Cold Shoulder

Chapter 14

Lorraine sat with Rosie in the parking lot adjacent to S and A Vintage Cars. ‘Right, here I go. You wait here and if I’m not out—’

‘I’ll shoot myself.’ Rosie laughed.

Lorraine got out of the car, gave her jacket a quick tug to straighten the back and walked briskly towards the main reception area. No one was around and the vast stretch of the polished mahogany counter held leaflets sprayed out like fans. Dull soft music, songs from the twenties, was in the air. A number of Oscar-like statues, racing cups and awards stood in glass cabinets and everywhere there were pictures of vintage cars.

Five gleaming automobiles were lined up in front of the showroom windows: a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce, a Rolls Corniche, a 1950s Bentley, a Bristol and a two-door Mercedes sports. The leather interiors were as immaculate as the gleaming chrome, wooden dashboards, large steering wheels, by today’s standards almost fragile-looking. Lorraine could see her distorted image reflected in the hub caps. She looked squat.

‘Hi, how can I help you?’

She turned to the equally polished salesman. His hair gleamed, as did his teeth, his deep tan, his eyes. He had the S and A logo on the pocket of his navy blazer and on his maroon tie. He smiled expectantly, one hand shifting his immaculate starched cuff closer to his wrist, he was all logo-ed out. She wondered why he hadn’t had S and A stamped on his forehead.

‘Do you have an office? I’d like to discuss something with you.’

The teeth gleamed as his lips drew slightly apart in another fake smile. ‘Would you like to tell me what it’s about?’

‘Sure, if you have an office. I am Mrs Page, and you are?’

He stepped behind the counter. ‘Alan Hunter. I am the chief sales assistant. How can I help you, Mrs Page?’

He gave her a cool, studied appraisal. Even though his eyes didn’t seem to leave hers, she felt as if he was scrutinizing her from her worn shoes to her second-hand suit. ‘May I ask what you’re selling?’

She would have liked to hit him in the face. She used to love times like this, times when, confronted by a real smartass prick, you drew out your ID and said in a low voice, ‘You want to check my ID, sonny?’

‘I’m not selling and I’m not buying. I need to talk to you in private. What did you say your name was?’

Something in her voice unnerved him so he hesitated and repeated his name.

‘Bight, Mr Hunter. I don’t want to waste any more time and I don’t want to discuss anything in this swimming pool of a lobby.’

He touched the knot of his tie and gestured towards a glass-windowed door.

Lorraine walked across the reception area and paused when she saw a picture of Brad Thorburn. He was sitting on the wing of a racing car wearing a white racing-driver’s suit. One arm clasped a helmet, the other lifted a glass of champagne. To right and left were more pictures of him posing at racetracks.

Hunter opened his office door, motioning her to enter ahead of him. ‘Are you with the police?’

She placed her purse on his empty polished mahogany desk and took out her cigarettes. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

Hunter did not demur and Lorraine surveyed the room. ‘You don’t appear to be very busy.’

‘We are, I assure you. Most of our customers wait for us to deliver, few come to the building. We have hangars and workshops out at the rear of the showroom. Can I ask what you wanted to talk to me about? Is it traffic violations?’

Lorraine sat in the perfectly positioned chair, not too far away from the desk. ‘No. It’s not about traffic violations.’

‘Is it connected with...’ Hunter opened his desk drawer and withdrew a card. ‘A Lieutenant Josh Bean?’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘He was here earlier, some kind of check on stolen vehicles.’

‘That’s not my department. I’m investigating an insurance claim.’ She took out Rosie’s pictures. ‘Do you recognize any of these men?’

Hunter leaned forward, sifting methodically through the photographs. He put seven aside. She watched as he glanced at the one of Steven Janklow. He frowned, hesitated a moment, and then looked up. ‘These seven men work here in various capacities.’

She tapped Steven Janklow’s picture. ‘How about him?’

Hunter picked up the photograph. ‘This could be Mr Janklow. He’s one of the partners but it’s not a very good picture. I recognize the car more than the face. It’s one of ours — it’s actually owned by Brad Thorburn. Is it something to do with Mr Thorburn?’

Lorraine nodded, looking around for an ashtray. As Hunter passed her a silver one with the S and A logo stamped into the centre, she noticed his gold cufflinks which also carried the insignia. She tapped the ash from her cigarette and eased out the picture of the woman driving the Mercedes. ‘Do you know her?’

