Her body was found in a known crack area of Orange County. She was, as with their other victims, lying face down, hands tied and strangled by her own tights. Anna and Langton spent the next couple of hours checking the files and mortuary pictures of the dead woman. At six o’clock they left the department to head back to their hotel. They drove up Sunset past the Blues Club and on to the CBS television studios in Century City.
The black receptionist had to use a pencil to dial the internal phone number. She had the longest false nails Anna had ever seen: they curved over like talons. Her hair was braided in a mass of plaits, with coloured beads that clanked together every time she moved her head.
‘I gotta Detective James Langton and I gotta Anna Travis in reception.’ She listened, then addressed them. ‘You go up to the fourteenth and someone will getchas.’
‘Thank you,’ Anna said.
They emerged from the lift into a large reception area on the fourteenth floor. A thin young man with round glasses and a face full of pimples approached them. He put his hand out to Anna: ‘Detective Langton?’
‘No.’
‘That’s Detective Sergeant Travis,’ Langton said tersely. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Langton.’
They followed the young man as he weaved along narrow corridors between rows of desks. Finally they reached a line of offices. By now the sound of phones ringing and actors’ voices on videotape had created an extraordinary wall of sound.
They paused outside the last office as the pimple-faced youth stammered out their names. The person inside the office kept on talking. As they waited, they couldn’t avoid hearing his side of the telephone conversation.
‘She wants how much? An hour? You must be joking! No way we could run to that, unless we shoot it in Romania. I am sure she is, but I am going to have to get back to you. Yes, yes, I know she’s just adopted a boy. We’ll arrange to take a nanny, half her fucking household if that’s what she wants, but we cannot agree to that price. Right, right.’
They glimpsed a hand gesturing for them to enter the office. As Anna and Langton stepped in from the corridor, Mike Mullins finished his call.
‘Love you too, babe. Get back to me. Fine, thanks.’
He replaced the phone and stood up.
The room was crammed from floor to ceiling with tapes and scripts and on the side of a very large oak desk was an enormous orchid arrangement. Mike Mullins was short, with a suntan, hair plugs and gleaming white teeth. He was wearing a floral shirt which flopped over his stomach and pale blue jeans. ‘Right. Now, have you been offered a water, latte, juice or anything?’
‘We’re fine,’ Langton said.
‘Sit down, please.’
They sat side by side on a soft, brown leather couch. Mullins passed a script to the hovering assistant.
‘I want four copies of each and white page them.’
Mullins then eased back round his desk. ‘I am sorry. I can’t remember why you are here?’
‘You made a TV film last year. It was called Out of the System,’ Langton answered.
‘Oh Christ, yes.’
‘It starred an actor called Alan Daniels.’
‘Did it?’ Mullins said, clasping his hands. ‘I can’t honestly remember. I must have blanked it from my mind.’ His forehead puckered. ‘Yes, I think he was in it. British, right?’
‘Yes, he is.’
Mullins swivelled to face his computer, where he tapped away at the keyboard, muttering to himself the whole time. He then peered closer at the screen. ‘Of course. I know who it is. Yes. Alan Daniels, but he wasn’t the lead. Yes, I remember him. I couldn’t afford him now.’
‘Do you have a record of the locations where you would have used him?’
Mullins pursed his lips and then did some clicking on his keyboard. ‘I’ve got the entire budget here.’
‘And the dates Daniels was working?’
Mullins kept clicking his mouse then finally shook his head. ‘I know the dates for the entire filming schedule because it’s in the budget. Just not artist by artist, but we filmed over six weeks: start date September twentieth, through to the beginning of November. We were LA based, so I don’t have the location lists.’
He turned, frowning from his computer screen. ‘He’s not suing me, is he?’
‘No. Could he have been in LA for that entire period of time?’
‘Yes, yes, I think so. I’ll get the cast and crew list up for you.’
They waited, as he fumbled around. He did a print-off sheet, which he glanced at. ‘Alan Daniels stayed at the Chateau Marmont, just off Sunset; I can’t give you the list, as it has private home addresses, etc’
Langton stood. ‘Thank you; appreciate your time.’
‘Aren’t you going to tell me what this is all about?’
‘I’m sorry, but we are just making enquiries.’
‘About what?’
Langton shook his hand. ‘Just a routine enquiry. Thank you again.’
Disappointed, Mullins followed them to the door. When it swung open, his startled, stammering assistant jumped from the desk outside.
‘He played a detective, I remember that. Blond, very good-looking, isn’t he?’
Anna thanked him for seeing them. Langton had already disappeared.
The Chateau Marmont was situated off Sunset, on Marmont Drive. It was almost seven o’clock when they drove in and gave the keys to the valet parking attendant. Anna was tongue-tied, overawed by the sprawling hotel and its private bungalows. She wondered if they would see any film stars crossing the lobby.
It was some time before the assistant manager was available to see them. He was very diplomatic and very evasive; he said he was unable to give them any details of any guest staying presently or in the past, as it was against hotel procedure.
Langton flashed his ID. ‘I understand you must guard your guests’ privacy, but since this is possibly a police matter, it would be diplomatic of you to assist me in every way you can. I don’t want to have to return with LAPD and with uniformed officers and patrol cars.’
They left fifteen minutes later with the information that Alan Daniels had been staying at the hotel, in one of the secluded, private bungalows. He had stayed for five weeks, covering the period that Maria was murdered. He had used a hire car during his stay. It was a Mercedes-Benz.
As they drove away, down Sunset, they passed the Blues Club again, a short distance from the Chateau. Langton raised an eyebrow.
‘Very convenient.’
His mobile phone rang and he patted his pockets to look for it.
‘It can’t be London, it’s after three a.m. there.’ He opened his phone. ‘Hello? Hello?’
‘Who is this?’ said a female voice. ‘You called my cell phone; didn’t leave a message. I just dialled re- call.’
‘Ah yes, are you??’ He covered the phone and nudged Anna. ‘What was the name of the fucking witness, the Maria case? What did he say her name was?’
‘Angie Dutton,’ Anna said.
Langton went back to his call. ‘Is this Angie?’ he asked smoothly.
‘Yeah, who are you?’
Anna listened as he gave as little information as possible and said that he would like ten minutes of her time. After a lot of batting to and fro, he said he would meet her at ten. He snapped the phone shut and grinned.
‘Well, Angie has a very sexy voice and probably some vital information. She’s working at a club: Sequins … Takes her break at ten.’
‘Can we eat something before then?’
‘We can. But you aren’t coming with me. This one I do on my own.’
Anna gave him a look, but he didn’t catch it.
‘You know, I think my luck is changing.’
He decided they should go back to the hotel and freshen up. Anna had just pulled into the appropriate lane of
