She left without another word. There was no reason to inform him of Claire’s death unless it served their purposes. And for now, at least, it didn’t.

As they took the elevator back down, no one spoke for several seconds.

“Well,” Murph finally muttered, “that was deeply unsatisfying.”

Jessie and Dolan both stared daggers at him. Before either could respond, her phone pinged and she looked down.

“How about that?” she said, brightening slightly. “It’s a message from Matilda, Jett Collison’s assistant. He would be happy to meet with us at his Malibu beach house tomorrow at nine a.m. The address is included.”

“Why don’t we just go over there now and interrogate him?”

Jessie looked at Dolan in stunned silence. It was Murph who finally replied.

“Do you really live in this town?” he asked incredulously. “What do you think is going to happen if an FBI agent, an LAPD criminal profiler, and two US Marshals show up on a film set and demand to question a famous actor? Do you think that’s going to stay quiet for long? Do you think Hunt’s protective status will be enhanced by that, with all the cell phone photos sent to TMZ within minutes of us arriving?”

“Is he really that big a deal?” Dolan asked, surprised by Murph’s unusually strong response.

“He’s a big deal,” Murph assured him. “And if we show up and start throwing our weight around on a film set, we’ll become a big deal pretty fast too. And that’s generally not a good idea when we’re trying to keep a low profile. Maybe we just go to his beach house tomorrow in our unmarked car and talk to him without an entire movie crew around. What do you think, Agent Dolan?”

Jessie had never seen Murph so incensed. Clearly Dolan hadn’t either.

“Fine,” he said, sounding a little pouty. “It’s almost six anyway and I don’t know what else we can do tonight. I say we knock off for the day. I could use a drink.”

“We can drop you off somewhere,” Murph said, “but we need to get Hunt back to the safe house. The night unit is taking over soon.”

“You guys can join me for one drink,” Dolan cajoled. “Come on, you can fill me in on how the movie industry really works.”

“I’m up for a drink,” Jessie said. Anything that kept her out of that carpeted residential prison was appealing to her, even if it meant having a drink with a pain like Dolan.

“Not happening,” Murph said matter-of-factly.

“Come on,” Dolan said. “Do you really think she’ll be in danger in a randomly selected bar? In the last hour we’ve weaved in and out of rush hour traffic with a second car behind us for security. If we were being followed, you guys would know. You can even pick the bar, Marshal Murphy. That way you know neither Crutchfield nor Thurman could anticipate our next location. What do you say, Murphy? Don’t be a killjoy.”