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would this one from Matt. I needed to find out what had happened.
    Mostly to make sure…“Are all the dogs okay?” I asked Matt, realizing how taut my body had become at the thought they might not be.
    Once again I was in my kitchen, Zoey at my feet. She regarded me curiously, and I patted her head reassuringly before planting myself at the table again for this conversation, willing myself to relax.
    “That was why we were called in. Far as I know the dogs are fine, apparent homicide notwithstanding. A team of our officers is on the scene, which is why I heard about it. I reported in that I’d been there yesterday observing, so I’ve been directed to go there, too.”
    “I’ll see you there, then.” I had to go, for Dante’s sake as well as the animals’. “Any idea what happened to Hans?”
    “Sounds as if he was struck by a car on the street where the filming occurred—and where those poodles were endangered.”
    It could have been a coincidence. An accident. Or so I tried to tell myself as I headed for the Northridge filming site.
    The media had picked up on what had happened, at least part of it. As I drove I listened to the news report of a death at the site of a movie shoot in Northridge, with cops on the scene. But hardly any other details were given. For now, at least, they continued to report that it was an apparent hit-and-run. And maybe it was. Someone could have hit the director and panicked, driving off rather than calling for help. The coincidence of it happening on that street where the dogs had been somewhat in peril could have been just that—a coincidence.
    I’d had to talk my way onto the set yesterday when all it had been was a filming location. Would it be harder today as a crime scene? Undoubtedly.
    But Matt had gotten there first, in his official capacity. Today, he was the one to vouch for me.
    “This is Lauren Vancouver,” he told a uniformed officer at the edge of the cordoned-off area. “She’s involved with animal rescue and is here to confirm that the animals are being handled safely.”
    The cop, probably a rookie considering how young he appeared, looked at Matt. “That’s what Animal Services is here for, isn’t it?”
    “Partly. But—” Before he could finish, he was interrupted by a voice from behind us.
    “The American Humane Association, too.” I turned to see Grant Jefferly behind me, wearing his American Humane vest and a grim expression. “I heard on the news about trouble on this site, so I came right away.”
    I met his eyes. I hadn’t paid much attention to their light blue color before, but their angry gleam now took me aback. I felt he was almost daring someone to accuse him of killing Hans—probably a silly reaction on my part.
    Even so, I couldn’t help recalling his last discussion with the director, at least the last that I had heard. They had not been at all cordial with one another.
    I’d recently figured out the culprits in several murders. That didn’t make me an expert. It didn’t make me a cop or an investigator, or even someone who wanted to be in the position of figuring out a killer’s identity either.
    Besides, I liked Grant’s attitude about the dogs. We’d gotten along well at this site before the filming started. I didn’t want him to be Hans’s killer.
    “Is there some trouble here?” A man in a suit joined us, holding out a badge. “I’m Detective Maddinger. And you are…?”
    In the three other situations where I’d been involved with a murder investigation, the detective on two of them had been Detective Stefan Garciana, and Detective Joy Greshlam had worked on the third. I’d managed somehow to not tread too strongly on their toes, and both had been relatively civil to me—most of the time.
    If I got involved in this one—not that I intended to be more than a curious bystander—I’d have to check with Detective Antonio Bautrel to see what he thought of Detective Maddinger. Antonio was with the LAPD Gang