Cold Shoulder (45 page)

She unfolded the photographs. ‘These were behind pictures of Mrs Thorburn. Look at the back. Can you see who took them?’

Rooney snatched the pictures and reached into his glove compartment for a torch. He shone it onto the creased photograph.

‘Can you make it out?’

‘Can you?’ He passed the torch across to her and she shone it on the faded photographer’s stamp. ‘Professional Photo Studio,’ she said slowly, disappointed it had not said Art Mathews — yet it could have been his studio, or even Craig Lyall’s.

‘So you got photographs of a woman,’ Rooney said flatly.

‘They’re not of a woman, Bill, it’s a man dressed up. And it’s not just any woman he’s dressed up to look like, but Mrs Thorburn. I think it’s Janklow.’

‘Jesus Christ, now what you tellin’ me? That he’s a homo or a transvestite, or what? Is he or isn’t he the man who fucking attacked you, Lorraine?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know. Well, that is fucking great.’

‘I didn’t see him, Bill — that’s why I went there.’

‘I told you to stay in the apartment. You promised me. You done nothing but jerk me off, Lorraine.’

She sighed, watching her car being driven past followed by the patrol car. They tooted and waved at Rooney. As Lorraine’s car drove away, the patrol car slowed.

‘Everything okay, Captain?’ The officer stared at Lorraine in the back seat.

Rooney jerked his thumb at Lorraine. ‘Yeah, it’s all fine. I found her. Go on, I’ll see you back there.’

They watched the patrol car move off and Rooney turned back to her. ‘I got to take you in. You got no option, I got no option.’

‘I went to an AA meeting, I was going to go straight back and wait for you but…’

He fished in his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one from the butt and tossing it out of his window. ‘But you didn’t. I’ve been running all over Pasadena, all over LA looking for you. They got half the cops on duty out looking for you. What the hell have you been doing?’

‘Getting laid,’ she said flippantly.

‘Very funny, Lorraine, you always liked a joke. Well, this time the laugh is on me. Why didn’t you tell me you were with Art Mathews the night of Holly’s murder, with him all night? You were his friggin’ alibi.’

She sighed, leaning forward to rest her arms along the seat. ‘I wasn’t with him all night. I left quite late… Rosie’ll remember, maybe after twelve.’

He passed her a cigarette without her asking for one. ‘I’m out of matches.’

She delved into her purse. What time was Holly murdered, or near as damn it?’ He took the matches, struck one, then held the flame out to her. ‘Thanks.’ She exhaled, waiting for him to answer her question.

Rooney plucked at his eyebrows. There had been so many murders, he couldn’t remember offhand what time they had verified that Holly had died.

Lorraine tapped his arm. ‘About eleven, wasn’t it? She was just starting work so it’d be around ten thirty or eleven. I was with him so he couldn’t have done it.’

Rooney lowered his window. ‘Doesn’t matter to him, he’s dead, but it matters to
you
because the FBI got your name from him. I can’t not take you in.’

He started the engine.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Back to the fucking station, where do you think? I just told you. I’m handing you over, I want you out of my hair, out of my life. You and your theory will land me in a strait-jacket, never mind retiring me. You’ve been feeding me a line of bullshit from day one.’

‘Bill, I swear to you I haven’t.’

He looked at her in the driving mirror, his eyes watering from tiredness and smoke. ‘Holly was murdered after twelve. Lorraine, I was just testing you.’

She punched his shoulder. He stopped the car. Suddenly he was really angry, his jowled face set rigid. ‘What the fuck were you doing at Thorburn’s house? And from what I gathered, you weren’t there for any interview with his brother. Trying to make a few bucks for yourself — is that what you were up to? I wouldn’t put anything past you. Well, now I’m through with you.’

‘Was he in there?’ she asked.

‘You tell me. We won’t get a foot in there without more evidence than that load of shit you got. I’m gonna get it in the neck about this.’

He crashed the gears as the car shot forward. They headed up Mulholland, the road becoming steeper. His car coughed, protesting, but they picked up speed as they moved downhill. Suddenly Rooney stamped on his brakes as they came to the traffic lights at a dangerous multiple crossing. The patrol car was there plus two more cars, and rammed between them, the entire driver’s side smashed to smithereens, was Lorraine’s car. The officer was still inside, his blood spattering the broken windshield and soaking his muscular dead body.

