“That’s my job.”
“Yeah?” His eyes locked on hers. “It’s been seven months. I haven’t seen you getting the job done.”
“You will,” she said simply. “Your cousin suggested I ask you about a couple of vendors you’ve used professionally. Jacko’s Catering, Lone Star Rentals.”
“You having a party? Sorry,” he said quickly, and rubbed his temple. “Seriously, I’m sorry. I’m just pissed off. Rosie looks so damn fragile.”
“You’re close to Rosa, too?”
“She’s family. Hell, I was with Nev the first time he laid eyes on her. I told him then and there to make a move, but she was with somebody else, and Nev’s no poacher. Worked out, though. Anyway.” He shook his head. “We’ve used Jacko’s—office parties, a couple of private screenings. Same with Loan Star. What’s that have to do with what happened to my family?”
“Dotting i’s. Have you used either personally?”
“Rented from Loan Star once … maybe twice? I used Jacko’s once. Basically, I don’t do a lot of entertaining at home. I’m more the wine-and-dine guy—pick a restaurant or club that fits the guest, pull out the stops.”
“I’m sure it’s in the file, but could you tell me where you were when your cousin and his wife were attacked?”
“Yeah, the other cops checked it out so I don’t have to look it up.” His jaw tightened, then he visibly relaxed it. “I know you have to ask, but it’s still insulting. I had a dinner meeting—a director we wanted to pull onto a project, his wife, the female lead we’d signed, the male lead and his date. It went from about seven-thirty until about ten. Got the director,” he added with a smile. “I went home, settled in with a stack of potential project reports.”
“Did you see or speak to anyone?”
“Nobody but the house droid. I had it bring me warm cookies and a vanilla shake about midnight. It’s a weakness. I’d already gone to bed when I got the tag from Detective Olsen. It was about three A.M. I went straight to the hospital.”
He pushed up, walked to his windows, circled the room. “Sorry, it still gets me right in the gut. Seeing them that way. Nothing like that, nothing has ever happened to somebody I love. We make vids with some nasty shit, but that’s make-believe. It’s not real. All the director says is ‘Cut,’ and it’s done. I don’t know if this will ever be.
“This monster took their lives—their everyday lives, their normalcy. How do they ever get that back?”
“Knowing the person who did this is locked in a cage can be a good step toward that.”
Kyle came back, dropped into the chair again. “Whatever I can do to help put him there, consider it done.”
“You make a lot of the vids here?”
“In New York? Yeah, we have our own studio. Neville and I built the company on the idea of starting small, being self-sufficient. We’ve got the studio right here, and now another soundstage in Brooklyn. Our team of scouts, production teams, our own writers for original productions and series.”
“Makeup, costumes.”
“Sure. Our girl copped an Emmy, two years running now, for makeup in an original series. Planet Plague. Christ, don’t cops watch screen?”
“I’ve been known to.”
“Planet Plague’s the number one original series, two years running. Zombie apocalypse never goes out of style.” He jerked a thumb behind him at one of the posters, depicting a tough but beautiful woman, armed with a crossbow, and a hard-bitten yet handsome man with a katana surrounded by what certainly looked like walking corpses.
“Last year, it took makeup, original score, best guest appearance, and capped it off with best actor, original series.”
“Nice.”
“Oh, yeah. Awards aren’t just shiny, they can translate into ratings and funds, and ratings and funds translate into more creative productions. And don’t get me started.”
On a half laugh he swiped a hand in the air. “We’re building something solid. We’re doing what we always dreamed of doing. Neville’s been shattered and shaken, and he’s just coming back. It’s been a hard road. Having him hit, seeing Rosa hit, with more cops, more questions, it can’t help him.”
“Reality doesn’t wrap up when the director says cut, or the screen goes to black, Mr. Knightly. What you do may give people a break from reality, and that’s all good. But we’ve got to come back to it.”
She pushed to her feet. “I appreciate your time, understand your concerns. Now we both better get back to doing our jobs.”
He rose with her. “We put in a bid on the Icove project.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Nadine Furst’s book. We tried to get the rights to it, but it was above our reach. Congrats on the Oscar noms.”
“Okay.”
“They announced them this morning. It’s up for seven Oscars—best actress, best supporting actor, best director, best adapted screenplay, best editing, best sound, and the holy grail of best picture. You didn’t hear?”
“I’m a cop, Mr. Knightly.”
“Kyle. And you’re the Icove cop.”