Brad walked out onto the porch with his lawyer. They shook hands and Brad watched Kophch take out his car keys. Then he walked back to the house, his hand on the buzzer to open the gates.
Lorraine edged to the back door. She tried the handle: it was open. She said a silent prayer, only to find she was in the garage rather than the garden as she had expected. The kitchen door closed behind her, just as Brad closed the front door and switched on the alarm circuit.
She looked round the vast dark garage, which had room for at least six cars. At the side of the sliding doors was a row of numbered buttons to open them and above the buttons was an ominous unblinking red dot. She tried to go back the way she had come, but the door was now locked. She was trapped inside the garage.
Rooney was sitting in his car as the lawyer drove past. Kophch stared at him but did not stop. Lorraine’s car remained parked along the road; the two officers had found nothing inside. Rooney sat, hoping to see her and becoming more and more worried as the minutes ticked by. He wondered if she was in the house. He even wondered if he should go back in and demand to search the place, but he had no warrant.
The two officers hovered, waiting for instruction. Rooney rubbed his chin; his stubble itched. He was dog tired. ‘I think she’s maybe up at the house. I want one of you to call, ask if you can look around the grounds. I doubt if he’ll let you in but it’s worth a try. If we get no luck, take her car back to the station.’
Lorraine looked about her. A Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, plus Brad’s sports car, two Harley Davidson motorcycles, a Porsche and, hidden from her sight at first, the Mercedes. She was sure it would be alarmed, like everything else in the house. She looked at the garage doors, could see wires threaded everywhere. It was like a fortress. No way would she be able to get out that way; she’d have to return to the house. Then she heard the ringing of a distant doorbell. The garage doors began to slide open. She ducked behind a car as they began to whir and grind, pulling back. She peered up and could see Brad standing right outside the garage with a uniformed police officer.
Take a look around in here and then wherever else you like but not in the house.’
She could see Brad’s bare feet beneath the cars, and the dark trouser legs of the police officer, his black rubber-soled shoes.
‘I’ll show you round the back way,’ Brad said. He hadn’t expected to see Steven’s car there and it had freaked him. He was sure his brother wasn’t in but he covered his initial reaction by quickly offering to show the officer the gardens.
Lorraine waited until they were out of sight before she dashed out of the garage towards the grass verge and ran flat out until she reached the open gates.
Rooney and the officer were standing by her car, Rooney leaning forward for his cigarette to be lit. She headed to his car. It was open and she threw herself inside, onto the back seat. Rooney inhaled and let the smoke drift out of his nostrils. He checked the time again; it was almost seven o’clock. His stomach grumbling for food, he plodded back to the gates as the second officer appeared, a young, fresh-faced boy, who worked out. His muscles rippled beneath his pristine cop shirt and badge and he edged his night stick aside from his leg.
‘There’s no one in the grounds, Captain, and Mr Thorburn wants to lock up for the night. What do you want me to do? This place is alarmed all over, he’s standing with his hand on the buzzer, says we can’t go into the house.’
Rooney waddled towards him. ‘You didn’t see anything?’
‘Been round the back, summer-house, tennis courts, swimming pool, checked all over. She’s not in the grounds.’
Rooney went back to his car but he couldn’t just walk away. As the two officers stood in the road waiting to know what he wanted them to do, he reached in for his radio.
‘Don’t let them take me in, Bill,’ Lorraine said quietly from the back seat. ‘Please don’t.’
Rooney turned back to the officers but they hadn’t seen her. ‘One of you take her car into the holding bays, the other follow. I’ll see you back at base.’
Rooney got into his car and watched the two men split up, one going for Lorraine’s car, the other getting a set of pliers out of the patrol car. He started his engine and drew away, leaving them as they decided who should drive Lorraine’s car. The young muscular cop laughed as they reached down to fix the wires to start the engine. He said it had been a long time since he’d been caught doin’ this.
‘You go first, Rambo, I’ll follow.’
Rooney didn’t even head up Mulholland but pulled over about a mile away. She’d have felt better if he’d slammed on the brakes and yelled at her, but instead he engaged the handbrake gently and switched off the engine, then slowly swivelled around to face her.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ He hit the seat with the flat of his hand.
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.