Black

Chapter 19

"Yes. Poor Terry. Seems like she just can't stay off the hillbilly heroin. A shame. Let's see..." Freddie tapped at his computer keyboard and then squinted at the information on the screen. "We got that tidbit from the cab driver who took her there. Called us right after she gave him the address. We paid a hundred dollars for that."

"Wow. I'm in the wrong business. A hundred bucks for a phone call. Who knew?"

"Of course, depending upon the celebrity, it can be less, or a lot more. Terry's battles with her demons are sort of old news these days, so it's just not worth what it might have been, say, three years ago when she still had her TV show."

"I see. All right, what about the one with Hunter getting into that brawl? Seems like having a photographer at a biker bar was awfully serendipitous."

This time Freddie typed more slowly. "Ah. That was an anonymous tip. Phone call."

"Anonymous? Wouldn't most of your tipsters want to get paid? Isn't that a little unusual?"

"Not as much as you might think. Sometimes people just call in because they've seen someone famous and want to feel like they're part of the process. It's a strange world. We get them all the time."

"I see. Do you tape the inbound calls?"

Freddie's eyes shifted to the side with a momentary look of cunning, then returned to Black with the steady gaze of the innocent. "Tape?"

"Record. Do you record your inbound tip calls?"

Freddie nodded. "We have a policy of doing so."

"So, for instance, you would have the anonymous tipster's voice recorded?"

"You've now completely lost me. What would that have to do with a murder investigation?"

"Two of your staff were killed at one of Hunter's press conferences, were they not?"

"Yes."

"And you received an anonymous tip alerting you to Hunter's whereabouts only a day later. I'm wondering whether they might be connected."

"How?"

"I don't know. I'm not paid to solve the whole crime, just put together miscellaneous puzzle pieces and collect information. Tell me - would it be possible to pull that call and hear it?"

Freddie studied him like a lab specimen, and then nodded slowly. "Absolutely. Just get a warrant and I'd be happy to."

Black's composure slipped just a little. "I was hoping that we could work together on these things with less formality..."

"Yes, but when cops start asking for sources, it changes everything. And frankly, I see nothing remotely useful in this line of questioning. It feels like a pure fishing expedition, and while I'm trying to be helpful, there are limits. You just reached one."

Black did a quick about-face and asked a series of innocuous questions related to building security, personnel background checks, company policies and working hours, and then extricated himself before he could get into real trouble. He thanked Freddie for his time with a cursory handshake and beat a swift path for the exit, the foray having been worth it. Someone had known about the meeting, or someone from the restaurant had called when they'd spotted Hunter; the only problem with that theory being that Hunter had only been inside for all of fifteen minutes, and Black doubted that Freddie had roving gangs of paparazzi patrolling the streets of the San Fernando Valley on a Tuesday morning. Which led him straight back to a leak having tipped FSA off in advance.

There were several possibilities: someone from the distributor's side - there was no way of ruling that out - or someone from Hunter's team.

A niggle of acidic anxiety tickled his stomach as he returned to his car. He'd had a feeling all along that Hunter wasn't leveling with him, and this sort of minor mystery wasn't doing anything for improving his faith in the man. Whether it actually mattered was a different story - the money was in the bank, and whoever had alerted Freddie, there was no harm done. That was about the only time the paparazzi had been around Hunter lately when one of them didn't wind up dead.