'How long do we have to stay here, Doctor,' he complained as they made their way into the waiting room and found some seats. 'I'm knackered! Can't we just deal with all this in the morning?'

The Doctor seemed to contemplate this for a couple of seconds, then shook his head. 'No... no, I don't think so. I'm finding all this rather fascinating, and I don't think the events of tonight have played out fully yet. You can go back if you like, but I think you'll be glad if you stay.'

Their attention was distracted as a tall man in a heavy black trench coat marched into the room. He took his hat off, revealing a balding head with deep-set features and a small but very visible knife scar along his left cheek.

'Which of you guys is the Doctor?' the man asked in a voice that had only a light American accent.

The Doctor seemed to snap out of a daydream, leapt to his feet then reached his arm out to shake the stranger's hand. 'Why, that would be me,' he said, rather pleased with himself. 'It's a pleasure to meet you. And you are. .'

The man shook the Doctor's hand tightly, smiled, released his grip then cleared his throat before speaking. 'My name's Leonard De Sande. I take it you don't follow the motion picture industry, Doctor?'

'I've been out of touch for a while,' the Doctor admitted. 'I tend to stick to books for entertainment, I'm afraid. Far more me.'

De Sande nodded, understanding but not sympathising.

'Then it's not surprising you don't know my work.'

'You some bigwig film star?' asked Ben.

'You know these guys, Doctor?' De Sande asked.

The Doctor nodded and De Sande turned to Ben, chuckling.

'My British friend, I'm a director currently working for Star Light Pictures. You must have seen my past work. The Cold The Cold Blooded Blooded? The Sword of Damocles The Sword of Damocles?'

'I've seen The Sword of Damocles The Sword of Damocles', said Polly. 'It's an old film about a woman who leaves her cheating husband and gets together with a millionaire. My mother loves that film.'

'I'm sure,' said De Sande. 'Everyone does. Sounds like she's got good taste, your mom.'

'Mr De Sande,' said the Doctor, 'may I ask how we can help you? You did, I assume, come here for reasons other than the pleasure of our company.'

'Of course,' nodded De Sande. 'I just wanted to thank you for what you did at the restaurant. I heard a reporter talking to the chef there and he claimed you saved his life, made the hatchet man run, stopped him killing more people.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Well, it didn't happen quite like that, I'm afraid.'

'Well, according to the chef you were quite the hero. I can see the modesty in your eyes. If you hadn't intervened, even more people would have been killed by that maniac. Apparently you seemed to be quite persuasive with the guy. I was wondering, did you know him before tonight? Have you any idea what his motive was for what he did?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'I've never met him before in my life.'

De Sande shrugged his shoulders. 'Oh well. I thought maybe you could shed light on the matter. One of my people was injured and if he was an intentional target then it's in the interests of my security that I know all I can.'

'I'm sorry I can't help you more,' the Doctor apologised.

'Besides, it was the police who did most of the killing.' His voice was deadly serious. 'Even if they were only trying to stop the suspect.'

De Sande's expression was one of mock shock. 'You don't want to go saying things like that around here, Doctor. Believe me. Not if you value your freedom.'

'I tried to stop them,' the Doctor said, his eyes reddening slightly, 'but the sound of the guns firing was too loud. They couldn't hear me.'

'Well, thank you for whatever you did, Doctor. Caleb is very important to me, and I can't imagine how we'd cope if we lost him.'

'Caleb?'

De Sande looked puzzled. 'Caleb Rochefort, of course.

Didn't you see? He was one of those wounded!'

'His name rings a bell...' Ben said.

De Sande seemed stunned by their words. 'Rings a bell?

Caleb Rochefort is one of the most famous and acclaimed young actors in Hollywood!'

'Oh, right,' said the Doctor. 'I wasn't aware of that. How is the poor chap?'

'He's doing pretty well,' De Sande said. 'The bullet that hit him didn't do too much damage, so hopefully he'll be fine with a few days' rest. Word on the street is that if you hadn't convinced the shooter to run he'd have killed every last man in the place.

Caleb would be dead by now. He's worth millions to me he's the star of my new picture and he's contracted for a couple of years down the track. I need him alive for a while yet. You know, I really can't believe you haven't heard of him.'

