The man called Lorne was found in a motel by the docks, three days after the studio collapse.
It was Felix who found him. It was always Felix. He had a gift for finding people who didn't want to be found, mostly because he never looked like a man who was looking. He wore wrinkled shirts and carried a paper cup of coffee and walked through the world with a vague, friendly expression. People talked to him. People told him things they'd never tell a policeman.
A maid at the motel had told him about the thin man in room fourteen who paid in cash, kept the curtains shut, and never ate anything but crackers.
At eleven that night, Felix sat in a parked car outside the motel with Damien beside him. Rain drummed on the roof. The neon sign across the road buzzed pink and blue.
"You didn't have to come," Felix said.
"Yes I did."
"I could have handled it. I have two men at the back door and one in the stairwell."
"I want to see his face."
