“Always.”
“I’m going to ask … I know your reputation. Not only do I pay attention, but I have excellent researchers. By cooperating, I’m going to give you information that could damage my own reputation. That could, worst case, ruin me.”
“Never happen.” Bic squeezed her hand.
“Bic has a sunnier view of human nature than I do. I’m going to ask you, on the record, for your word that the information I share will be held in confidence, and if any legal action needs to be taken against me, you’ll give me twenty-four hours to prepare.”
“Did you kill Larinda Mars or conspire in her murder?”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
“Have you committed a crime?”
Her lips trembled once, firmed. “You’ll decide that, and if you decide I have and that requires my arrest, I need those twenty-four hours. I don’t intend to run, Lieutenant. One way or the other, I’ve been running for a very long time. Will you agree to those terms?”
“I’ll give you the twenty-four, on the condition you surrender your passport, agree to having your accounts frozen for that period, and understand that for that period, you’ll be under surveillance.”
Knight let out a half laugh, looked at Bic. “You called it.”
“Relax, baby. It’s going to be fine.”
“No going back now,” Knight said to Eve. “I’m in.”
“Let’s start with where you were yesterday from six P.M. until seven P.M.”
“We finished the show at four-thirty. I did about a half hour of goodwill—posing for photos, signing autographs. Then I changed, and Bic and I went home. We’d have been home by six. We had a drink. I intended to unwind, then work on some ideas for a special we’re doing in the spring. We’re taking the show to Europe for a week in May. But Bic and I got into a discussion about—” She paused when he let out a sharp, rude snort. “All right, a very heated discussion about Larinda.”
“It’s called a fight, Annie. It’s coming—or was coming up on the payment time,” he continued. “I felt, strongly, it was time to stop.”
“You knew about the blackmail?” Eve asked Bic.
“Yes, of course. I disagreed with Annie’s decision to pay, but … I let it go because the idea of exposure upset her so much. But the fact is, it would never stop until Annie stopped it. And would only get worse. We … discussed for some time.”
“A monumental discussion. My stand has always been the money didn’t matter. She wanted more, wanted information about other people, but that was a line I wouldn’t cross. And the money didn’t matter. I kept repeating that, to myself. Every month. But I knew it wasn’t about the money. I knew Bic was right, and that only made me madder.”
She sent Bic a look full of regret. “I said terrible things to you. I crossed a line with you. I did,” she said as Bic shook his head. “I’m glad I did because when I did, it made me realize what I was doing, what I was allowing to be done to me, what I really felt about the money doesn’t matter.”
She paused, sipping slowly from her pale gold drink.
“I stopped fighting Bic, stopped fighting myself. I’m not a pushover, Lieutenant, but I’d let myself be pushed. I decided to stop that, too. Instead of the next payment, I’d send her a message. No more. It would give me a week to do what I needed to do. I contacted Bob—my attorney—asked him to come over. I told him everything. He advised we all take a day to absorb everything, and for him to begin some work.”
“When Annie and I finally began to wind down, we heard the reports. We heard about the murder.”
“Change of plans.” Annie lifted a hand. “And here we are.”
“When’s the last time you had contact with Mars?”
“About a week ago. Two weeks before payment, she would either text or e-mail. Or she’d come in, just waltz into the studios,” Knight added, with a flash of anger. “I wouldn’t take any ’link tags from her. She’d send me a chatty message, as if we were friends. In it would be a number. Like: ‘There had to be eight thousand people at the party,’ or ‘I feel as if I’ve walked seven thousand miles in these shoes.’ Always between seven and nine thousand. So I could easily justify paying it. This month was to be the full nine.”
“How would you get the payment to her?”
“I wouldn’t meet with her—which is what she wanted. For us to be seen having drinks together, like friends. No, she wouldn’t have that from me. In her message to me she’d routinely suggest meeting at a certain day, time, at a certain location. Du Vin, where she was killed, or Gino’s, uptown. Once or twice, the Russian Tea Room. I’d arrange for a bonded messenger to deliver. I used different companies.”
“You have records of the deliveries?”
“I have records of everything. Her e-mails and texts, her v-mails on my personal ’link. I’ve changed ’links three times since this started, but she always dug out the new one.”
Knight paused, drank again. “She was good at her job, had a way on screen. She didn’t have to do this, it couldn’t have been only the money. Do you understand? She liked squeezing me.”