The Doctor looked uncomfortable. 'Well as I said, I haven't been in town recently and I don't go to the cinema.'

De Sande looked bemused and more than a little suspicious.

'Don't? You mean you never never see any movies?' see any movies?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'I haven't found much to attract my attention in recent times, really. They do say that the cinema's not what it used to be.'

De Sande looked away, a disbelieving smile on his face.

Then he looked back at the Doctor and his eyes betrayed an idea taking shape. He put a finger up to his lips, deep in thought.

'I wonder. .' he said. 'Do you know, Doctor, you could be just the sort of person I'm looking for.'

'Oh?'

'It's not long until my new picture is released, and I need to be sure it will... appeal... to all audiences. Everyone in this town loves the movies, so I fear many of my test... invitees, will be biased in my favour. But you. . if a sceptic like you enjoys my film, then I'll know I've succeeded.'

'I'd hate for you to be disappointed,' the Doctor said, 'but I fear I'm rather difficult to impress.'

De Sande paused for a while. 'I shouldn't be doing this, but I never could resist a challenge.' He reached into the pocket of his coat and took out an envelope which he handed to the Doctor.

'There, take it. It's an invitation to a private party at my place tomorrow night. I'll be screening the picture there. I'm not a betting man, Doctor, but if I were I'd wager half my Star Light shares that you'll change your tune.'

'It's very nice of you to invite me,' the Doctor said, 'but I don't know if I want to attend alone. Would it be OK to bring Ben and Polly along too?'

De Sande paused, unsure of himself, then sighed and smiled.

'Sure. Why not?'

'Thank you,' the Doctor said. 'Most kind.'

De Sande took a small notepad and pencil from his breast pocket and looked expectantly at Ben and Polly. 'May I have your names, so I can put you on the list?'

They told him and he scribbled their names down. 'The Doctor's invitation has all the details on it,' he explained. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be getting off. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow.'

He doffed his hat, then turned and slowly walked away down the echoing hospital corridor.

After Chate had escaped from the Silent Gold, Detective Fletcher had dispatched several units to pursue him, but the events at the restaurant had left the force in disarray and none had been successful. Fletcher had stayed to speak to witnesses at the Silent Gold and the woman Chate had been having dinner with gave him the address of a bar Chate was supposedly heading to. Fletcher had gone to the bar and searched it but there was no sign of the suspect there. So he had given up the search and decided to come to the hospital.

'I'm sorry, Detective,' said a young nurse, pointing disgustedly to Fletcher's cigarette, 'there's no smoking allowed in this part of the hospital.'

Fletcher shrugged his shoulders, got up from the conference-room seat he'd been slumped in for the last twenty minutes, then threw his cigarette to the ground and trampled it under his shoe. He'd been waiting long enough. Ostensibly, he had come here to note the details of the wounded, for taking witness statements once they recovered. He had an ulterior motive for visiting the hospital, however. He wanted to keep tabs on the Doctor. There was something not quite right about the guy's manner, something that was out of place disturbing

though Fletcher couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was.

All he knew was his instinct was screaming at him that he shouldn't be too hasty in exonerating the Doctor of the Reitman killing and he couldn't stop himself from listening to his instincts, even if they occasionally proved to be wrong. Twice in the last year he had been pulled up for arresting a 'dead cert'

who had been easily cleared, and he was damned if that was going to happen again. He had something to prove, and if the Doctor turned out to be guilty after all it would be quite a coup.

Fletcher's lack of promotion frustrated him. He wanted to be somebody, wanted to stand out from the other cops. Pinning a previously cleared suspect would certainly help him realise that goal. If there was the slightest chance the Doctor was hiding something, then he'd find out what it was and expose it.

He marched down the hospital corridor and walked into the emergency room waiting area. The first thing he saw was the Doctor chatting happily to a patient.

'Come here,' Fletcher ordered, grabbing the back of the Doctor's coat and pulling him up.

