‘You think I want to blackmail you?’
‘Isn’t that what you came here for? This family has always been an easy mark, so name your price.’
She snatched up her purse. ‘Nothing you could pay, Brad Thorburn. You just think what you want, I didn’t come here for any other reason than to—’
‘What?’ he interrupted. He was angry but controlled.
‘I think your brother is a killer. You won’t be able to protect him or buy him out of this. You know why? Because I’ll prove it.’
Brad sneered, ‘You expect me to believe a word you’ve told me? I’ve had threats from a lot better than you, sweetheart.’
‘What about your brother? Has he had threats?’
‘My brother is no concern of yours. Now get the hell out of my house! Now! Get out!’ Lorraine turned on her heel. He could hear her walking across the marble hallway, the front door slamming behind her. He waited a moment before he called his lawyer, asking him to come to the house immediately.
She was almost at the gates when she saw a reflected blue light and knew a patrol car was near or heading close by. She pushed the gate closed and ran to the shrubbery. She only just made it out of sight as Rooney appeared.
The front doorbell rang and rang. Brad stared out of the window and could see a figure standing outside the gates. For a moment he thought Lorraine had returned. He went out onto the porch, and Rooney announced himself. Brad stood at the door as Rooney walked up the path and stopped on the bottom step. ‘Is Steven Janklow home?’
Brad shook his head and introduced himself. Rooney showed his ID, badge and repeated his name as they entered the house, Brad ushering him ahead. As he closed the door, he saw a police patrol car draw up outside the gates.
Lorraine watched the interaction from the shrubbery. She felt safer now that Rooney was here. She wanted to get back inside the house and remembered the door at the rear opening onto the small corridor leading up to Brad’s bedroom. She crossed her fingers that it would be open and that the alarms had not been switched on.
Rooney looked around the impressive drawing room. Brad offered a drink but he refused. ‘Do you know where your brother is, Mr Thorburn?’
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t. What is this about?’
‘I think you know. Andrew Fellows called by earlier, didn’t he? So let’s cut the bullshit. Is Lorraine Page here?’
‘She was but she left.’
‘Do you know where she went?’
‘No, I don’t. I’m surprised you didn’t see her, she was here about ten minutes ago.’
‘Mr Thorburn, I won’t keep you, I’d just like a recent picture of your brother, Steven Janklow.’
Rooney wandered over to a grand piano and looked at the silver-framed photographs. He picked one up and held it out. ‘This him?’
Brad said no, it was his father. He suggested that the following morning, when he had had time to speak to his brother, he would ask him to let Rooney have a photograph.
‘I’d like to take a look at one now,’ Rooney said stubbornly.
‘Is it really necessary?’
‘Yes, sir. This is a murder investigation.’
Brad disappeared and Rooney stood with his feet planted apart. He was on dangerous ground, he knew, standing in the Thorburn household demanding a photograph without any warrant or back-up evidence except Lorraine’s theory. He waited, then crossed to the telephone and punched out Lorraine’s number. Rosie answered.
‘Ifs Rooney. Is she back yet?’
‘No.’
‘Call me as soon as she gets in.’
He put in another call to Bean. Still no sign of Lorraine. Suddenly, Rooney heard a car driving up the gravel path. He wondered if it was Janklow. His heart sank as he heard voices, Brad saying something about a police officer, a long, whispered conversation. Then Brad walked into the drawing room, with a small balding man wearing rimless glasses and carrying a briefcase.
‘This is Alfred Kophch, Captain Rooney.’
Rooney shook the pallid little man’s damp hand and remained standing. He didn’t need to be told that the balding man was one of the most high-powered criminal lawyers in LA. Kophch sat down and opened his case. ‘You want a photograph of my client Steven Janklow, is that correct? Do you have a warrant to be on the premises?’
Rooney huffed and said that at this stage of his inquiries he did not require a warrant. It was an informal visit and Brad Thorburn had invited him in.
‘Why do you want a photograph of my client?’
Rooney went a deep red. ‘Elimination purposes.’
‘I would like to know why no one has contacted Mr Janklow before, and why you have made an informal house call at six thirty p.m.’
Rooney sat on the edge of the plush sofa. He was beginning to sweat, not with nerves but with contained agitation. This grilling made him feel as if he was the guilty party. He reached into his pocket and took out a dog-eared envelope with scrawled dates on the back.
‘I would also like to ask — informally — Steven Janklow to tell me where he was on these dates. As he is not here, you can bring him with you in the morning, with a photograph.’
Why do you need this photograph if Mr Janklow is prepared to come in to see you in person?’
‘An attack took place in a multi-level garage. We believe the man that attacked the woman, our witness, is involved in the murders.’
Kophch sighed. ‘So now you’re saying that Mr Janklow is also a suspect for this attack?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And the name of the witness?’
Brad leaned forward. ‘It’s a prostitute called Lorraine Page. There’s a warrant out for her arrest and she’s involved in a blackmail case.’
‘Is this correct?’ snapped Kophch.
Rooney shuffled uneasily. ‘I am not prepared to disclose the identity of the witness.’
Kophch gave Rooney a warning look. ‘Blackmail? This is all getting out of hand, isn’t it? I suggest that when you have charges you wish to relate to my client, you contact my office. Until then you should leave these premises immediately and I will forward a complaint to your superiors.’
Rooney stood up slowly. ‘Fine. All I’m trying to do is track down a killer.’
Kophch faced Rooney. ‘And I am protecting my client. As you must be aware, the Thorburns are an influential family and have in the past been subjected to various blackmail threats and—’
Rooney interrupted, taking a flyer, ‘Then there was the vice charge against Mr Janklow that was dismissed. I am aware of certain activities in the past concerning this family, which is why I chose to make this an informal visit.’ Suddenly, he was on a roll. He could see the hooded looks passing between the lawyer and Brad, and pushed it further. ‘However, this is not just a homosexual cruising or pick-up, but a murder and one that has been the focus of huge media attention.’
Kophch was good. He didn’t back off as Rooney had expected but came straight back at him. ‘And in the late edition of the papers today there was an announcement that a man arrested for these murders had subsequently committed suicide. Are you now saying this man was not the perpetrator of these crimes?’
Rooney sniffed and pulled at his nose. ‘Possibly not.’
His face tight with contained anger, Brad snapped, ‘It appears that everything and everyone concerned in this investigation is only “possibly” attached. I suggest that my lawyer should contact your superior and discuss it with him. Now I’d like you to leave my house.’
Rooney was shown the door. The gates opened and he stepped out, hearing them clang shut behind him. As he crossed to his car, he looked down the road, walked a few yards and then squinted in the semi-darkness at the registration number of the parked vehicle. It was Lorraine’s. Two uniformed officers were already peering inside. Rooney called his office again to check if Lorraine had been traced. When he heard that she had not, his heart sank. He walked back to the Thorburn house as the alarm floodlights went out. The house seemed ominously dark and quiet apart from the ground floor, where he suspected Thorburn and Kophch were still talking. The officers asked what he wanted done about Lorraine’s car. ‘Open it up and search it,’ he snarled. In truth, he wasn’t sure about his next move. He felt a dull panic. Where the hell was she?