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“I know exactly how this works,” he assured Ellery, as he took his seat at the table. “I’ve been getting a lot of coaching from Dan Moran.”

“Ah,” said Ellery who’d never heard of Dan Moran in his life.

“Dan’s a lieutenant with LAPD. He’s not on the Murder Squad, but he’s a detective. He’s married to Sean Fairchild.”

“Oh. The guy who won last year forThe Charioteer?”

“The guy who won everything last year. Right. Anyway, he’s a police procedural consultant for the studio. Dan, I mean. So, I know what you should ask.”

“Great,” Ellery said. “Because I feel really awkward doing this.”

Watson, head on Ellery’s foot, let out one of those groans at what he clearly considered one of Ellery’s least convincing performances.

“Nah. It’s fine.” Freddie nodded to Ellery’s phone. “You want to get going?”

“Yep.” Ellery turned on the recorder. “Sunday, November 16. Interview with Freddie Ames.”

“You should probably add the time,” Freddie advised.

“Right. 5:45 a.m. Okay. Well, the obvious question is, did you hear or see anything weird or suspicious last night?”

“No.” Freddie amended, “Until Chelsea screamed this morning.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Really well. It’s so quiet out here. And that’s a great mattress.”

“After you went upstairs—”

“I was reading a script for a movie my agent wants me to audition for. But reading by flashlight is pretty hard on the eyes, and then Chelsea came by.”

“What time was that?”

“I didn’t check the time,” Freddie said apologetically. “I don’t think I’d been reading for even an hour.”

“Was she just saying goodnight or...?”

Freddie gave a short laugh. “You’re so diplomatic. No. We’d hooked up the night before, and I think she wanted to give it another go-round. But I was beat. Then she reminded me that I was going to talk to my agent about taking her on as a client when she gets to L.A.”

“Was she upset that you didn’t want to spend the night together?”

Freddie chuckled. “No. It wasn’t like that between us. Honestly, I think that was just an excuse to remind me to phone my agent. Chelsea’s really ambitious. Which I respect because so am I. Plus, she’s—she was—really talented. I feel like it’s important to pay it forward.”

Ellery met Freddie’s steadfast blue gaze. It had never occurred to him before how much he resembled Freddie onScooby-Doo. Now he couldn’t unsee it.

“It is. She was,” he agreed vaguely. He couldn’t help thinking that Freddie’s acting had improved considerably, because whatever Freddie thought—or pretended to think—no way had Chelsea’s feelings for him been anywhere near as casual as his feelings for her.

Freddie said regretfully, “That was the last time I saw her. I still can’t get over it.”

“It’s pretty shocking. Did you happen to notice the time when she left your room?”

“If the lights had been on, I’d probably have noticed. But the lights were off and I didn’t think to check because...why would I? I didn’t know I’d need an alibi.”

Ellery said quickly, “It’s not that anybody needs an alibi. We know who...who killed her. But.” Inspiration struck. “Dolph will presumably deny everything. Even if he doesn’t, a lawyer will try to build a defense for him. Which means it’s just like you said. Standard procedure.”

“What I’ll never understand is why she’d go down there,” Freddie said. “Especially when it was pitch dark. No offense, but this place is pretty spooky at night. The way the wind moans down the fireplace, and the little drafts from unexpected places, and all the squeaking beams and creaking plumbing. Give me mid-century modern any day.”

“It grows on you.”