The Night Crew

looked at Harper: ‘‘Who’s your attractive friend?’’
    ‘‘Jake Harper,’’ Harper said, and stuck out his hand. The man took it, warily, but Jake shook cheerfully and said, ‘‘Is it Trip?’’
    ‘‘Yes, Trip.’’ He had a drawl, a very faint cultured hint of New Orleans. ‘‘I heard about Jason and Sean. Not the details.’’
    ‘‘You don’t seem surprised,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Do your friends get killed a lot?’’
    ‘‘From time to time,’’ Trip said, with faint amusement.
    Anna nodded: ‘‘Okay. I came up here one night, about three weeks ago, to pick Jason up, but he was too messed up to work,’’ she said. ‘‘But that night, he started a rumor that he and MacAllister and I were in a three-way. We think whoever killed them heard the rumor. We’re wondering who was here that I might know, or might know me.’’
    Trip pursed his lips, then said, ‘‘Well, I suppose ninety percent of the people here are in film, one way or another. Writers or actors or directors, or trying to be. And you’re actually doing some media, so . . . I don’t know; maybe several people knew you, or of you.’’
    Anna shook her head: ‘‘I didn’t see anybody I knew.’’
    ‘‘Let me think . . .’’ Trip turned slightly away and closed his eyes, and they waited; and after a few seconds, opened them and turned slightly back to her and said, ‘‘Were you? In a three-way?’’
    ‘‘No.’’
    Trip let his eyes drift to Harper: ‘‘Too bad; they’re kinda fun.’’
    ‘‘I keep telling her,’’ Harper said. ‘‘I even got the other woman.’’
    ‘‘Shut up,’’ Anna snapped. To Trip: ‘‘Somebody who must’ve been tight with MacAllister and Jason both.’’
    ‘‘MacAllister did some work in porno; acting work. Jason might’ve taken the pictures, I don’t know—but both were friends with the guy who produces them. Dick Harnett, Bunny Films, they’re out in Burbank.’’
    ‘‘That’s it?’’
    ‘‘Actually, no. You know who else use to hang with them? China Lake.’’
    ‘‘Who?’’
    ‘‘China Lake, the actress. She played a junkie girl on ‘90210’ one week. She was up here with them a couple of times.’’
    ‘‘Bunny Films, in Burbank, and China Lake—you know where we can find her?’’
    ‘‘Probably practicing for her role as a junkie girl,’’ Trip drawled, letting the New Orleans out again. ‘‘Look downstairs in the ladies’ restroom. Dark-haired girl, shaved around the ears.’’ The women’s restroom was a sewer, four metal booths on an uneven concrete floor, everything a little damp, the stink of urine and vomit in the air. China was alone, staring at herself in a cracked mirror, her eyes underlined with gray rings of exhaustion, her shoulders not much more than bare bone. Anna thought she might be nineteen.
    ‘‘China?’’
    She turned her head and looked first at Anna, then at Harper, with little interest: that Harper should be in a women’s restroom didn’t seem worthy of comment, or even notice. ‘‘Yeah?’’
    ‘‘My name is Anna Batory. I used to work with Jason O’Brien, before he got killed.’’
    ‘‘I heard he was dead, and Sean,’’ she said. She turned back to the mirror. ‘‘You got anything good on you?’’
    Without waiting for an answer, to Harper, ‘‘Are you a cop?’’
    ‘‘No.’’ He shook his head: ‘‘We’re looking for whoever killed Jason; they’re coming after Anna here.’’
    ‘‘Really? You got anything good on you?’’
    Anna shook her head: ‘‘We’re looking for a guy who might have hung out with Jason and MacAllister. Pretty big guy, about like Jake.’’ She nodded at Jake. ‘‘And a little out of shape. Not real fat, just sort of fleshy. Could be pretty weird.’’
    ‘‘That’s everybody I know,’’ China said. ‘‘Except . . .’’
    ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Most of them are skinny. You sure you don’t have anything good on you? You look like you do, like you got money.’’
    They talked for another two minutes: a woman came in, glanced at Harper, said nothing, just went on to a booth and closed the door. Harper looked at Anna, faintly embarrassed, looked at China, who’d gone back to her mirror, and shook his head. Nothing here.
    ‘‘All right,’’ Anna said. She held a card out to China, and when the woman didn’t take it, slipped it into a pocket in China’s small leather purse. ‘‘If you hear anything, or think of anybody, call