He stuck out his bottom lip, shaking his head. ‘No. It could be Mrs Thorburn, Mr Thorburn’s mother, but I really wouldn’t know as I’ve never met her. But the car is the same. It belongs, as I said, to Mr Thorburn. Has it been in an accident?’

‘No.’ Lorraine packed away the pictures. ‘Do you have a schedule of who was on or off duty over a period of time?’

He nodded, tapping his foot. She then pulled out Norman Hastings’s picture. ‘Do you recognize this man?’

Hunter sighed irritably. ‘His name was Norman Hastings. Is it his insurance? He was murdered, is that what this is about?’

Lorraine assented.

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I never dealt with him. All I know is he was a pain in the butt. He bought a car from us, long time ago before I joined the company.’ He leaned back, splaying out his hands affectedly. ‘If you buy one of our vehicles at the prices we ask, we have first-class mechanics and maintenance engineers at your service. We attempt to make sure no vehicle ever leaves here without its engine having been rechecked, rebuilt if necessary. Many purchasers have the cars customized to their own specifications. Every modification is made to ensure a trouble-free vehicle, but, that said, we’re not dealing in new cars. Some of these are twenty, even thirty years old, and sometimes there will be problems. But we give a six-month guarantee to every vehicle, and for the first six months we will collect and redeliver should any mechanical fault occur.’

He laughed like an actor, his speech, even his own humour rehearsed. ‘We had someone here not long ago, I think he had a Bentley, and he called us out simply because he was unsure where he should put the gas!’

‘Norman Hastings?’ Lorraine said quietly.

‘His car was a Morgan. He was on the phone almost every day wanting it collected and tested. And then we discovered that the faults were self-inflicted because he was constantly taking the engine apart and rebuilding it — or that’s what Mr Janklow said.’

‘Is Mr Janklow here today?’

‘Yes.’

Lorraine asked if it were possible to find out who was on or off work at the time of Hastings’s murder and that included Mr Janklow.

Hunter plucked at his lip. ‘Why would you want that for an insurance claim? Anyway, Mr Janklow doesn’t work on any schedule system. He comes and goes when he likes.’

Lorraine asked if Janklow was around on the evening when Holly was murdered but Hunter shrugged his shoulders. He stared at a wall calendar. ‘I simply couldn’t tell you. All I know is he arrives and leaves when he feels like it.’

‘Is there a place for parking workers’ cars?’

‘Out back. It’s like an old aircraft hangar — there’s always cars there — our own, some waiting for work to be done, others that have just been shipped in.’

Lorraine opened her notebook and reeled off the car each body had been found in but to little effect. Hunter could not recall any of them. He was becoming puzzled by the dates and lists of cars. She played a wild card. ‘Not even, say, Norman Hastings’s blue Sedan?’

‘Ah, yes, he left that here on a number of occasions.’

Lorraine felt her heart jump, like a kick of pleasure at her own cleverness. ‘Would you just check the last time you saw it here.’

Hunter looked at his watch. He picked up the phone, ‘Sheena, can you please check the last time Norman Hastings came in and left his vehicle? Thank you.’ He hung up. ‘The police asked this, and they’ve already been over the hangars.’

Lorraine lit another cigarette and tossed the match into the ashtray. ‘Hastings sold his car, didn’t he? Quite a few years ago. Do you know if he purchased any other vintage car? Did he sell it via S and A?’

‘Not to my knowledge but I didn’t have anything to do with him.’

‘Did Mr Thorburn also know Hastings?’

‘I believe so.’

The phone rang and Hunter answered it. He drew a notepad towards him, said ‘yes’ a few times, thanked the caller and ripped off the page. ‘Hastings apparenthy had some arrangement to leave his car here — my secretary isn’t sure who he made it with or the last time he came.’

‘So he parked his own car here and yet he hadn’t owned one of your vehicles recently?’

‘Seems so.’

‘Do you think the arrangement would have been with Mr Janklow?’

‘I’ve no idea. My direct boss is Mr Thorburn, not Mr Janklow.’

‘What do you think of him?’ she asked nonchalanthy.