Rooney barked at Lorraine to stay out of sight. As he got out and crossed to the wreckage, she peered out of the window. An ambulance and medic truck arrived and they began to release the driver.

When Rooney came back, he didn’t turn to speak to her but stared straight ahead. ‘He’s dead. He was just a kid.’

‘Was it an accident?’ she asked.

‘What would you say? There’s one, two, three other vehicles involved. He jumped the lights, this junction’s known to be a death trap. He drove straight into it.’ He faced her. ‘This is
your
fault. It’s due to you, you hear me?’

‘Why?’ she snapped back. ‘I wasn’t driving the goddamned car, was I?’

Rooney walked back to the scene of the crash. A few people were gathering around to gawp, more police, and now they had the dead man free. Lorraine saw Rooney and another officer prise open the car’s buckled hood. As they peered inside with a torch, another man crawled beneath it. Rooney was there for almost fifteen minutes. When he got back he sat half in and half out of his car, his feet still on the roadside. ‘Brake cable’s smothered in grease, sliced almost in two, and the handbrake cable’s cut. Did anyone have access to the car keys?’

‘They were in my purse.’

‘They still there?’

Lorraine fumbled and took them out.

‘Did you leave it unattended while you were there?’

‘Yeah. For quite a while when I was talking to Brad Thorburn. We were in the bedroom. I left my purse downstairs.’ She flushed.

He looked at her and shook his head. ‘Christ, I thought you were joking before. Did you screw him?’

‘I wanted information, Bill.’

‘I bet you did.’

‘Why don’t we go back up there, Bill, just you and me? If Janklow’s there, it’s him you should be taking in, never mind me! If I’d been in my car, it would have been me who was dead.’

Rooney slammed the car door and started the engine. ‘No way. Not until I’ve discussed this with the Chief. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be.’

Lorraine had been hoping against all hope that this would never happen but now there was no alternative. She would become a witness for the prosecution and all it entailed. Any idea she had had of starting up as a private investigator would be ruined: when the press got to hear about her part in the murder investigation she and her past would make the headlines. She stared out of the window as they drove towards the precinct. She wanted a drink, could feel it sweeping over her. She wanted a drink rather than face it all.

She hardly said a word as Rooney led her into the station. The duty sergeant noted down all her particulars, she was photographed, and her prints taken. Then she was led away to Rooney’s office.

Rooney had called the Chief and was waiting for him. He had shaved and changed his shirt for what looked like an even more crumpled one from his locker. He was drinking coffee and talking to Bean when Lorraine was brought into the room. Rooney introduced Bean who shook her hand and drew out a chair. ‘When we’re ready, we’ll take your statement. We’ll also tape it and film you, okay?’

Lorraine asked if someone was preparing the movie rights but no one laughed. Bean fetched her some water and cigarettes and, as he seemed so helpful, she asked him if she could call her friend Rosie to let her know she was okay.

Lorraine waited in Rooney’s office for some time. She was told they’d be held up until the FBI agents arrived; neither Rooney nor the Chief could deny them access to her. When she was eventually taken into the large room where everyone was gathered, it was eleven thirty. She remained closeted there for a further four hours. In that time she gave a clear statement of everything that had happened since the day she had first been attacked in the car park. When asked why she had not come forward, she said it was because she had removed Norman Hastings’s wallet. She didn’t lie, she could see no point. She answered all their questions directly and truthfully. No one appeared impressed by her subsequent investigation or her attempts at piecing together the evidence she had accumulated.

‘Why are you so keen on continuing this investigation, even placing yourself at risk?’ one of the agents asked. She didn’t like the look of this one: his square jaw, which worked overtime, his clean-cut face, his blond crew-cut and neat suit, like a comic-strip man.

She looked over at Rooney who nodded quickly. ‘I needed the money, I was being paid to do it by Captain Rooney.’

Although they knew about her record since leaving the police force, they seemed loath to believe that that was the only reason she had taken such risks. Surely she had another motive?

