Hollywood sign, located in the Hollywood Hills.’ The TV camera zoomed out to reveal the massive sign propped on the hillside behind the reporter. ‘It’s one of the most recognisable landmarks on the planet. And, as any Los Angeles resident will know, you can’t just walk up to the Hollywood sign. Sure, you can hike past it or fly past it, but it’s fenced in so you can’t get too close. You can look but you can’t touch. But tragically that didn’t deter struggling actor Humphrey Sturgess, a native of Great Britain, who was found dead at the base of the sign early this morning.’
‘Looks like we’ve located our suspect,’ announced Darkus.
‘But where’s Bogna …?’ Knightley murmured.
Tilly rubbed her eyes and sat on the sofa next to them, tearing into a Danish pastry.
‘That’s right, Camden,’ the reporter carried on. ‘Mr Sturgess arrived in the US only two days ago, with stars in his eyes, but now his star has fallen. Fallen forty-fivefeet to be exact. A once promising career cruelly snuffed out. Local police are speculating that Mr Sturgess scaled the high fence surrounding the sign and somehow climbed to the top of the letter “H”, where he was subsequently found in the scrubland below with – we’re hearing – a broken neck. Did he jump, or was it an accident? That’s something we just don’t know.’
‘Or was he pushed?’ speculated Darkus.
The reporter continued: ‘What we do know is that Sturgess checked into the Sunset Six Motel on Sunset Boulevard two nights ago, in the company of a woman described as somewhere between forty-five and sixty-five years old, approximately five feet tall, heavily built, a hundred and eighty pounds, with a thick European accent. The LAPD is urgently seeking this female travel companion, and anyone with any information is advised to call this one-eight-hundred number.’
‘Great. So now she’s a suspect in a murder investigation,’ said Tilly in between mouthfuls.
‘On the contrary,’ argued Darkus, ‘our chances of finding Bogna just exponentially increased. The Los Angeles Police Department can begin the painstaking work of locating her in a city of nearly four million people, hopefully narrowing down the avenues of enquiry … while we try a different angle of approach.’ His father and Tilly waited, hanging on his every word.‘If we can get to the bottom of who murdered Humphrey Sturgess – for there’s no doubt in my mind that he was murdered – then we’ll find the person, or people, holding our missing friend.’ Darkus slid his knife and fork next to each other on the plate and stood up. ‘I suggest we pay a visit to the Sunset Six Motel at once.’
In keeping with Knightley Senior’s newfound holiday spirit, the Beverly Wilshire Hotel arranged an even bigger ‘full-sized’ rental car, which transported the trio through the grid system of Los Angeles streets with wallowing ease. This time, they chose not to use the satnav.
Knightley drove the sedan through Hollywood, past the historic Chinese Theater and the stars on the pavement of the Walk of Fame, before looping down to Sunset Boulevard and the motel in question.
It was a run-down pink building, with peeling paint and a Welcome sign hanging at an obscene angle from a gateway over the car park.
Knightley concluded his tour guide commentary as they pulled into the lot. ‘In another triumph of American convenience over the Queen’s English, “motel” is quite simply a hotel where you can park outside your room. A combination of hotel and motor. “Mo-tel”.’
Darkus ignored him and instructed Tilly. ‘You create a distraction. I’ll process the scene.’
‘What about me?’ his father asked.
‘Just stay here and try to look natural,’ suggested Tilly. ‘Not easy for you, I know … Just watch and learn.’ She put on a pair of star-shaped sunglasses and got out.
‘But –’ Knightley began.
‘Remember, Dad,’ said Darkus, ‘no one suspects a
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