We took the Santa Ana Freeway into downtown Los Angeles and then the Hollywood Freeway back out again. Agent Page drove with a kind of automatic aggressiveness, passing cars closely and frequently. One cell-phone-using businessman took his other hand off the wheel long enough to give us the finger.

Page seemed oblivious to all of this as he sped northward and told me what else he knew about the grisly double murder.

Both Antonia Schifman and her driver, Bruno Capaletti, had been shot somewhere between 4:00 and 5:30 in the morning. A gardener had discovered the bodies around 7:15. Schifman’s beautiful face had also been slashed with a sharp blade of some kind.

Apparently no money or other valuables had been taken. Bruno Capaletti was found with almost two hundred dollars in his pocket, and Schifman’s handbag was still in the limo next to her body. It held credit cards, diamond earrings, and more cash.

“Any prior connection between the two of them?” I asked. “Schifman and the limo driver? What do we know about the two of them?”

“The only other movie of hers Capaletti worked on was Banner Season, but he drove for Jeff Bridges on that one. We’re still checking the driver out, though. You ever see Banner Season?”

“No, I didn’t. How hot is the crime scene? Our people, LAPD, the media? Anything else I should know before we arrive?”

“I haven’t actually been there yet,” Page admitted. “But it’s probably going to be off the charts. I mean, it’s Antonia Schifman, you know? She was a really good actress. Supposed to be a nice lady.”

“Yes, she was. It’s a shame.”

“She had kids, too. Four little girls: Andi, Elizabeth, Tia, and Petra,” said Page, who clearly liked to show off.

Minutes later, we were off the highway and driving west on Sunset. I watched as the cityscape changed from the cliché-defying urban grittiness of downtown Hollywood to the lush green—and cliché—residential avenues of Beverly Hills. Rows of palm trees looked at us from above, as if down their noses.

We turned off Sunset and drove up Miller Place, a winding canyon drive, with stunning views of the city behind us. Finally, Page parked on a side street.

Television and radio vans were everywhere. Their satellite towers extended into the air like huge sculptures. As we got closer, I spotted CNN, KTLA, KYSR Star 98.7, Entertainment Tonight. Some of the reporters stood facing cameras with their backs to the estate, presumably reporting live on the L.A. and network shows. What a circus. So why do I have to be here, too? I’m supposed to be at Disneyland, a kinder, gentler circus.

None of the media people recognized me, a refreshing change from D.C. Agent Page and I politely made our way through the crowd to where two uniformed police officers stood guard. They looked carefully at our creds.

“This is Dr. Alex Cross,” said Page.