Nine

“He’s not a wa

She shrugged. “I’m sure hanging out with Hollywood types is more interesting than going over rental receipts on Catalina.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, and she laughed.

Now, as he drove to Santa Monica in his department-issued Taurus, he wondered if a new vigilantism was about to rear its ugly head. A show like Crimesolvers USA did its best to encourage the public to leave the actual apprehension of criminals to professionals, to stay clear of suspects and simply call the police with information. But he didn’t expect that sort of wisdom to prevail as word of these cases spread.

From the outside, the studio where Crimesolvers USA was produced looked like any other industrial building. A set of large satellite dishes perched on the roof was the only indication that it might be something other than a warehouse. No sign indicated that this was the home of Serault Productions. He pulled up to the wrought-iron fence that surrounded it and pushed a button on the intercom. He identified himself and said, “I’m here to meet Mr. Serault.”

A young woman’s voice said, “Okay, park in any space marked ‘visitor.’” The gate opened. Alex looked around but didn’t see a camera. For a guy who produced a show about criminals, Alex thought, Ty Serault didn’t seem to have spent much on security. He parked and looked around the lot. There was a new silver Lexus in the space marked T. Serault. The other cars in employee spaces included four Japanese compacts, four American-made SUVs, and a lime-green VW Bug as the tiebreaker.

Serault was a block of a man, big and square-shouldered, with a square head to match, dark hair buzzed down to a shadow over his skull. He had a prize-fighter’s face, and a low voice that held traces of his native Louisiana. His dark brown eyes had a spark of humor in them, and Alex knew from talking to others in the department that Serault had brains to match his brawn.

He ushered Alex into an office lined with commendations from law enforcement agencies. “Quite a press conference you just came out of, there. Ontora ended up looking worse than you did, but she’ll want to even the score in the next round.”

“With any luck, the PIO will handle that one.”

Serault smiled. “If he doesn’t, at least you’ve learned you ought to leave the platform in the middle of the herd. Stragglers get cut out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. In the past I’ve found reporters waiting at my car, though, so I’m not sure I’m going to be able to escape.”

“For a while now, probably not. You’ve got a hell of a mess on your hands, don’t you?”

“Not many people will understand that, I’m afraid. They won’t mind hearing that someone has killed these three.”

“No, probably not. You think someone on my staff might be helping your vigilantes?”

“Just following every lead I can.”

“Hmm.” Serault pulled a desk drawer open and removed a small stack of files. “I hope you’re wrong, but I can see that it’s a possibility. Whoever captured these three criminals had information about them that no law enforcement agency in the country was able to turn up. I don’t mean to imply any lack of effort on the part of law enforcement-we both know that you can’t be focusing on the FBI’s list all of the time. How many murders a year do you-the sheriff’s department-investigate?”

“Last year, a little under three hundred. So far, this year has seen a slight increase, but not by much.”

“Almost one a day-provided no gang wars break out.”

“Gang violence is a factor, yes.”

“My, my. No wonder. And except for the cities like L.A. that have their own departments, y’all have the whole county to cover, right? Calabasas to San Dimas, Catalina to Palmdale-what is that, about four thousand square miles?”

Alex smiled. “Sheriff’s department Web site?”

Serault laughed. “That was kind of clumsy of me, wasn’t it? Should have made you wait and come around tomorrow, when I’d have my act worked out.”

“You didn’t need to go to the trouble, Mr. Serault.”

“I want you to know that I’m on your side, Detective Brandon. That’s all. But actions speak louder than words.” He handed the folders over to Alex. “The shows including the segments on Valerie Perry and Harold Denihan aired at different times, and the staff on the phones varied a little. What you have is a list of employees, and if they no longer work here, I’ve given you the most recent contact information we have for them. We don’t have much turnover in our production staff, but answering phones is entry level, sort of an intern’s job, although we screen them better than most places would.”

“Are they students, then?”

“Some are. They’re mostly young people. They aren’t looking to make a career out of answering phones. They just like being co

“I understand.” Alex glanced at the files and noticed they included not only former staff members’ names, addresses, and phone numbers, but also their hire dates and dates of employment. There were even copies of applications and employee ID photos. “Thanks. I appreciate the effort that went into this.”

He laughed. “Oh, one of my assistants did that. I was screwing around on the Internet, remember?”

“Nevertheless, I know your staff is busy, and it was good of you to have someone take the time to put this together.”

“All I ask is that you keep this information confidential-I value your work, but my staff values its privacy.”

“Of course.”

Alex looked at the lists again and said, “You have the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department and the Phoenix police on here…”

“When we air a show, basically, it’s a tape, but we have a live studio segment, when we ask people to call. When that’s going on, we have law enforcement officers from concerned agencies in the studio. So we had officers from Arizona on Perry’s night, and Kentucky for Denihan’s night. When reruns air, we don’t usually have as many people taking calls.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get to a meeting, so I’m going to hand you over to Nola. She’ll meet you in the reception area. She hires and trains all the phone staff, so I figured she’d be the most help to you.”

Alex thanked him again and stood. He was nearly at the door when Serault said, “One other thing, Detective Brandon.”

What was it going to be? Alex wondered, as he turned back toward Serault, who was suddenly looking uneasy. Alex had not forgotten that Serault was, when all was said and done, a member of the media, and half-expected some request to be involved in the investigation, or special access to information, or coverage of the investigation when it was over.

“I don’t want you to take this wrong,” Serault said.

Alex waited.

“This program, it’s all about law and order-real law and order. In the last five years, we’ve covered all kinds of investigations and helped in any way we could to bring criminals to justice. So-so perhaps you can see that I’d hate to have any damage done to our reputation. I’m trying to cooperate here, and I hope you can appreciate the fact that I really didn’t have to give you any information.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true, Mr. Serault, but-”

“All right, let’s just say, I’m giving you information without making you waste the time it would take to get a court order or making you fool with my attorneys.”

Mildly a

Serault held up his oversized hands, meaty fingers spread. “I’m not going to get in your way, believe me. But I don’t want this program to have any association with vigilantism or-or downright murder and kidnapping. Not if I can help it. If we let someone like that in here, then no one is more sorry than I am for it. I’m just asking you to let the public know that if somehow we did make a mistake, that you’ll let them know Crimesolvers did all it could to help you catch that person.”