Pryce headed toward the office and kept going, past the building and a bored-looking Tommy Getz at the desk, until he reached the street. He took a right and, after twenty yards, turned right again into a back alley running between the rear of the apartment block and the hedge. A couple of graffiti-smeared dumpsters were tucked flush against the wall of the building between two emergency exits. The alleyway most likely provided access for fire trucks and other first responders in the event of an emergency.

Pryce looked up and saw what he hadn’t been able to see from the parking lot at the Dreamz because of the overgrown foliage obscuring his view—two security cameras on opposite sides of the apartment block at second-floor level. They were compact and discreet and looked expensive. Pryce was sure that, unlike the cameras at the motel, these ones actually worked. The purpose of the cameras was undoubtedly to protect tenants and homeowners from any untoward activity taking place in the alley, but Pryce felt excitement build inside him at the possibility that one, or both, might cover some of the motel’s lot and its rooms.

He left the alleyway and found the entrance to the Urban Heights apartment complex next to a vegan bistro. The reception was all glass and granite, with sleek leather couches and ugly modern artwork. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed an outside communal pool area. A stairwell led to a state-of-the-art basement gym. A little fancier than Pryce’s own condo at Los Feliz Towers, but he figured this place couldn’t compete when it came to the views he enjoyed over the city.

The woman behind the front desk looked more like the kind of receptionist you’d meet in the foyer of a global banking firm rather than an apartment block just off La Brea. Slim, midtwenties, brunette. White blouse and tight black skirt. If Medina were here with Pryce, he would definitely leave his card with the woman and try to get her number.

The brunette’s face creased in a delicate frown as her eyes went to the badge on Pryce’s belt as he approached the desk, before the crumpled brow was quickly swapped for a well-practiced sunshine smile. “How can I help you, Officer?”

He gestured to his badge, even though he knew she had already spotted it. “Detective Pryce from the LAPD,” he said. “Would it be possible to have a look at some footage from your security cameras out back? We’re investigating a serious crime that took place in the neighborhood last weekend, and the footage might help us out.”

Pryce hoped the woman wouldn’t insist on calling the apartment complex owners for permission to view the footage; otherwise he could be looking at days wasted filing, and then waiting for, a search warrant.