Pryce glanced at his watch. It was just after three p.m., and Catherine Tavernier’s recently estranged husband, and now widower, was already nursing a Scotch on the rocks. Pryce knew Fenton had been staying at the hotel since being thrown out of his Pasadena home by Catherine a few weeks ago, and most of his evenings since had been spent in the bar, no doubt mulling over the end of his marriage. The hotel’s bar staff and CCTV had already confirmed Fenton had been right here the night Amy Ong was murdered. Now, after the events of the last few days, Fenton clearly wasn’t even bothering to wait until happy hour to hit the liquor.

“Mr. Fenton? Detective Jason Pryce.”

The man looked up from his drink. He was around the same age as Pryce and wore a polo shirt and chinos and a haunted expression. He rose from his seat and shook the hand Pryce offered him.

“Please take a seat, Detective. Can I order you a drink?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Water is fine.”

Pryce picked up a water decanter from the middle of the table and poured himself a drink. He looked around the elegant lounge area. There was a sleek black grand piano and a feature fireplace, neither of which was in use. Dark wood walls were adorned with black-and-white portraits of Cher, Tina Turner, Steve Jobs, and other big names who had probably resided at the hotel at some point. Patio doors led to a small lake, where swans glided by on the glassy surface.

“Nice place,” Pryce said.

Fenton took in the room as though noticing it for the first time. “Yeah, it’s okay, I guess.”

Pryce guessed the most basic rooms probably started at around five hundred bucks a night, and he knew Fenton had been staying in a suite. For a partner in a law firm, maybe the place was simply “okay.” To Pryce, it would mean being in Angie’s good books for life if he treated his wife to a single night here.

He cleared his throat. “I explained briefly on the telephone why I wanted to meet with you today. It’s important we get a proper understanding of the events that led up to Amy Ong’s homicide and the attempted murder of Jessica Shaw.”

Fenton nodded, stared at the whiskey. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Was Amy Ong the first prostitute you met with?”