“Jacie and Roderick Corbo, both age thirty-one. Married three years with main residence Upper East. Additional home in Oyster Bay, and an interest in a family estate—her side—on St. Lucia.”
“Big-time trust-fund babies,” Baxter put in. “Both of them.”
“They’ve used both vendors,” Trueheart continued, “and Mrs. Corbo has used On Screen twice to record and broadcast infomercials for a line of skin-care products one of her family’s businesses represents.”
“She’s the face,” Baxter explained. “It’s a hell of a face. She also states she received a couple of overtly suggestive ’link calls a short time after the last infomercial hit the screen.”
“You got her ’link?”
Baxter shook his head. “She said she lost it. Husband confirms she loses her ’link about once a month.”
“The infomercial initially aired in November, Lieutenant,” Trueheart continued. “She thinks the calls came in right after. Two of them.”
“Describe ‘overtly suggestive,’” Eve said, and Trueheart flushed.
“I’ll take that and spare the boy. A male, blocked video, told her he was going to fuck her and fuck her right and she’d beg for more. He claimed he was watching her. The second time he called, she thinks maybe a week after the first time, it was more of the same, but he added he liked her in green, how that tight skirt hugged her ass. But he was going to like her naked, tied up, and begging for it even more.”
“Did she report any of this?”
“No, sir.” Trueheart cleared his throat again. “She said she just considered it an annoyance at the time. She didn’t even tell her husband, didn’t relate it to us until she began to get nervous during the interview.”
“When would the suspect have been able to see her in green? Could she pinpoint?”
“She checked her closet records, gave us two dates. The first was a family Thanksgiving dinner, which included some close friends, the second was an anniversary party held at the Corbo mansion, and catered by Jacko’s. We verified that as she wasn’t a hundred percent on it. The first event had about seventy-five people, the second more than two-fifty.”
“We’ll need the guest lists.”
“Working on it. We’re expecting the one from the first shortly,” Baxter said. “The problem with the second is the Corbos’ social secretary is currently on vacation. Some sort of meditation camp—no communications. And apparently nobody else seems to know where to find the guest list.”
“Christ’s sake.”
“We’re pushing.” Baxter shrugged. “The rich really are different. The social secretary has an assistant—and if that isn’t excessive enough, the assistant has an assistant. Neither of them are allowed to access her files. Even if they were, the woman’s so paranoid she took it with her. She works on a portable. We’re running down where she is because nobody there seems to know. We’re on it, Loo.”
“Stay on it. Your two,” she said to Olsen.
“Gregor and Camilla Jane Lester. Ages forty-eight and twenty-nine respectively. Married two years. His second time around,” Olsen added. “Gregor is chief of emergency medicine at—drumroll—St. Andrew’s. He knew Anthony Strazza well. He chose his words carefully, but clearly, no love lost there. He met Daphne Strazza, briefly and casually at a few events, such as the gala. They have used Jacko’s. Camilla Jane loves to entertain,” Olsen added with an eye roll. “But she likes to mix it up, surprise her guests, and Jacko’s is so, you know, conventional.”
“Bimbo.” Tredway circled a finger in the air, then tapped it at his partner. “Her word.”
“Well, Jesus, if you did a search on the word, Camilla Jane Lester’s picture would pop up. She’s gorgeous, incredibly silly, and her husband adores her. Indulges her. It shows.”
“Guy’s got a face like a hamster, and he lands somebody who looks like that? Why wouldn’t he? Interesting fact,” Tredway continued. “As Camilla Jane, prior to the marriage, she made a living acting. Bit parts, stage and screen. Very bit from the sound of it. And supplemented that living as, we’ll politely call it, a dancer.”
“She was a stripper?”
“Ah, you say tomato. She had some work as an extra on a couple of serials—the daytime sort—played a dead girl once, and so on.”
“Connection to On Screen?”