‘Brad? He’s great to work for. He’s firm, you know where you are with him, but he’s also fun, loves a good laugh.’

‘I meant Steven Janklow.’

Hunter pursed his lips in distaste. ‘I have little to do with him so I can’t say what he’s like.’

‘You could try.’

‘I don’t see eye to eye with him, that’s all. He’s volatile. One day he’s friendly, the next he’ll cut you dead. He’s witty but it’s that put-down humour, that’s all.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No.’

‘Is he homosexual?’

Hunter was shocked. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you think he could be? Or could he be something else?’

‘Like normal?’

Lorraine stood up. ‘Fine, so you think he’s a nice, normal guy. I’m sorry, but my firm insists on me completing these amazing questionnaires.’

‘But I told you, he’s not that nice.’

Hunter gave her a hooded look and she smiled broadly. ‘How about not that normal either?’ she said. She was beginning to like the Ivy League car salesman. She reckoned he was being honest with her and was green enough to have taken her at face value as an insurance claim officer. She looked through the white blind to the front yard.

‘Is he suspected of something?’ Hunter asked. ‘The police asked a lot of questions to some of the other staff but they weren’t very interested in me. I wasn’t here the week of the Hastings murder.’ He sounded disappointed.

Lorraine got out the photographs again. ‘What about taking another look at that photo of the blonde woman? Can you tell me if it could be Janklow?’

Hunter picked up the photograph. He studied it and his voice went quiet. ‘I honestly don’t know, Mrs Page, and I would hate to embarrass Mr Thorburn. He’s a good friend.’

‘Norman Hastings’s family cannot sell his car or claim any monies on his insurance until I have completed my questionnaire.’

‘Is Mr Janklow under suspicion?’

Lorraine ran her fingers through her hair. It was difficult to ask what she wanted to know without getting into trouble.

‘There are rumours,’ he said suddenly. She waited as Hunter determined whether or not to continue. ‘I don’t know if I should repeat them as they are just rumours.’ He came to a decision. ‘He has some odd mannerisms and he can be affected. Nobody here knows much about his private life, just that a few years ago there was an inquiry. He was interviewed by the Vice Squad, arrested. Nothing came of it.’

There was a light tap on the door and a pretty girl peered in. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr Hunter, but you have a customer waiting.’

Hunter introduced his secretary, Sheena. Lorraine asked if she and Sheena could have a quick chat and look at the hangar where the cars were kept. He said he had better ask his superior.

‘I’ll wait here with Sheena then,’ Lorraine said.

Sheena looked at Lorraine. ‘You wanna know about Norman Hastings? He used to come here quite a lot. He used to park his car out back — loved to look over the new arrivals. I had to check back this morning for the police. As far as I can remember these were the dates when his car was left here. I gave the officers a copy too.’ She passed over a neatly typed list. ‘I was so shocked when I read about his murder. He was such a quiet, unassuming man, like my dad.’

Lorraine looked over the dates and then smiled warmly at her. ‘If I were to give you a list of other cars, could you see if they were parked out in the hangar at any time?’

Sheena bit her lip. ‘I’ve already got one list from the police but I told them it’s not a garage, we just let the workers park there and a few friends. Sometimes there’s no free space.’

‘Could we take a look at the hangar?’

Lorraine followed Sheena across a wide yard. There were a number of outbuildings and she could see cars on ramps and mechanics working. The business seemed to be thriving and she calculated that there were a lot more employees than Rosie had said.

The hangar was boiling hot and there were rows of cars, fender to fender. Some had tarpaulins over them and seemed to have been left for a considerable time. Dust covered others waiting to be reconditioned and then came a large section of what looked like the workers’ cars.

‘Mr Thorburn likes the employees’ vehicles out of sight, says it’s not a good advertisement. We park here and this is where Mr Hastings’s car usually was, just for a few hours at a time, but he always left the keys. We have to leave the keys in case they need to be moved if a delivery arrives.’

They reached the back of the hangar and looked over three racing cars, all draped in protective silver covers. ‘These are Mr Thorburn’s specials. He used to race a lot, but not so much nowadays. One of his wives created a stink about it...’ Sheena opened a door at the back of the hangar into a corridor. It was air-conditioned, freezing cold compared with the hangar. They passed large offices with white blinds on the windows. One was Brad Thorburn’s, his name on a wood plaque cut into the door. They arrived at Sheena’s where she took out a large log book to check the list of cars Lorraine had given her. ‘It’s the same list the police gave me. I told them there was just the one. Mr Hastings’s.’

