. “I’m in charge here. This and the dead woman on the roof put me in charge. You can give me a statement here or we can go to Central and wait for your lawyers. That part’s up to you.”
“You’re going to watch your tone or I’ll be speaking with your superiors.”
“Whitney, Commander Jack. Have at it.”
Steinburger let out a long breath. The color that had flooded his face cooled a little. “I want you to understand, this is my project, these are my people. I’m just trying to protect my project, my people.”
“And I’m trying to find out how a woman we all had dinner with a few hours ago ended up facedown in the lap pool. I win. Here or there, Joel. Your choice.”
“Fine. Fine. What do you want? None of us did anything to K.T. It’s obvious she had an accident. I don’t want the media snickering about her being drunk. I
don’t want Roundtree and Connie suffering because she got drunk and careless in their home.”
“Were you on the roof tonight?”
“No.”
“Did you have any problems with the deceased?”
“No.”
“Now that’s got to be a lie. Are you the only person in this house who didn’t have one?”
He held up his hands, let out a long sigh. “I’m not saying she wasn’t difficult. She was an artist. Actors are children on some level, often on more than one level. K.T. could be somewhat of a problem child. I’m very good at managing people, dealing with the creative temperament and problem children or I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
“I hear she was a mean drunk.”
He sighed again. “That’s the kind of gossip I want to prevent. She didn’t handle drink well, and she had a temper. She wasn’t a very happy woman, but she could and did do fine work. I don’t want her smeared.”
“Did you and she have any altercations?”
“I wouldn’t call them altercations. She wasn’t happy, as I said, she had complaints about the script, the direction, her costars. I’m used to actors coming to me with complaints.”
“How did you handle them?”