“Living on the streets? You got a record?”

He didn’t think they were legally allowed to ask him that, but they’d find out as soon as they ran him so what the hell. “Small stuff. You want to talk to someone in Toronto about it, call Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci at violent crimes. We go back.”

“Violent crimes isn’t small stuff, Mr. Foster.”

“I just said he knew me, Officer, not that he’d booked me.”

“You being smart with us?”

There were a hundred answers to that. Unfortunately, most of them were not smart, so Tony settled for a sincere but not too sincere, “No.”

The constable opened his mouth again, but his partner cut him off. “Let’s just go over this one last time, shall we? Ms. Waugh was late coming onto the set. You went to get her, followed by Mr. Reed. He pulled open the door. Ms. Waugh fell out, still holding the handle. The door pulled off and she hit the floor. You told Adam Paelous, the first assistant director, who told Peter Hudson, the director, who called 911. Correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“And you didn’t call because . . .”

“No one carries their phone on the soundstage.”

Constable Danvers flipped her occurrence book closed and tapped the cover with the end of her pen. “I think that’s everything, then.” As Tony started to stand, she raised a hand. “Wait; one more thing.”

He sighed and sat.

She leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the edge of the ancient table the office staff had secured for their kitchen and said, “So, is Mason Reed always so full of himself? Because he’s nothing like Raymond Dark.”

Tony stared at her, hoping his reaction didn’t show on his face. He’d never actually thought of cops as people who watched bad syndicated television and were just as into the whole celebrity thing as everyone else. Which, he supposed, was fairly stupid of him—a uniform and a gun didn’t necessarily come with taste and cops, more than most, could use a few hours of escape into the tube.

Two guys in front of the camera, forty behind, and everyone wanted to know about the actors.

The short answer to Constable Danvers’ question was: Yes.

Longer version: Most of the time, he’s an egotistical pain in the ass.

The answer from someone who intended to go far in this business: “You know actors.” He shrugged. “They’re always acting.”

“So we can take his observation that he knew instantly Ms. Waugh was dead with a grain of salt?” Elson growled with an impatient look at his partner. It seemed that Constable Elson was not a Darkest Night fan.

Tony shrugged again. “Don’t know enough about him. I guess he could of known.” He’d certainly recovered from his initial shock fast enough.

“You knew.”

“I figured. Like I said, I seen . . . I’ve seen dead bodies before.” Twenty minutes with the cops and street rhythms were creeping back into his voice. Jesus, good thing Henry’s not here.