The phone rang. She answered it, listened and then said, ‘I’d better go. I’ve got to take the sales invoices to Mr Hunter. Every week the top salesman gets a bonus.’

‘Can I wait?’

‘Sure. I’ll tell Mr Hunter you’re in here.’

Sheena gathered up a file and walked out. She left the door ajar. As soon as she was half-way down the corridor, Lorraine closed the door, picked up the log book and began to search through it. She was getting close, she knew it. She felt herself growing excited. She was sure Steven Janklow was connected to the case.

Rosie got out of the car, her dress sticking to her in the heat. A number of people had already taken a good look at her, noticing that she was parked in their yard. She walked round the car, fanning herself with her hand. She was thirsty and Lorraine had been gone over an hour. Just as she thought she would go into S and A, a mechanic walked out of the building and headed towards her. ‘This is a private road, you want something?’

‘No. My friend’s inside,’ She pointed to the S and A building.

‘Why don’t you wait over there? We’re expecting a delivery any minute. Go on, move.’

Rosie returned to the car and started up the engine. She backed out and parked for a while in the street. Then she circled the block. She was heading past S and A when a white Mercedes passed her and drove onto the forecourt. Rosie watched Steven Janklow head round to the rear of the building and disappear before she could get her camera out. She dabbed her sweating face with a tissue. ‘Come on, for God’s sake, Lorraine, what are you doing in there?’ she muttered. From where she was parked, opposite the garage, she could see a smart salesman talking to two Japanese men. All three disappeared inside. Still no Lorraine.

The door opened and Sheena came back in. ‘Sorry, but I got held up. I haven’t been able to speak to Mr Hunter yet — he’s still with a couple of clients and I think they want a test drive.’ A voice from one of the other offices called, ‘Good morning, Mr Janklow.’

Sheena pulled a face. ‘He’s here. Look, I’d better go and tell Mr Hunter that you’re still waiting.’

Lorraine picked up her purse. ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll find him myself. Thank you for the coffee.’

‘I hope I was of some help. It was just so terrible, poor Mr Hastings.’

‘Did you see him when he was here the last time?’

‘No, but when he came to see Mr Janklow, he’d pop in and leave me his car keys. I think he banked up the street, but his office isn’t far away. He was always anxious about parking fines. Funny, really, worrying about something as small as that and then... he gets killed.’

‘But Mr Janklow was here then?’

‘Yes. Do you want to speak to him?’

‘Maybe later. I’ll just go see Mr Hunter. Thanks for everything.’

Lorraine walked out, into the blast of cold air in the corridor. Her heart jumped as she passed Janklow’s office but he was not inside; through the blinds, she could see a secretary placing papers on the desk. She continued along the corridor, came into the hangar and walked quickly out into the sunshine. She stood for a moment to get her bearings and then took off towards the path winding around the building, intending to go back to Rosie. Then she saw the Mercedes parked by a car-wash area. She hugged the wall when she saw a man talking to one of the attendants. He was gesturing to the car’s wheels. Then he leaned into it and pointed to the interior. She saw the attendant nod, then heard him tell two black kids to wash and vacuum Mr Janklow’s car, and polish up the chrome on the hub caps and fenders.

Lorraine waited, half wanting Janklow to turn round so that she could see his face but not wanting him to catch sight of her. He was wearing a pale blue linen jacket, white slacks and sandals. Slim, immaculate, his hair cut short and tight to his head — blondish-brown hair — just as she remembered. Steven Janklow was the man who had attacked her, she was sure of it. If only she could get a good look at his face.

Hunter appeared at the showroom doors. ‘We’ve a customer who wants a trial drive, Mr Janklow. It’s the Silver Cloud but we’ve already got someone that asked if we’d contact them if it looked like we’d got a sale.’

Janklow walked slowly towards him and Lorraine pressed closer to the wall. They were about to enter the building, Hunter stepping aside to allow Janklow to go in ahead, when Hunter saw her and waved. ‘I won’t be a moment, Mrs Page, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’ As soon as they disappeared, Lorraine hurried along the wide lane, past the Mercedes, to the road, hoping that Janklow’s attention would be on the customers.