‘I suppose I did. I hoped that if I succeeded in assisting the department, then it would stand me in good stead for the future if I ever wanted to start up as a private investigator. But if I have to be a prosecution witness, then it’ll destroy that chance. I know this case’ll get a load of publicity and like me, well, they’ll go for the jugular — that’s a joke. The ex-cop ex-hooker’ll make good copy, might even get a headline “Madame Dracula”. I doubt I’ll be able to live it down. I might be able to move away, but I’ve got contacts here and you need contacts in the investigation business, right?’

They made no answer but glanced at each other before they all left the room, leaving her with a stone-faced policewoman. They returned an hour later. It was almost dawn. But Lorraine detected another undercurrent.

The Chief gave a grimace — she supposed it was some kind of smile but because he was so tense his lips just curled over his top teeth. ‘Mrs Page, would you be willing to continue assisting this inquiry?’ Rooney wouldn’t meet her eyes and the Chief continued, ‘There could be certain risks involved.’

Lorraine looked at the Chief, then Rooney. ‘You want to make a deal with me, don’t you? Well, I guess it would depend—’

‘On what?’ the Chief asked.

‘On what exactly you want me to do. If I work with you, you’ll have a tough time bringing me into court as a prosecution witness, won’t you? I’d put any money on it that anything connected to the Thorburns you’ll have to tread on lightly. What is it you want me to do? Is Janklow going in a line-up?’

‘The situation is this. If you pick Steven Janklow out of a line-up, it will be his word against yours. You are a chronic alcoholic, ex-prostitute, drug user—’

She snapped, ‘I am also an ex-cop.’

The FBI agent retorted, ‘We know that, and we’d be out of our minds to put that out. With your record, it would make you sound an even worse witness than a hooker.’

The comic-strip man leaned on the desk. ‘I think we got Janklow to agree to come into the station. He’ll be accompanied by his lawyer. What we don’t want is a line-up at this stage. But you came face to face with him, you were attacked, so what I want from you is just a good look. We’ll set him up in an interview room with a one-way viewing section so you can watch him at your leisure. Because you have to be one hundred per cent sure that the man you say attacked you was Steven Janklow.’

Rooney took over. ‘You’re the only witness we have but, that said, we’ll need a lot more. If he did attack you, then he will be charged with assault. If you’re sure it’s him, we can even press charges, but you and I both know, because of who you are and his powerful back-up, he’ll walk.’

‘What about the couple that saw me in the garage?’

‘At no time were they able to describe the man in the car with you, so they can’t be brought on as witnesses — well, not yet.’

So far Lorraine couldn’t see any risk, but then she intercepted the looks between the men. As Rooney moved closer, Here it comes, she thought.

‘You know Brad Thorburn, you’ve had sexual intercourse with him. He inferred that you may have been attempting to blackmail him. We don’t know yet if he has played any part in the murders but he
is
Janklow’s brother, and you’ve told us he even has a pair of cufflinks, so—’

‘You want me to blackmail Brad Thorburn?’ she asked smiling.

‘No, we want you — and only if you’re sure that Steven Janklow is the man who attacked you—’

The comic-strip man was gradually taking over and Lorraine began to try to assess him and to fathom what they wanted her to do. He was steely, assured. She determined that he was trying to make her offer to assist them without them saying it for themselves; whatever it was must be either illegal or, as they had implied, risky. They were all watching her, waiting for her to take the bait…

‘I think I get what you’re after. If I do recognize him and I’m a hundred per cent sure that the man who attacked me was Steven Janklow, then you’ve still only got him on assault. You want to use me to do — what? Put pressure on him and see what it throws up, and at the same time find out if Brad Thorburn is also involved?’

They all straightened and she knew she had not only bitten their bait but was offering to reel herself in. She looked over at Rooney and smiled. ‘I’ll do it but there are certain conditions. If I can get Janklow to admit his part in the murders, maybe by confronting him at his home, if I can get him to admit it and I’m wired up, you won’t need to call me as a prosecution witness. So there will be a guilty plea? That what you’re after?’

They didn’t say a word.

‘I’ll have a try, but I want your word you won’t release my part in any of this to the press.’

‘We can’t guarantee that,’ snapped the Chief.

‘Then bring him in and charge him. Just do what you have to do.’