“Hey, it all stays in this room?”

“Sure, why not?” Flynn said. “Give it your best shot, Mr. Wolfinger.”

Linus Wolfinger smiled at all of them impartially, tapped his pen one more time, and said, “I think it’s Jon Franken. He’s the assistant director for The Consultant. He’s too good to be true, you know? Mr. Hollywood down to his tasseled Italian loafers. He knows everyone, is just so good at A-list parties. I know there’s got to be something really nasty about him. No one that good is what he seems to be, you know?”

Delion rose, the others with him. He said, “Thank you, Mr. Wolfinger. We’ll really look close at Jon Franken. Me, I can’t stand a guy who’s too good at his job. It motivates me to nail his ass.”

Flynn said, “Now, Mr. Wolfinger, do contact either me or Inspector Delion or Special Agent Carver here if you come up with something or if you find out anything that could be useful.” All of them passed their cards to Wolfinger, who didn’t take them, just let them pile up in front of him, close to that still-tapping pen that was driving everyone nuts.

Dane said, wishing in that moment that he could haul the little jerk up by his dicky and throw that damned pen out the window, “It would be easier if the murderer had stayed in the same city, but he didn’t. At least now no more episodes will be aired.”

Wolfinger said, “I’ve already slotted in The Last Hurrah, another new show about lottery-ticket winners and what becomes of them.”

“Sounds innocuous enough,” Flynn said.

Pauley said, “Maybe it’s someone who’s out to sabotage the show itself. I’ve been in the business a long time, made enemies. Maybe it’s someone who hates me personally, wants revenge, knows that this one is my particular baby. I’ve got a lot on the line here.”

Dane said, “You think a man would kill-what is the count now that we know of-eight people, just to get revenge on you?”

“Put that way, it doesn’t sound too likely, does it,” Pauley said.

“Were there problems getting the show off the ground, Mr. Pauley?” Flynn asked. “Someone specifically who put up roadblocks?”

“There are always problems,” Wolfinger said, batting his hand at Pauley to keep him quiet, “but on this one there were fewer than usual. Mr. Pauley is right that he’s got a lot to lose. He’s married to the consultant’s girlfriend on the show. He pushed to have her star. If the show closes down, then so does she.” Wolfinger didn’t sound sorry at all.

Dane glanced over at Pauley and knew he was thinking, Little Shit. Pauley said, “He’s right-having the show shut down won’t be wonderful for my home life, but Belinda will understand, she has to. But having the media go nuts over a script murderer will be a disaster for my reputation and the studio’s. We won’t even mention the lawsuits.”

“Certainly everyone’s reputation is on the line here,” Flynn said.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Wolfinger said. “I trust you gentlemen will try to encourage everyone interviewed to keep quiet about this?” He laughed. “Hey, it won’t matter. This is far too juicy to keep quiet about. It’ll be out before the day is over.” Wolfinger looked down at his pen, frowned a moment, then said, “Then there’s Joe Kleypas, the star. Interesting man. A bad boy, but nonetheless, an excellent actor. Maybe you want to put him up there on your suspect list.”

“Why would he kill people to ape the show he’s starring in?” Delion asked. “He has to know the show will be shut down.”

Wolfinger shrugged. “He’s a deep guy, never know what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s got mental problems.”

Flynn said, “All right. We’ll be speaking to you later, Mr. Wolfinger. Thank you for your time and your ideas.”

When they left exactly seven minutes later, Nick said, “He’s an interesting man. I didn’t think he was a shit. Well, all that pen tapping was obnoxious.”

“That’s vintage Little Shit,” said Pauley.

Frank Pauley stopped to frown at a framed black-and-white photo of Greta Garbo on the wall. He carefully straightened it, then nodded. “You’re right. He acted like an adult. I’ve seen him do it before. But I’ve also seen him throw a soda can-full-at somebody who said something he didn’t like.”

Dane said, “Mr. Pauley, are they still shooting any of these episodes?”

“No. Eight shows were shot last summer and into early fall. The way it works is that if the show is picked up, that is, if the network decides to continue with more shows, they get everyone back together and shoot six to thirteen more. They usually make this decision after three, four shows. If the ratings are good, they pay for us to write more episodes. If it’s a huge success, everything is given the go-ahead and things move really fast. Oh yes, I called the AD-assistant director-Jon Franken for you.”

“This is the guy Wolfinger thinks is the psychopath?”

“Yeah. Wolfinger is cute. Can you believe the damned head of the studio was talking like that? Making accusations? But again, Wolfinger does just as he pleases, usually the more outrageous the better. As for Franken, the man has both feet firmly planted on the ground, knows how to squeeze money out of the sidewalk, and if something needs to happen yesterday, he’s the guy you go to. He’s trusted, something so unusual in LA that people come up to pinch him to see if he’s real. He also works his butt off.”

“Exactly what does he do on the show?” Dane asked.

“Actually, it’s Franken who has to know more about the actual show than just about anyone, including the line producer. He’s in charge of setting up off-studio sites, getting everyone together who’s supposed to be shooting, setting up the actual shooting schedule, holding everyone’s feet to the budget fire. He listens to the stars whine about the director or sob about their latest relationship gone bad, stuff like that. He’s got the big eye. Oh yes, Franken’s really big into anything otherworldly; he goes for that stuff. He and DeLoach are really in sync on this one.”

“Did they develop the idea together?” Dane said.

“I’m not really sure about that. I do know that they’ve always got their heads together.”

Delion said, “I hope he’s older than twenty-four.”

“Yes, Jon’s been around for a long time. He might even be forty or so. An adult. He started out sweeping off sets when he was just a kid. He’s expecting us.”

They found Jon Franken on the sound stage for a new fall sitcom that wasn’t doing well titled The Big Enchilada. He was talking to one of the actors, using his hands a lot, explaining something. From twelve feet away, they could see that he was buff, tanned, and dressed very Hollywood in loose linen trousers and a flowing shirt, his sockless feet in Italian loafers. He looked to be in his forties.

Pauley waved to him, and in a few minutes he joined them. He was polite, attentive, and when they asked him about the order of the episodes, an eyebrow went up. “I’ve been hearing some rumors, something about some murders that are similar to an episode of The Consultant. Is this true?”

Delion said, “Well, so much for discretion.”

Jon Franken was incredulous. “You honestly believe that this could have remained a secret? This is a TV studio. There isn’t a single secret anywhere within two miles of this place.”

Dane said, “Yes, you have it right, and we need your help. Frank Pauley said you know everything and everyone.”

Franken said, appalled, “The higher-ups must be shitting their pants. A murderer who’s copying a TV show? Incredible.” He shook his head. “Only in Hollywood. I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” Dane said. “We understand you’re close to DeLoach. How much of the actual writing was his?”

“Depended on the episode. The first two, however, were ninety percent Weldon, since it was his idea to begin with. Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe that.”