As Janklow was walking towards the Japanese customers, Hunter mentioned that the police had been to speak to him that morning about Norman Hastings. He added, ‘There’s another insurance broker, or something to do with Hastings’s car, here. She was in my office but I just saw her outside. She wanted to know about Hastings parking his car in the hangar.’

Hunter was used to Janklow’s mood changes but he was stunned when the man pushed past him and walked back out the way they had come in.

‘What about the Silver Cloud, Mr Janklow?’

Janklow’s fists were clenched as he strode along the corridor to Sheena’s office and opened the door. She gave a nervous smile at the sight of him. ‘Where is this woman from the insurance company?’ he demanded.

‘She just left me, Mr Janklow.’

‘What did she want?’

Sheena swallowed. ‘Same as the other two officers. She was making inquiries about vehicles we allowed to be parked in the hangar.’

Janklow picked up the log book. ‘Did you get her name?’

‘I presumed Mr Hunter must have. She was interviewing him this morning.’

‘What do you mean, interviewing?’

‘Well, just talking to him. I don’t know what he said or anything. I was only doing what I was told, Mr Janklow.’

He walked out and into his own office, banging down the heavy book in a fury. He then rang through to the showroom.

Hunter was turning the engine over, the Japanese looking on with interest, when the phone went. Hunter excused himself and went to answer it. Janklow seemed hysterical, screaming for him to get into his office immediately. He didn’t care if they had customers, he wanted to speak to Hunter this second. If he valued his job he would get himself over there. Before Hunter could reply the phone was banged down.

Lorraine ran towards Rosie and climbed in beside her.

‘Thanks a lot, I’ve been roasting alive out here. Have you any idea how long I’ve been waiting? I’ve been round the block four times and I’m dying of thirst.’

Lorraine told Rosie to get out of sight of S and A. She hit the dashboard with her fist. ‘I’ve got him, Rosie, I know he did it. Maybe he did them all but I’m damned sure for one that Janklow killed Norman Hastings. We got an A-l suspect for Rooney.’

Rooney was sweating in spite of the chill of his air-conditioned office. He expected the FBI any minute to talk to him and the rest of the day would be spent discussing the murders, and his lack of progress. He’d finished the bottle of bourbon, his nose was redder than ever and his eyes were bloodshot. Bean put a large mug of black coffee and a packet of peppermints in front of him. Rooney had seemed less than interested in the new victim; he’d merely glanced at the reports and photographs. ‘What was she? Man, woman or what?’ Rooney muttered.

‘A transsexual prostitute. It’s in the report, happened last night around ten thirty.’

The only thing different about this one was that she had been hammered to the side of the head first, and had no rear scalp wound but multiple facial injuries. It had not yet been ascertained if the weapon was the same as that used in the previous murders.

‘Any witnesses?’ Rooney asked.

‘Nope. She or he was seen on the streets, then said she was going to have a break because she’d got something wrong with her right foot.’

‘That it?’

Bean nodded.

‘Well, let these smart-alecks sort it. Any sign of them yet?’

‘Due any time. They went out for lunch. Oh, you wanted a low-key inquiry run off at the S and A garage about the workers. Well, it’s all here. Hastings’s car was parked there in a hangar but he removed it the day before he was killed. He used it as a free parking lot — he knew the management. Place belongs to the Thorburns.’ Bean tweaked two fingers up when he said the name. ‘You want to take it further?’

‘If his fackin’ car wasn’t parked there on the day he died then it’s not much use to us, is it?’

The phone rang and Rooney motioned for Bean to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, Bean saw Rooney swivel round to face the wall behind him, the report of the morning’s interviews at S and A left untouched on his desk. He hoped Rooney would get his act together before the FBI grilled him. He looked shot and stank of liquor.

Lorraine was using a public call box.

‘You got something for me?’ Rooney snapped.

‘Yeah, but I don’t want to discuss it over the phone.’

‘Dunno if I can get away. There’s been another one.’ He gave Didi’s real name and that she was a transsexual prostitute. ‘She was in the car like the others, similar head wounds. Car was reported stolen a few hours after we found it.’

‘When did it happen?’ she asked bluntly.

