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Score one for the naked guy. “Tell me about your relationship with Geiger.”
“There was no relationship. We used Geiger on occasion to take pictures. We paid him. All above board, nothing special.”
“Was he on the clock the night of his death?”
“No. He was not.”
“You’re sure about that?” Bax didn’t wait for a response. “When was the last time you did hire him?”
“I’ll have to find out, Detective. It’s not something I keep at the forefront. Especially with Geiger. The man was an ass. Rude, greedy. He was one of the worst.”
“Then why use him?”
“He got the job done. He was useful.”
“What was Geiger doing in Peter Eccles’s suite?”
Weinberg rolled his eyes as if the question was too difficult to bear. “You’d have to ask Peter.”
“According to some reliable sources you’ve got a lot riding on this picture. The last four movies you produced haven’t done very well.”
“Reliable sources? Please, Detective. You should know by now that you can’t always believe what you read in the papers.”
“I imagine it’s costing a lot. Austen and Tamony don’t come cheap.”
“We won’t be selling off our company jet anytime soon.”
“Why do you think someone wanted Geiger dead?”
“He probably took a picture he shouldn’t have. Honestly, Detective, I wouldn’t know. The lives of the paparazzi are of little consequence to me.”
Bax was about to pepper him with yet another question, despite the fact that the naked guy was turning out to be pretty imperturbable, but then Oscar took hold of Larry’s left arm and Bax couldn’t watch as the man turned over.
Once the guy was facedown, Bax moved in a little, not willing to accidentally see anything that would burn his retinas. He looked at Larry, who had already gone to work on Weinberg’s back. The therapist had a look of such disgust on his face that Bax got a chill.
He’d seen that look before, and it was usually immediately followed by someone getting shot. Larry was not happy.
Why in hell didn’t Weinberg have a sheet on him? For that matter, why wasn’t this massage being done in his suite? According to the brochure, most everything could be done in the guest rooms.
After an unfortunate glimpse of Weinberg’s large white ass, Bax turned, ready to end this now. On a credenza, along with bottles and towels, there were three items of interest. A water bottle, a locker key on a bungee cord and a small tape recorder. No, wait. It was a camera. Bax recognized the small device as one he’d seen in the Vice department’s bag of tricks. Even from halfway across the room, Bax could see that the recorder was on. The red button glowed in the dark.
He turned back. “I’ll let you finish your business here, Mr. Weinberg. We’ll speak again.”
“I look forward to it, Detective.”
As Bax walked toward the door, he looked one last time at Larry. The disgust was gone. In its place, raw fear.
8
IT WAS ALMOST FIVE, and Mia, despite expecting every phone call to be Piper telling her she was fired, kept checking the elevator, waiting for Bax. It was possible, of course, that he’d left the hotel, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? Leave without saying anything?
Of course he would. She wasn’t his priority. She wasn’t even in the top ten. The man was investigating a murder, not obsessing about her. At least not the way she was obsessing about him.
Her private phone rang. “Mia.”
“It’s me. I found out about Mexico.”
“Carlane, that’s great.”
“One of the first films Weinberg produced was shot in Mexico. It was Bobbi Tamony’s first picture, too. Danny Austen was in it, and it was directed by Peter Eccles.”
“The whole gang, huh?”
“And, guess what?”
“What?”
“Gerry Geiger was the photographer. He wasn’t a pap back then. He worked for Weinberg Films taking publicity stills.”
“No.”
“Yep. Something happened to shut down shooting for awhile, but I couldn’t find out what.”
“Really.”
“It could have been anything. Weather, permits. It was shot on a shoestring, so who knows. Anyway, the movie did well for the company, and Weinberg was off and running. He used the same team in three other pictures. Eccles, Bobbi and Danny.”
“How cozy.”
“I’ll say. And for what it’s worth, the Mexico shoot was the last one Geiger did as an employee. He went freelance after that.”
“Okay. Great. I appreciate it so much.”
“You can repay me by taking me to lunch with Danny Austen.”
Mia winced. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As soon as she hung up, she printed out her daily log. It was the last thing she had to do before Ellen, the second-shift concierge, took over.
The afternoon had been brutal, one call after another, and while most everything had been taken care of, there were still two items for follow-up. One was a pair of tickets to a sold-out show, the other the limo service for Ms. Tamony, who was going out again tonight, but she hadn’t known what time.
Mia waited the few seconds for the printout, then put the page in the book. That was it, she was done. She could go now, get changed, make it to the subway in plenty of time to catch the train. But she didn’t leave, not even when Ellen took her place behind the desk.
Mia thought about what Carlane had told her, wondering how Mexico fit into the picture, if it did at all. Then she thought about Weinberg’s digital picture collection, and she felt sick to her stomach all over again.
Of course, that made her think about Bax. She knew she had to tell him that she’d been snooping, and she also knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled about that, but she hoped the data she’d gathered would make up for it.
Mia lingered for a few more minutes, looking from the front entrance to the elevator, and then it hit her. She was behaving like a child. A lovesick child. How often had she been scornful of other women for their foolishness around men. She’d been completely intolerant of their constant preoccupation. No man, she’d been certain, would ever turn her into one of those desperate, pathetic creatures.
And here she was.
Breaking and entering. Snooping. Prying. All because she wanted to impress him.
She couldn’t kid herself about it any longer. She wanted to solve this murder so that they could be together, yes, but also because she thought he’d like her more if she cracked the case.
Brilliant.
The awful thing was, she barely knew this man. It didn’t feel that way. In fact, she could hardly believe they hadn’t been close for years, but the truth was they were practically strangers. Even if there was a possibility of something happening between them, her behavior was completely ridiculous.
She’d read enough to know that the human body will go to great lengths to compel the species to replicate. It was biological and therefore unavoidable. And she’d heard of love at first sight, which she’d always enjoyed as a fictional premise, but never thought would happen to her. Even so, the degree of idiocy one exhibits in this particular situation was entirely dependent on character. On willpower, damn it.
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