'Excuse me!' shouted the Doctor. 'There's no need for that kind of attitude.' He wriggled away from Fletcher's grasp and straightened out his jacket. Fletcher didn't think there was much point in doing this, considering that the jacket had been completely crumpled before he'd even touched the Doctor, but it seemed to make the little man a bit happier.

'In there,' Fletcher said, pointing to an examination room.

He flashed his LAPD badge at a nurse who was busy preparing injections in the room and the man left hurriedly, asking him not to be too long. Fletcher ushered the Doctor into the room and closed the door behind him.

'What is this about?' the Doctor asked, clearly annoyed.

'Haven't you caused enough trouble for one night, Detective?'

Fletcher chose to ignore the barbed comment.

'I'll get straight to the point. Despite the events of tonight, and however you've managed to fudge away the evidence, I still think you murdered Reitman, or at least were more involved than you're letting on, and I'm going to make sure I prove it.'

'I can assure you, Detective, I most certainly did not not kill Harold. A suspect was apprehended and subsequently went on the run, yet you still think I had something to do with it? Why is that, Detective? Why won't you leave me alone to be the simple tourist that I am?' kill Harold. A suspect was apprehended and subsequently went on the run, yet you still think I had something to do with it? Why is that, Detective? Why won't you leave me alone to be the simple tourist that I am?'

Fletcher shrugged. 'To be honest, I'm not sure. Los Angeles may be famous for harbouring its fair share of... how can I put it... "different" people, but I've never met anyone like you. To put it bluntly, I don't know if you're stupid or intelligent, but either way you creep me out. I reckon you're hiding something and I'm gunning for you. Ask Bobby Ardiles, ask Sam Rook. I sent both of them down with barely a shred of evidence. Both confessed, eventually, and you will too.'

The Doctor sighed. 'Is that a threat, Detective? How very tiresome.'

'It's whatever you want it to be, Doctor. I'll find out the truth behind the murder, so you'd better watch your back. I certainly will be.'

Fletcher decided that leaving the Doctor to stew on that thought would be more productive than an immediate attempt to beat a confession out of him, so he walked out of the room and left the hospital as quickly as he could. He needed to get home, to sleep. If the next day of the investigation was anywhere near as eventful as this one had been he'd need all the rest he could get.

'Wakey wakey,' said a familiar voice, snapping Ben out of his dozing.

'What time is it?' he asked the Doctor, staring around the waiting room to get his bearings.

'Almost four o'clock. I think we all need to get back to the hotel and get some proper sleep. Polly's just ordered a taxi. It should be here in a few minutes.'

'Well, that was a bloody waste of time,' Ben complained, letting out a large yawn.

'I can't help it if you don't take an interest,' the Doctor said defensively. 'I just thought you'd see a side of this city the guidebooks never tell you about.'

Ben shrugged. 'Yeah, I suppose. And we did get those party tickets.'

They marched across the waiting room and met a smiling Polly, who looked very chirpy considering how long they'd all been awake.

'The taxi should be here in about ten minutes,' she told them. 'Everything OK, Doctor?'

The Doctor smiled. 'Yes. All the patients are stable, and I've had a very interesting conversation with one of my friends from the police force.'

Ben walked ahead of the others, looking forward to getting into the fresh air again. He turned round to see that there was no sign of the Doctor. 'Oh, what is it now?' he sighed. 'Where is he?'

Polly smiled, clearly sympathetic to his exasperation. 'He said he'll meet us outside. I think he's forgotten something.'

'Bloody typical,' Ben exclaimed. 'Wait here Pol, I'm going to fetch him. You know what he's like, we'll probably never find him again if he gets distracted.'

He retraced his steps back along the corridor and soon found the Doctor crouching behind a pillar. He was spying on a man who Ben recognised from their conversation earlier that night as being Mr De Sande. De Sande seemed to be having a heated conversation with a silver-haired man in a heavy trench coat who had a definite air of officialdom about him.

'There you are!' Ben said, tapping his friend on the shoulder.

'Shhhh!' chastised the Doctor, waving at Ben to get into the hiding position he himself was in. He turned to Ben and began to whisper. 'I'm trying to listen. That man there is a rather high-ranking policeman. He seems on very friendly terms with Mr De Sande, don't you think?'