‘Last night, around ten. Nicknamed Didi. You ever heard the name?’

They agreed to meet in an hour and a half’s time at Rooney’s favourite Indian restaurant. Just as he picked up the reports, the phone rang again. He was required in the Chief’s office. The FBI were waiting.

Lorraine joined Rosie in the car. ‘Where to now, partner?’ Rosie asked.

‘Didi’s dead — one of the transsexuals you met at the gallery.’

Rosie switched on the engine and Lorraine told her to put her foot down: she was meeting Rooney but wanted to talk to Nula first.

‘You going to tell him everything?’ Rosie yelled over the noise of the car engine. ‘Only you could maybe get some more dough out of him if you got a suspect.’

Rooney slipped the knot of his tie closer to his sweat-stained collar. The Chief cracked his knuckles, waiting impatiently for an answer. ‘I don’t need this, Bill. Who the fuck did you send there?’

Rooney shifted his weight. ‘Lieutenant Bean and another officer.’

‘The complaint was about a woman.’

‘She used to be a cop and she’s been doing some work for me on the streets.’

‘This isn’t on the street, Bill, this is somebody impersonating a police officer.’ Rooney pulled at his tie again. He had no idea what Lorraine had been doing at the S and A, or why his chief was getting so hot under the collar. ‘It’s not in any report, Bill. What was she fucking doing there? That family have big connections and they’re screaming about this. I want you to go there personally, iron it out. We’ve got enough bad press as it is and I don’t intend losing my job over this.’

Rooney gave a half smile. ‘Yes, sir. They that powerful? This garage a big deal, huh?’

The Chief glared. ‘It’s the Thorburn family, old money, big money. Fucking back off them. Go on, get out.’

‘What about the suits? I thought I was having a briefing with them.’

‘Sort this out first.’

Rooney knew who the Thorburns were, not that you heard much about them nowadays but their donations to police charities were legendary. Lorraine Page had better have something for him.

Nula was distraught. Her face, devoid of make-up, looked haggard, her eyes without their false eyelashes were puffy and red from weeping. As soon as she saw Lorraine she broke down again. She wore a silk kimono and bedroom slippers. In the raw light of day the apartment was claustrophobic with its drapes and stuffed animals. Rosie hovered, finding it difficult not to stare at the overtly sexual pictures that hung on all available wall space. Lorraine fetched a glass of water and sat by Nula, holding her hand.

‘Tell me what happened.’

Nula wiped her face with a sodden tissue. ‘She used to have a number of regulars, she often stayed out all night. When she didn’t come back I thought she’d scored. It wasn’t her at the door when you phoned — it was the cops to tell me.’

‘Do you have a list of her regulars?’ Lorraine asked.

‘No, of course I don’t. Nothing was ever arranged, they’d just turn up on the streets and sometimes she used that motel Roselee, but the rooms there were getting expensive. Sometimes she brought them back here, I dunno their names. I’ve got my own clients and she’s got... Oh, God — I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.’

‘Can you describe any of her johns? Did you see any that night?’

‘No! She was with me one minute and then she just walked off.’

Lorraine opened the envelope. ‘Will you look at these photographs and tell me if there’s anyone you recognize?’ Nula looked at each one, sniffing and blowing her nose. Lorraine saved the blonde in the Mercedes until last. ‘What about this woman?’

Nula took the photograph. It was the only one she showed any interest in, but she shook her head.

‘Are you sure? Keep looking at it, Nula, look at the car — it’s an old Mercedes sports car. Look at the woman... is it a woman?’

Nula turned away. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. I want to be left alone, please, please just leave me alone.’

Rosie leaned forward. ‘That car was driving along Sunset last night. Did you see Didi speak to the driver — maybe get into the car?’

Lorraine gave Rosie a discreet wink. Rosie remained silent, eyes swinging from Lorraine to Nula; she was impressed with her friend, she was hot shit.

Nula scrutinized the picture of the blonde. ‘Does this woman have something to do with Didi?’ Nula asked. ‘Do you think she had something to do with her murder?’

‘She might, but do you recognize her?’

‘No, I just said so, didn’t I?’ Nula passed the picture back.

Lorraine stood up and packed away the photographs. Nula began to sob again, burying her face in her hands.

‘We’ll let ourselves out, Nula, and I’m so sorry, really sorry.’

