Rosie ate the spaghetti, waded through the garlic bread and, filled to bursting point, heaved herself onto the sofa. Switching on the TV, she paused briefly to watch the news, then flicked on to find a game show.
‘They’ve still not found that guy that bumped off that local fella. You know what always amazes me?’
Lorraine was washing up. ‘No?’
‘Well, you know when they put all these ads out for people to come forward if they saw anythin’? That murder happened weeks ago. How do they expect anybody to remember? I wouldn’t be able to remember if I saw a guy in a metallic blue car this morning, never mind weeks ago.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Lorraine said, wiping round the sink. ‘I was working on a case once, and we were up shit creek without a paddle, and then this boy was hypnotized and he gave not only the car’s registration number, but about four or five others as well.’
Rosie switched channels again. ‘I wouldn’t have that done, you know why? Because it means they always got you in their power.’
Lorraine sat down beside her, her mind miles away. She thought again about the wallet, the man who had attacked her. She was vaguely surprised that he hadn’t been traced yet. She closed her eyes, conjuring up a mental picture of him, the way he had picked her up at the roadside, how he had wanted her to give him a blow-job in a public place. She saw him as clearly as if it had been yesterday. She remembered his hands: long, thin tapering fingers. Had he worn a ring? She concentrated hard, no, she was sure he had no ring, but then she saw his cuff, his jacket sleeve, and the cufflinks. She leaned forward, frowning in concentration, and then shook her head. It was no concern of hers, she had enough to think about, and besides, the further removed she was from it the better.
The following morning Lorraine went off to the gallery, pausing on the way to buy a newspaper. The headlines shrieked in big bold letters: POLICE HUNT SERIAL KILLER. Sitting in the gallery, she read the entire article, then folded the paper. It seemed almost comical that Captain Bill Rooney should be heading the investigation. From her own past experience with press releases, they had trouble on their hands. She could tell they were covering up, the old phrases they all used to churn out about ‘making headway’, ‘confident of an arrest’. But the biggest giveaway was the police request for any member of the public having further information to make contact. It meant they had zilch.
The buzzer sounded and a flushed, excited Art rushed in, carrying a small gym bag ready for his workout next door. ‘I think, my dear, I just made a killing. Last night I had a friend over who knows a big dealer out of New York. He saw the new stuff and went ape-shit! He’s back tonight and he’s not just interested in one or two but the whole show!’
Lorraine was genuinely pleased as it also meant more money for her. Art had promised that as soon as business picked up she would get a better wage. He danced around, checked the mail, and then said he would be next door if anyone wanted him.
She took another look at the canvases hanging on the walls, still not impressed with the daubs of colour and squiggles that the new Art discovery had supplied.
Later, Nula dropped by. She put her arms around Lorraine. ‘You know, I think you’re looking even better. As soon as your hair grows a bit more, ask Didi to style it — she’s an artist. She can colour as well — she does mine, and she does Holly’s—’ She froze, and covered her mouth. ‘Oh, God, I forgot.’
‘There’s a big article in the paper this morning, and a photograph.’
Nula looked at it. ‘She was much more beautiful than that, a real stunner. You know, the cops have been out every night. Terrible for business, but they reckon this maniac only does whores, so everybody’s a bit uneasy. First time they came round, hardly any of us out, but you know business is business. And I doubt if he’d come our end of the street, we just have our usuals and a few that have been tipped off.’
Lorraine smoothed her skirt. ‘All the same, you two should look after yourselves. Take the vehicle registration of the johns you’re wary of — or better still, don’t go with them.’
Nula cocked her head to one side. ‘That’s just what the cops told us.’
Lorraine smiled. ‘Well, make sure you do it.’
Nula opened her tapestry bag and took out a packet. ‘Give this to Art for me, would you? It’s just some more postcards, and our rent. See you soon.’
Lorraine put the packet in the desk drawer and was just about to shut it, when she noticed a thick wad of notes secured with just an elastic band. She looked to the door, then back to the open drawer. She took the money out and flicked through it. There was at least two or three thousand dollars. She held it a moment, tapping it in her hand, then replaced it.
About an hour later Art returned, pink from his workout, his bald head gleaming. He dropped his gym bag and fractionally adjusted a canvas.
‘You mind if I say something?’
He turned, and smiled. ‘Oh, you sounded so stern, why should I?’
‘There’s a lot of money in the drawer, Art, and it’s not locked or anything. Anyone could just walk in and take it.’
Art danced over and banged open the drawer. ‘I meant to put it in the bank this morning but I forgot and I didn’t want to leave it in the health club.’
Lorraine watched as he tossed the money into his gym bag.
‘Right, I have to go. Will you lock up, leave the keys with Hector next door?’ Then, pursing his lips, he delved into his pocket, dragged out his wallet, and started counting out ten-dollar bills. ‘Whoops... I’m a wee bit short. Can I give you the rest on Monday, darling?’
Lorraine flushed. ‘I need it all today, Art. I have to go somewhere this weekend.’ She couldn’t help but flick a look to the gym bag.
‘That belongs to a friend.’
She shrugged. ‘Monday will have to do.’
‘Okay.’ Art smiled. ‘Is that your paper? Have you finished with it?’
She passed it to him. He glanced at it and then held up Holly’s photograph. ‘I didn’t know her but she was a friend of Nula and Didi’s.’
He waltzed out, and the door slammed behind him. Remembering Nula’s package she hurried after him, only to see him driving away in a cab. She felt pissed off: she needed her money to buy a little something for the girls. She put the package away, then opened the drawer again, took it out and looked at it. Nula had said that her rent was in it; maybe she could just take out what she was owed and leave a note.
Lorraine eased open the package, pulling the Scotchtape away, making sure she didn’t rip the paper. As well as some postcards wrapped in a sheet of paper, there was a brown manilla envelope. She crossed to the kettle, and turned it on to steam open the flap. Inside was a big pile of notes. She was surprised by the amount — unless they were behind with their rent. She counted out sixty dollars for herself, and was about to replace the rest and reseal the envelope when she wondered if the postcards were meant for the gallery, so she opened the paper.
Lorraine sat down. She felt sick. It wasn’t that she hadn’t come across pornographic material when she was on Vice, but each of these was especially revolting because they featured Nula and Didi. Maybe if she’d been more together, she would have realized when she visited that they used their apartment for photographic work — there were certainly enough props. She sighed, looking intently at each disgusting picture, sad that Nula and Didi could subject themselves to such degrading acts, displaying their genitals, their heavy breasts. They featured together, just the two of them, on the first few cards, and then they were joined by various animals and masked figures, and on four cards a pretty sweet-faced blonde girl appeared, her face childlike but her breasts over-large and her curved body taut and firm. Her eyes unfocused, she looked as if she had been drugged, but Lorraine recognized her immediately. It was Holly. No wonder Didi and Nula had been so upset. They knew her because both had screwed her. If the cards had been just of Nula and Didi, even with Holly, Lorraine would perhaps have been less upset, but the rest showed obviously under-age boys committing homosexual acts.