‘We won’t be able to find out either, will we?’ The captain massaged her neck, trying to relax her tense shoulder muscles. ‘She’s too young to have a proper tenant agreement, and I’ll be very surprised if she used her real name to rent a room anywhere. If she saw the papers, and my guess is that she did, she’s running scared. The problem is, vision or not, she knows details about this investigation that can’t be leaked. Do you understand what I’m saying, Robert?’ Her voice calm and authoritative. ‘You’re not the only one who knows psychology. If some of these reporters catch up with her, they’ll persuade her to talk, I can guarantee you that. Find her.’ She opened the door but spun around before leaving to face both detectives. ‘If you ever pull another stunt like this or disobey a direct order from me again, I swear to God the next job you’ll be doing will involve touching shit with your hands.’ The door slammed behind her hard enough to make the room shake.
Garcia punctured the silence that followed with a nervous sigh. ‘Do you have any idea where Mollie could be?’
‘I’ll find her,’ Hunter replied. ‘Trust me.’
Eighty-Four
The luxurious Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills – known as the Beverly Hilton – stands imposingly at number 9876 Wilshire Boulevard. Just a short walk away from the famous Rodeo Drive and Century City, the hotel is a favorite retreat for stars and for those who appreciate being treated like one.
At 8:30 p.m. Hunter sat alone at a corner table near the entrance to the busy and stylish lobby bar. Other than the small saucer filled with assorted peanuts, the only other object on the table was an empty whiskey tumbler. His eyes followed a well-dressed thirtysomething man as he walked in and grabbed the attention of the absurdly tanned barman. Hunter waited a few seconds before approaching him. They talked for less than a minute.
Trader Vic’s Lounge, a meticulously decorated Polynesian-themed indoor/outdoor restaurant and cocktail bar, is one of two gourmet restaurants inside the Beverly Hilton. That’s where the well-dressed man had come from. That’s where Hunter was heading.
She was sitting alone, sipping champagne at a candlelit table by the east wall.
‘Have you seen any famous people yet?’ he asked, standing in front of her table. ‘I heard this place is a must if you wanna play spot the celebrity, but I haven’t seen any.’ He smiled. ‘I probably wouldn’t recognize them anyway. I don’t watch much TV and I barely go to the movies.’
She put her glass down and stared at him, surprised. It took her a few seconds to overcome the shock and string a sentence together. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘What, are you kidding? This is one of my favorite hangouts.’
Claire Anderson chuckled cynically. ‘Somehow I doubt that very much, Detective Hunter. But the blazer and tie suit you.’
Hunter adjusted his tie. ‘Thanks. I thought we were past the Detective Hunter and Miss Anderson phase.’
‘How in the world did you know I’d be here tonight,
Hunter frowned. ‘Is that a serious question? Maybe the hint is in what I do for a living.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot. The mighty Robert Hunter. Shouldn’t you be using your powers to look for a sadistic serial killer instead of stalking me?’
‘You should talk about stalking.’ He took the empty seat directly in front of her. ‘You wrote the book on it.’
‘What’re you doing? You can’t sit there. I’m with someone.’
‘You mean the married guy in the shiny new dark gray suit, short black hair with a cleft chin?’ Hunter nodded and screwed up his face at the same time. ‘He left.’
‘What?’ Her face dropped in realization. ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’
Hunter’s expression indicated he didn’t know what she was talking about.
‘The maitre d’ came over a moment ago and whispered something into Sean’s ear. He excused himself and said he’d be right back. That was you.’
Hunter didn’t answer.
‘Who told you Sean was married?’
Hunter leaned back and crossed his legs. ‘I didn’t really come here to talk about your date, Claire.’
The maitre d’ came over to announce that their starter was ready. Claire was about to send it back, but Hunter got in before her.
‘It’s OK, you can serve it.’ He turned to Claire. ‘You ordered it, we might as well eat it.’
‘You’re an asshole.’ She ran her hand through her shiny hair, which she had straightened to perfection.
‘Your hair looks nice that way,’ Hunter said, disarming her for an instant.
A tall waiter returned with their starters. ‘Excuse me. What’s this?’ Hunter asked, pointing to the plate in front of him.
‘Crab Rangoon folded in a wonton skin with cream cheese,’ the waiter answered with a polite smile. ‘Anything wrong, sir?’
‘No, no. That’s fine.’
‘I guess you’re upset about the article today?’ Claire said after the waiter left.
‘The article didn’t bother me in the least.’ Hunter pointed to the jug of iced water on the table. ‘Is it OK if I have some water?’
‘Knock yourself out.’
He poured himself a glass and had a sip. ‘What did piss me off no end was the picture.’
‘Why? I thought you looked quite cute,’ she teased.
‘She’s just a girl, Claire.’ Hunter’s tone went from playful to morbidly serious. ‘You put her life at risk.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Claire shot back.
‘You think psychopathic killers don’t read the papers?’
‘So?’
Hunter shook his head. ‘You didn’t do your homework properly, did you? Many killers have an agenda, which they’ll do
Eighty-Five
Claire stopped picking at the fancy food and stared at Hunter uncomfortably. Her smile vanished. ‘Do you think she’s in danger?’
‘It’s a little too late to be asking that question, don’t you think? If you wanna be a crime reporter, it stands to reason that you maintain a good relationship with the people in the force, especially detectives.’ He stopped and waved his hand. ‘Oh, that’s me.’ His irony was back. ‘You could’ve called and run the story by me before going to press. It’s actually common practice. That way you don’t piss us off, we get to have a first look at what kind of bullshit you’re about to print, and if there’s anything we judge detrimental to the investigation we can ask you to omit it. By doing that, you keep us sweet and – who knows? – we might even share some information.’
‘I tried calling,’ she shot back with irritation. ‘But you didn’t return any of my calls. Do you even check your messages?’
Hunter ran his hand over his mouth. ‘How did you get her to talk to you?’
‘I’ve got my methods.’
‘You just sounded like a torturer.’
‘There was no torture.’ Claire shook her head and smiled.
Hunter glared. ‘You lied to her, didn’t you? What did you say? That you worked with me and you needed a