Nula hugged her kimono tighter around herself, the tissue in shreds now as she plucked at it with her long, painted fingernails. ‘She was the nicest person I’ve ever known. I’m all on my own now, I’ve nobody, she was my best friend. I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t afford this place — I’ve got no money.’

‘What about Art? Do you know where you can contact him?’

‘He’s left town. We haven’t heard from him since the gallery closed. I’m not sure where he is.’

Nula waited until she heard their car driving away before she went into the bedroom and opened a drawer in the bedside table. She took out a black diary and thumbed through the pages. Just seeing Didi’s childish scrawled writing made her want to weep again but she gulped back her tears, flicking over the pages until she found what she was looking for. She went back to the hallway and picked up the phone. She pressed each digit and waited.

‘Hi, this is Art. I’m not in, but please leave me your name and number, and I’ll get back to you, okay? And wait for the tone before you leave your message.’

‘Art, it’s Nula. Will you call me? It’s very urgent. We have to talk.’

She replaced the receiver and went into the bathroom. She’d have a long perfumed soak, that would make her feel better, and she was going to feel better. But before she turned on the taps, she went into the bedroom and knelt down by the bedside table. Lifting the curtain, she opened the bottom drawer and withdrew a large, square manilla envelope. She pulled out a number of photographs, then sat back on her heels. The one she wanted was black and white, of a woman sitting on a bed, wearing a long fifties evening gown with padded shoulders, a bit like Barbara Stanwyck, of that era. She was elegant, exceptionally beautiful. He had wanted to look like her, had brought the photograph for Didi to match, and she had worked for hours on him. The wig had been on a stand for days as she had teased and set it, ready for him. He had paid a lot of money for the session and Art had taken the photographs, draping the room to his specifications, down to the flower arrangements. The blonde woman was the same as the one in the picture Lorraine had shown her. Nula didn’t panic. She slowly got to her feet and began to search through all the stacks of photographic files.

Rosie dropped Lorraine outside the Indian and drove off.

Rooney was already sitting at a table with a glass of beer. ‘This had better be good and you’d better have a fucking good reason for barging into that S and A place. What the fuck were you doing there?’

Lorraine picked up the menu, asked if he’d ordered, but he said he wasn’t hungry.

‘You run a check on the S and A employees like I asked?’ she said.

Rooney swigged his beer, banging the glass onto the table.

‘There was a vice charge against Steven Janklow. You got a record of it? Be a few years back. Picked up for pavement crawlin’, I think. He part owns the garage. His brother is Brad Thorburn.’

‘What’s your interest in him?’

Lorraine laid her hands flat on the table. ‘I think he’s your killer.’

Rooney pulled at his nose. ‘What evidence have you got?’

She rubbed her cheek. ‘I don’t, but I do know that Hastings’s car was left in their hangar.’

‘You any idea who Janklow’s family is?’

She shrugged. ‘I guess they must be important if they’ve got you running. Can you check if there was a vice charge? If there was, you can get him for questioning, see if he can account for himself over Hastings. It’s him, Bill, I’m sure.’

‘Why?’

Lorraine took her time to outline the reasons before she told him that she was sure Janklow was the man who had attacked her. It didn’t sink in for a while. Then he looked up.

‘You wanna say that again?’

‘I said, I think he was the man who attacked me, the man that I bit a chunk out of his neck.’

He leaned back, partly in disbelief, then got out his cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth. He stared fixedly around the restaurant, feeling as if the floor was opening up, and inhaled deeply. ‘You stupid bitch.’

‘I’m sorry, I was scared to come forward. I picked him up—’

‘Sweet Jesus.’ Rooney shook his head.

‘He attacked me with a claw hammer. I’m sure it was Steven Janklow.’

‘You seen him face to face? Or, more to the point, has he seen you?’

‘No, I’ve held off facing him, I don’t want to tip him off.’

Lorraine’s order was placed in front of her. Rooney waited until the waiter had moved off before he leaned towards her. ‘Say it is him — say he’s the guy that attacked you. You can identify him...’

She had picked up her fork but put it down again. ‘I identify him, he denies it, he walks. It’s just the word of an ex-hooker, ex-drunkard against a fine, upstanding citizen, right? All he’s got to say is he wasn’t anywhere near the street I was picked up in and I got to admit I was picking him up for a few bucks. It wasn’t his car, it was Hastings’s car and Hastings’s body was in the trunk. Now who’s gonna believe who?’

