Witness in Death by J. D. Robb Page A

smart, and self-satisfied. Of all the actors, he's the one with the most experience. He knows the theater in and out."
    "If he's really a friend of Mansfield's, would he have set it up so she killed Draco? Planted the weapon in her dressing room?"
    "Why not?" Eve strode out of the building, flipped the doorman a sneer. "It's theatrical, and if you wind it all around, the plant was so obvious it looks like a plant. So..." She climbed behind the wheel, drummed her fingers on it, and frowned. "Whoever planted it wanted us to find it, wanted us to know it was put there to toss suspicion on Mansfield. Otherwise, it's just stupid, and whoever set the murder up isn't. I want to know who worked backstage who wanted to be on it. Let's see how many frustrated actors were doing tech duty on this thing."
    Eve pulled away from the curb. "Toss that ball to Feeney," she ordered Peabody, and used her car 'link to contact the morgue.
    Morse, the chief medical examiner, came on-screen. His luxurious hair was slicked back to show off a duo of gold and silver hoops in his right ear. "I was expecting you, Dallas. You cops are damned demanding."
    "We get our rocks off hassling dead doctors. What have you got on Draco?"
    "He's most sincerely dead." Morse smiled thinly. "Single stab wound to the heart did the job quickly and neatly. No other wounds or injuries. He's had some excellent body sculpting work over the years, and a recent tummy toner. A superior practitioner, in my opinion, as the laser marks are microscopic. His liver shows some rehabilitation. I'd say your guy was a serious drinker and had at least one treatment to revitalize. He did, however, have a lovely little mix of illegals in his system at time of death. Exotica and Zing, with a soupcon of Zeus. He chased that with a double shot of unblended scotch."
    "Hell of a combo."
    "You bet. This guy was a serious abuser, who continued to pay to have his body put back in shape. This kind of cycle eventually takes its toll, but even at this rate, he likely had another twenty good years in him."
    "Not anymore. Thanks, Morse."
    "Any chance of getting me seats when this play goes back on? You got the connections," he added with a wink.
    She sighed a little. "I'll see what I can do."

CHAPTER FOUR
    The trip from Stiles's rarified uptown air to Alphabet City's aroma of overturned recyclers and unwashed sidewalk sleepers was more than a matter of blocks. They left the lofty buildings with their uniformed doormen, the pristine glide-carts and serene air traffic for prefab, soot-scarred complexes, blatting maxibuses, and sly-eyed street thieves.
    Eve immediately felt more at home.
    Michael Proctor lived on the fourth floor of one of the units tossed up haphazardly after the devastation of the Urban Wars. At election time, city officials made lofty speeches about revitalizing the area, made stirring promises to fight the good fight against neglect, crime, and the general decay of that ailing sector of the city.
    After the elections, the entire matter went back in the sewer to rot and ripen for another term.
    Still, people had to live somewhere. Eve imagined a struggling actor who managed bit parts and understudy roles couldn't afford to pay much for housing.
    Eve's initial background check revealed that Michael Proctor was currently six weeks behind on his rent and had applied for Universal Housing Assistance.
    Which meant desperation, she mused. Most applicants to UHA became so strangled, so smothered in red tape reeled out by the sticky fingers of bureaucrats, they stumbled off into the night and were pitifully grateful to find a bed in one of the shelters.
    She imagined that stepping into Draco's bloody shoes would considerably up Proctor's salary. Money was an old motive, as tried as it was true.
    Eve considered double-parking on Seventh, then, spotting a parking slot on the second level street side, went into a fast vertical lift that had Peabody yelping, and shot forward to squeeze in between a