[Continuing chapter thirteen]
He parked the Bentley beside the cemetery and walked to the Monarch studio. It was dark, now, the peculiar soft purple-black darkness of autumnal Los Angeles; and the lot was empty save for the guard at the gate. It was nice to know that everybody in town partied on Saturday nights. The hardest part of getting into Neal’s office again was the sneaking past the guard at the falsely gaudy gate; once Casey was on the lot itself he had no trouble getting into either the administration building or Neal’s office.
As he’d suspected, Lily Cross’s diary was gone. Burned, no doubt, just as Desiree had predicted. Neal collected all sorts of information about the security of the studio, though, and Casey soon found the other items he was looking for.
When this all comes out, he thought, Neal is going to have a fit. And Monarch is going to spend a small fortune on better locks.
He was taking a risk, he knew. If his hunch was right, he was going to have to admit to having broken into Neal’s office. On the strength of that admission, McMahon could probably send him away for five years if he wanted to. Casey hoped that the story he was about to tell the D.A.’s office would persuade McMahon to leave him alone.
Getting out of the studio was easier than getting in had been. The guard at the gate shifted his attention between his newspaper and the occasional car on Gower. It never occurred to him to look for somebody sneaking out from behind him.
Once safely inside the Bentley, Casey checked his watch: half-past seven. He still had time for a couple more stops before heading to the party.
Next Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen
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