The Night Stalker

Sixty-Four

The Los Angeles branch of the A & E TV network was located in Century City. It occupied fifteen offices on the ninth floor of building two of the famous Twin Century Plaza Towers. It was no coincidence that the buildings resembled the twin towers that were destroyed in 2001 during the terrorist attack in Manhattan’s World Trade Center. They’d been designed by the same architect.

The red-haired woman behind the reception counter at the A & E TV network entry lobby was what you’d call striking rather than pretty.

She smiled politely as Hunter and Garcia approached the counter before lifting her index finger to signal that she’d only be a moment.

Seconds later she touched her earpiece and a blinking blue light went off.

‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ Her gaze bounced between both detectives and settled on Hunter. Her smile gained an extra twinkle. He explained that they needed to talk to someone about an old documentary their studio had produced. The receptionist glanced at their badges and her demeanor changed. A quick internal call and two minutes later they were being shown into an office at the end of a long corridor. The placard on the door read Bryan Coleman — Director of Production.

The man sitting behind the desk smiled as Hunter and Garcia appeared at his door. He too had a hands-free earpiece on. The blue light was blinking. He motioned both detectives inside, stood up and moved to the front of his desk. He was at least two inches taller than Hunter, with close-cropped dark hair and piercing brown eyes set closely together behind horn-rimmed glasses.

Hunter closed the door behind him and waited. The two chairs in front of Coleman’s desk were occupied by boxes. Both detectives stood.

‘We need to get that redelivered today. .’ Coleman said into the hands-free while nodding at Hunter and Garcia. He listened for only half a second before cutting off whomever he was speaking to. ‘Listen, if we don’t get it redelivered today, we’re gonna get our account transferred to a different company, do you get me?’ Another pause. ‘Yeah, this afternoon is fine, before three o’clock even better. . I’ll be waiting.’ He removed the hands-free from his right ear and threw it on his desk.

‘I’m sorry about the mess,’ Coleman said, shaking both detectives’ hands before clearing the boxes off the two seats. ‘We’re expanding. We were supposed to be moving premises, but a few months ago the company across the hall from us went bust.’ He shrugged indifferently. ‘Recession, you know? So we decided to take their offices instead. It’s easier, but no less stressful.’ He pointed to the phone on his desk. ‘Delivery companies are slick little bastards. If you let them, they’ll walk all over you.’

Hunter and Garcia nodded politely.

‘So?’ Coleman clapped his hands together. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘We’re looking for a documentary about West Coast artists that was produced by your network,’ Hunter said, taking a seat.

‘Do you know the name of this documentary?’

Hunter checked his notebook. ‘Yes, it’s called Canvas Beauty, The Upcoming Talents from the West Coast.’

Coleman cocked his head back. ‘Canvas Beauty?’ he said with a surprised chuckle. ‘Wow. That was three maybe four years ago.’

‘Three,’ Hunter confirmed.

‘I was in the production team for that. Very low budget stuff.’ Coleman took off his glasses and started polishing them with a piece of cloth. ‘That documentary was a fluke. A promotional trick. You sure that’s the one you want?’

Hunter rested his left elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin on his knuckles. ‘What do you mean, a fluke?’

‘The only reason it was shot in the first place was because of our regional director at the time,’ Coleman explained. ‘His daughter was an artist, a painter. She’d been trying to break into the scene for some time without much success. So suddenly a new documentary script found its way to the top of our schedule. You know the drill — include a few truly talented upcoming artists, heavily feature his daughter in the middle of it all and hope for the best.’

‘Did it work?’

Coleman nodded hesitantly. ‘I guess it did its job. She got noticed and I think she’s doing OK with her art. That regional director left us a couple of years ago, so I wouldn’t really know.’

‘What’s her name?’ Garcia asked. ‘The regional director’s daughter?’

‘Ummm. .’ Coleman started fidgeting with a ballpoint pen. ‘Martina,’ he remembered. ‘That’s it, Martina Greene. May I ask why you’re interested in that particular documentary?’

‘We just wanna have a look at it and find out which other artists were featured,’ Hunter replied. ‘Were they filmed individually? I mean, on different locations, on different days?’

Another chuckle from Coleman. ‘Nope. As I said, it was really low budget. Even our director wouldn’t be able to justify spending real money on it. So we crammed the whole thing into one day’s shooting. We got all the artists together one afternoon at the. .’ he looked away for a second as if struggling to recall, ‘. . Moca Museum in South Grand Avenue.’

‘Were they all women?’

Coleman frowned and thought about it for an instant. ‘On that particular documentary, yes.’

‘And do you know if it was aired again? Maybe recently?’

‘I can check, but I wouldn’t think so. As I said, it wasn’t a very good piece of work.’ He pulled himself closer to his computer and typed something into his keyboard.

When the result came back a few seconds later, he repositioned his computer monitor so Hunter and Garcia could have a look. ‘Nope, aired once two weeks after it was produced and that was it.’

‘Do you have any more recent documentaries or interviews in the same vein as that one?’ Garcia asked. ‘I mean, featuring Los Angeles female painters?’

A look of interest came over Coleman’s face. ‘Anyone in particular?’

‘If you could just show us whatever you have, we’d be very grateful,’ Hunter was quick to answer. He didn’t want Coleman’s curiosity piqued further.

Too late. Once a reporter, always a reporter.

Coleman twitched in his chair before returning to his computer. ‘When you say “more recent”, how recent do you mean?’

‘A year, maybe two.’

This time the search took a little longer.

‘OK, in the past two years we’ve produced three programs on painters,’ Coleman said, ‘but they weren’t exclusively on Los Angeles or Californian artists.’

Garcia frowned. ‘That’s it, three programs in two years?’

‘Very few people are interested in the art of painting, or in the life of modern painters,’ Coleman explained, sitting back in his chair. ‘We live in a capitalist world where money rules, Detective, and to us viewing numbers is what translates into money — advertising time. If we air a documentary on hip-hop, rap, or whatever trendy new singer is storming the charts, our viewing numbers hit the roof. We air one on painters or any less popular branch of the arts, that number drops to less than a third, even during prime time. Get the picture?’

‘Could we get copies of all three,’ Hunter said, ‘together with the Canvas Beauty one?’

‘Of course.’

‘We’ll also need a copy of the work log for the Canvas Beauty documentary. Names of everyone who worked on it — cameraman, make-up artists, production and editing team. . everyone.’

‘No problem. I’ll put you in touch with Tom, our archives guy. He’ll get you whatever you need.’

As Hunter closed the door behind him, Coleman reached for the phone and dialed the private number of a very good friend of his: Donald Robbins, the lead crime reporter at the LA Times.