“And we do have our own residents, all of whom are nervous right now, I imagine.”
“He’s attacking the whole city, attacking the economy. Can you have an agenda against a city?”
“Why not?” Dan asked quietly. “Except—”
“Except you think it has to do with my father.”
“Not because he did anything wrong, Katie. But because he was a good man.”
“I know,” she said softly.
They left the Quarter and headed down Magazine Street. Like the French Quarter, it offered shops, clubs and plenty of great restaurants mixed in with office space.
They found parking and Carly Britton’s office. She was on the third floor of a building Dan thought must have been built in the late 1920s or perhaps the 1930s. It had nice deco touches in the arches and paint and was kept in good repair.
When they tapped at the door, they were bidden to enter. There was a reception area with about twenty chairs. The woman was a casting director, so she would have a receptionist out here and perhaps interview people in an inner office. A door to the right of the desk suggested as much.
There was a perfectly coifed blonde of about forty behind the desk; she was in a designer suit, carefully tailored, very businesslike. It fit her slim figure like a glove. She’d accented her look with a bold red lipstick.
She stood, offering them her hand. “I’m Carly Britton,” she told them. “I let my secretary go home when our last client left. I understand this might have something to do with the horrible axe murderer plaguing the city?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Dan said and then introduced himself and Katie.
“I hope I can help. We had so many extras working on that last picture. I couldn’t seem to keep enough people coming. Even with extras, we’re careful. We ask for identification, and we verify social security numbers.”
“That’s great,” Dan said. He reached into his jacket pocket, this time to produce the pictures that had been drawn of Neil Browne, with his many possible looks.
Carly Britton looked down at the pictures, and then she looked up at Dan, shock in her eyes.
“Yes!” she said.
“Yes, he was in the movie?” Katie asked.
Carly shivered. “Oh, lord, you think—”
“He’s a person of interest,” Dan said quickly. “But he was known to accompany the young woman who was discovered murdered yesterday.”
“Oh. Oh—oh!” Carly said.
“Yes?” Dan encouraged.
“This man... I must get into my files. I can’t remember his name, but...he came in with his girlfriend. They both worked one day when we had a crowd scene that switched time... We had different sets of people, all dressed for two different time periods. His girlfriend...”
Her voice trailed. Dan looked at Katie and pulled more pictures out of his jacket pocket.
He showed Carly the sketches done from Katie’s recollections.
“I... Yes, there were so many people that day, but...oh! Oh, how horrible! She’s...she’s dead now?”
Dan glanced at Katie and nodded.
Carly Britton was shaky; she stood, using the desk as a brace to do so.
“I’ll get my computer,” she muttered.
When she hurried into the inner office, Katie turned to Dan, looking a little pale, anxious and trembling.
She tried to smile. “What don’t you have in those pockets?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t have any kind of a bag. Bags get lost too easily. A jacket...well, a jacket stays on the body most of the time.”
“They were in a movie, probably watching George!” Katie said with dismay.
“And George is fine and smart and staying in a hotel with cameras and security,” he reminded her.
“He knew George was in the city. He knew George could be blamed again,” Katie said.
Dan nodded. Carly was returning with her computer. She set it on the desk and used a long, well-manicured finger on the touch screen, frowning for several seconds before she stopped.
“Here, here!” she said.
She turned the computer toward Dan. Katie inched her chair right next to his so she could see, too.
She let out a gasp. Carly jumped.
“I’m sorry... Yes, that’s Jennie and Neil Browne.”
“Oh, no,” Carly said. “That’s Brian Denholm and Aubrey Freehold from Baton Rouge. I take copies of their driver’s licenses.”
Both were there on the screen. Dan pulled out his phone, glancing at Carly.
“I need to get these to the FBI office,” he told her. “They can check the identities and check out the addresses.”
“My lord, well...at least you can identify that poor woman,” Carly said.
Dan assumed the licenses were fakes; the social security numbers were surely faked or stolen as well.
But he shot the pictures over the phone to Axel, who would get them to the right place.
“Thank you,” Dan told Carly.
“So he might have murdered her!” Carly said dismayed. “Oh, my God.”
“Yes?”
“Murderers and thieves!” Carly said.
“What did they steal?”
“Stacey—best makeup artist possible on any set—she had a case stolen, a big case. She had makeup in it, all kinds of foundation and pencils and the like, but she had a supply of silicone. You know, silicone... We did some Neanderthal brows and heavier jawlines on some of the actors and extras and... He was probably a murderer and a thief!”
Dan glanced at Katie.
They were both thinking it was worse to be a murderer than a thief...
And yet it explained so much.
“Ms. Britton, you have been an enormous help,” Dan assured her.
“Yes, I... Oh, lord! I worked with those people. I hired those people!”
“You couldn’t have known they were...anything other than what they presented themselves as,” Katie assured her.
“And we don’t have answers. We’re investigating,” Dan said.
“But she’s dead, right?” Carly exclaimed.
There was a knock at the door, and the woman nearly jumped out of her chair. “No, no, I’m not expecting anyone!” she said.
“It’s all right. It’s an agent from the local FBI office,” Dan assured her. Still, he found himself instinctively brushing the SIG Sauer in its holder beneath his jacket as he walked to the door and then waited.
“Mr. Oliver? It’s Mike Cody. Axel sent me.”
He opened the door and dug in his pocket for the card Benny had given him. The
