Sylvester signed up for the Centurion Studios tour. He didn’t want to, but it was the easiest way for him to get onto the lot. As a result he found himself with a bunch of tourists oohing and aahing over old sets where movies once had been filmed.
He snuck away as quickly as possible and found himself in the production wing of Centurion Studios. The office of Ben Bacchetti, the head of the studio, dominated the wing. The offices of the producers and directors radiated out from there.
Sylvester passed the office of Peter Barrington and came to the office of Billy Barnett.
Sylvester sighed. Under any other circumstances he would have pushed his way into the outer office and sweet-talked the secretary into giving him a chance to find something useful. Only this was a case where he didn’t dare let his visit, however innocuous, be associated in any way with the result. As things were, he needed a place to hide out.
A bathroom was possible, but inconvenient. A storeroom would be better. He spotted what looked like the door to one at the end of the hall.
Sylvester’s expertise with locks, though not up to Teddy’s standard, was still pretty good. He had the door open in less than a minute. He slipped inside and was rewarded to find a low-use storage cabinet, not with papers and pencils and daily shooting schedules and the like, but instead with a number of canvas tarps, cots, and chairs, the type of equipment apt to be brought out on a particular day to fill a particular purpose.
Sylvester set up one of the cots. He switched his phone to vibrate and set it for nine o’clock. Then he lay down on the cot and went to sleep.
At 9:05 Sylvester pushed open the storage room door and slipped out into the hallway. The building was still in use, but most people had gone home. Lights were on in the corridors, but most of the offices were dark, including Billy Barnett’s. Sylvester took two metal strips from his pocket and picked the lock.
The lock on the inner office was no more difficult than the one on the outer. Sylvester slipped in and closed the door behind him. He took a penlight out of his pocket and switched it on.
At first glance there was nothing of interest. The desk was nearly bare. The outbox was empty. A couple of screenplays were stacked on the far corner of the desk, a good indication they were something the producer had been putting off reading.
Sylvester searched the office. He found a wall safe underneath a movie poster. Smiling, he set out to open it. A few minutes later he was no longer smiling. Well, that was interesting. Sylvester could get into most office safes with little trouble, but this one had him stymied. The lock was much more sophisticated than any movie producer could possibly need. What could he keep in it? A hush-hush screenplay?
Whatever it was, Sylvester wasn’t getting a look at it. He replaced the poster and looked around the office.
All right. It didn’t have to be important, it just had to be personal.
Sylvester went to the desk. He opened the top drawer and was greeted by a number of papers, none of them personal. The one on top was a receipt for a takeout delivery. Billy Barnett had had a sandwich delivered and signed for it with a credit card.
Perfect. Sylvester pocketed the receipt, closed up the office, and slipped out the door.