Rooney drained his beer and beckoned the waiter to bring another.

Lorraine messed around with the food on her plate, then pushed it away. ‘I think he’s a transvestite.’

Rooney ran his hands through his hair. ‘What?’

‘I think Janklow’s a transvestite.’

‘Think? I need more than you fucking thinking, I need evidence, I need facts. Jesus Christ, Lorraine, you know how crazy this all sounds?’ He put his head in his hands. The more she told him, the worse it all sounded. ‘You think the guy that hit on you was Steven Janklow, right? You also think Steven Janklow is a transvestite. Is there anything else you might have just glossed over — that maybe he has two heads?’

‘Back off me. All the dead women have a similar look, similar age.’

‘What about Holly?’

‘I think she’s the mistake. Because of the last one, Didi.’

Lorraine explained that she thought the killer was trying to pick up Nula or Didi on the night Holly was murdered. She told him how they had both seen a car, had both seen Holly run across the road to a punter. Her pimp Curtis saw her — but maybe the john was trying to pick up Didi or Nula. Once he’d got Holly he had to get rid of her. Maybe he panicked.

Rooney argued that it didn’t make sense. Why didn’t he just kick her out, if he’d got the wrong one? His head throbbed and he still couldn’t believe how she’d held out on him like this.

Lorraine banged the table. ‘Wait a minute! The wrong one. What if they were all the wrong ones? What if he was looking specifically for Didi all along? They’re all the same age, all dyed or bleached blondes, but he can’t find the one he’s looking for, the main one.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that this guy clubs seven women to death because he’s looking for one, and we forget Norman Hastings? Did he think he was one as well? This is dumb, Lorraine. You lost your touch, sweetheart. We’re looking at someone who’s bumped off these women over five years, and he’s doing it because of mistaken identity? Nuts!’

Lorraine twiddled her fork. ‘Okay, let’s try something else. Let’s go through every victim, including Hastings. He was a drag artist, right? He used to park his car at S and A years after he was doing any business with them but he knew Janklow. Maybe he found out something?’

Rooney delved in his pocket for his wallet. ‘Maybe I’m wasting my time. I got to go take a leak.’

‘But listen to me, there’s every type of tool and hammer at the S and A. Can’t someone check there? Match them? What if the hammers came from there?’

Rooney jabbed the air with his finger. ‘Stay away from that place, is that understood? From now on you don’t go anywhere near it. I’ll have the place looked over again — in fact, I’ll do it personally — but you stay well away.’ He squinted at the bill and looked up at her. ‘I’ll check out what I think fit.’

‘The Vice Squad, can you check that for me? See what Janklow was picked up for?’

‘For you? Who in chrissakes do you think is runnin’ this show? I’ll take it from here. If you wanna press charges for assault—’

She leaned back. ‘You know I won’t do that but if you get more evidence, then I can be used as a lever. We let him confront me, let him know I’m alive and can identify him, and then see what he does. Use me to catch him. I’m willing.’

Rooney hauled his bulk out of the booth. ‘Lemme think on it.’

She followed him as he headed for the restroom. ‘Bill, he used a hammer on me. It’s him.’

He whipped round. ‘I could have you for withholding evidence. I only paid you to get out on the streets to talk to the hookers, so back off. I’ll contact you when I need you.’

‘I need a few dollars, I’m flat broke.’

‘Not my problem,’ he said as he pushed open the restroom door, and let it swing closed.

When he came out of the restaurant she was waiting by his patrol car. She gave that strange, lopsided smile and he relaxed slightly. Although he was loath to admit it, she had pushed the investigation further — had even supplied him with a suspect.

‘Lemme see what I come up with — but you do nothing until you hear from me, okay? Here’s a few bucks, go home, wait for me to call. If it’s Janklow, leave him to me.’

She took the money and watched him drive off. She checked the time — just after two thirty. As she walked to the bus stop she was thinking over everything she had said to Rooney. She had been clutching at straws, but what if she was right? What if there was a connection between Didi and Janklow? She hailed a taxi and, instead of returning home, told the driver to take her to Nula’s place.