‘Could they all smile?’ Mrs Summers asked nervously. ‘I want to see their teeth.’
Captain Rooney walked into the viewing room. There was Lorraine, at number seven, taller than any of the others. It was strange to see her, chin up, holding the card in front of her, her face expressionless. He moved closer to the glass and stared at the deep scar running down her cheek. She looked different, meaner, harder and yet there was still an attractiveness about her. Her clear eyes seemed to stare back at him, through the one-way glass, almost as if she knew he was there.
The third person to be led across the line-up was the cab driver, unshaven, having been ordered out of bed as he was now working night shifts. He was bad-tempered, asking over and over if he was getting paid for all the time they had used up. He had already identified the woman, hadn’t he? In some ways he’d half expected a row of corpses.
Rooney turned to Bean. ‘Anything?’
‘Yeah. The Summerses both said it could be number four — she’s from Records! And the cab driver said it was the skinny woman, number two. She’s a hooker, but she was banged up on the seventeenth for breaking into a car.’
‘Great.’ Rooney sighed.
Lorraine was asked to wait in reception. She had stood upright in the line-up — that was another little tip: never slouch, makes you look guilty, always meet their eyes. Never smile, just look. They can’t deal with a straight confrontation.
Rooney sat at his desk, swivelling his chair from side to side.
Bean was looking over Lorraine’s charge sheet. ‘We can hold her if you want. You had a look at this? Vagrancy, prostitution — she’s got twenty-five traffic violations, five non-appearances for court hearings...’
‘Yeah, I know,’ muttered Rooney.
‘She said she was at an AA meeting, so did her friends. We can check it if you want.’
Rooney shrugged. Lorraine didn’t fit their description, she looked to him to be doing okay for herself — and she was sober. ‘I can understand why she didn’t want to be brought in.’ He held out his hand for the sheets. ‘I’ll talk to her, you can take yourself off home. Get some rest while you can, this is gettin’ out of control an’ you got no leave until we get results.’
As Lorraine was led along the corridor towards him, Rooney leaned against the wall. He gave a noncommittal nod and held the door wider for her to pass into his office. She sat in the chair opposite his, and waited. Rooney walked slowly round to his chair, sank into it heavily, then rested his elbows on the table.
‘Laura Bradley.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah. I dunno why I said it, just came into my head. Maybe the little kid’s always there, I don’t know... I’m sorry I wasted your time.’
He stared at her charge sheets.
‘I guess whoever you were looking for must have used my address — old ploy. You tried the apartments either side? There’s a lot of oddballs live around that street, and then there’s the liquor store on the corner—’
Rooney interrupted, ‘I know the area. How long have you been sober?’
‘A year,’ she lied.
Rooney sighed. He hadn’t revealed to Bean why he’d not been around when they’d brought in Lorraine. He’d been with Chief Michael Berillo and he’d been hauled over the carpet... ‘I’m being really pushed on this one. Chief inferred I’d be off it if I didn’t get a result soon.’
‘What’s the case?’ Lorraine asked.
‘Seven hookers cracked over the skull with a claw hammer. One of ’em’s only seventeen, rest are real dogs.’ Rooney smirked. ‘Maybe some of ’em are your friends. You want to take a look?’
‘Cunt.’
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Work in an art gallery, go see my kids — pretty boring but it keeps me. Can I go?’
‘No. I need someone to talk to. What do you think of the new station — well, be about five years old now. It wasn’t built when you left, was it?’
She lit a cigarette, and was surprised when he slumped forward, clasping his head in his hands. ‘I’m fucking coming up for retirement, and what happens? I get a case that’s... I keep on going up one blind alley after another. Nothing makes sense.’
He suddenly looked up, and then got to his feet. ‘Come on, take a look, maybe you did know one of these whores.’
She glared at him, and he laughed. ‘Hey! You be nice to me. I could have you locked up. You know how many violations you got outstanding? Twenty-five, sweetheart, so move your butt.’
Lorraine followed Rooney into the incident room. The officers in there turned and stared. Rooney announced loudly that she was an ex-cop, and there followed a few strange glances and a whispered exchange between two females who knew that she’d been in the line-up. She lit a cigarette from the butt and heard someone say it was a no-smoking zone. She paid no attention.
Rooney took her over the photographs, pointing out each woman in turn, where they were found, the dates. She looked closely at Hastings. Pinned next to it was one of him in drag.
‘How about that for a turn-up? Drag artist in his spare time, I found that out,’ Rooney said, as if he expected her to applaud.
She remained with Rooney for two more hours. Back in his office, he talked on and on. She knew he was running everything by her, for no other reason than that he wanted to ran it all by himself. She let him ramble on with barely an interruption and wondered if at the end of all this he was going to book her. Then came: ‘You ever think about that kid? The one you took out?’
She turned away. She didn’t think of him, and she suddenly felt guilty. But Rooney continued, ‘You were good, you know. I wish I had someone here with your dedication. If you’d not got on the bottle, you’d be somewhere now. A lot go the same way — well, not quite as low as you. You hit the skids, didn’t you? Worked the streets?’
‘Yes. Look — can I go?’ She stood up.
‘No, you can’t. Fucking sit down.’
She sat down, and then he blew her away. ‘I want you to do something for me.’
She stared.
‘Make you a deal.’ He picked up the charge sheets between finger and thumb and dangled them. ‘See what you can come up with for me. Ask around the whorehouses, the—’
‘You kidding me?’
He shook his head, his voice suddenly low and unpleasant. ‘No, I’m not kidding. The deal is I’ll clear these,’ he indicated the long list of charges, ‘if you help me out. Somebody’s got to know these hookers, somebody’s got to know something, maybe where Murphy’s hiding out. We’re trying to trace Helen Murphy’s husband but so far no joy and I doubt if it’s him. If you find anything, any link, you got a clean sheet.’
Lorraine laughed. ‘I got a job, Bill.’
He leaned closer to her, and she could smell his stale breath. ‘This is not a job, sweetheart, this is a deal. You get a clean slate for helping me out or I’ll bust you.’
‘Then I’ll need a car—’
‘Fuck off, Lorraine! Look at this. You’ve been charged on eight counts for driving without a licence, without insurance and under the influence. No way can I get that cleared. The other stuff, yes — the no-show for court appearances, prostitution.’
‘What about expenses?’
He laughed, shaking his head. ‘You sure try it on.’
‘I got to eat, pay rent. I walk out of my job, and—’
He sneered, ‘Do what you did before, Lorraine, sell your little ass—’
She leaned over the desk. ‘Screw you. Take those charges and shove them up your ass — it’s big enough to take the entire filing cabinet.’
He roared with laughter and slapped the desk with his hand. ‘Okay. Fifty bucks.’
‘Aday?’
‘A week.’