Rooney plucked at his eyebrows. There had been so many murders, he couldn’t remember offhand what time they had verified that Holly had died.
Lorraine tapped his arm. ‘About eleven, wasn’t it? She was just starting work so it’d be around ten thirty or eleven. I was with him so he couldn’t have done it.’
Rooney lowered his window. ‘Doesn’t matter to him, he’s dead, but it matters to you because the FBI got your name from him. I can’t not take you in.’
He started the engine.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Back to the fucking station, where do you think? I just told you. I’m handing you over, I want you out of my hair, out of my life. You and your theory will land me in a strait-jacket, never mind retiring me. You’ve been feeding me a line of bullshit from day one.’
‘Bill, I swear to you I haven’t.’
He looked at her in the driving mirror, his eyes watering from tiredness and smoke. ‘Holly was murdered after twelve. Lorraine, I was just testing you.’
She punched his shoulder. He stopped the car. Suddenly he was really angry, his jowled face set rigid. ‘What the fuck were you doing at Thorburn’s house? And from what I gathered, you weren’t there for any interview with his brother. Trying to make a few bucks for yourself — is that what you were up to? I wouldn’t put anything past you. Well, now I’m through with you.’
‘Was he in there?’ she asked.
‘You tell me. We won’t get a foot in there without more evidence than that load of shit you got. I’m gonna get it in the neck about this.’
He crashed the gears as the car shot forward. They headed up Mulholland, the road becoming steeper. His car coughed, protesting, but they picked up speed as they moved downhill. Suddenly Rooney stamped on his brakes as they came to the traffic lights at a dangerous multiple crossing. The patrol car was there plus two more cars, and rammed between them, the entire driver’s side smashed to smithereens, was Lorraine’s car. The officer was still inside, his blood spattering the broken windshield and soaking his muscular dead body.
Rooney barked at Lorraine to stay out of sight. As he got out and crossed to the wreckage, she peered out of the window. An ambulance and medic truck arrived and they began to release the driver.
When Rooney came back, he didn’t turn to speak to her but stared straight ahead. ‘He’s dead. He was just a kid.’
‘Was it an accident?’ she asked.
‘What would you say? There’s one, two, three other vehicles involved. He jumped the lights, this junction’s known to be a death trap. He drove straight into it.’ He faced her. ‘This is your fault. It’s due to you, you hear me?’
‘Why?’ she snapped back. ‘I wasn’t driving the goddamned car, was I?’
Rooney walked back to the scene of the crash. A few people were gathering around to gawp, more police, and now they had the dead man free. Lorraine saw Rooney and another officer prise open the car’s buckled hood. As they peered inside with a torch, another man crawled beneath it. Rooney was there for almost fifteen minutes. When he got back he sat half in and half out of his car, his feet still on the roadside. ‘Brake cable’s smothered in grease, sliced almost in two, and the handbrake cable’s cut. Did anyone have access to the car keys?’
‘They were in my purse.’
‘They still there?’
Lorraine fumbled and took them out.
‘Did you leave it unattended while you were there?’
‘Yeah. For quite a while when I was talking to Brad Thorburn. We were in the bedroom. I left my purse downstairs.’ She flushed.
He looked at her and shook his head. ‘Christ, I thought you were joking before. Did you screw him?’
‘I wanted information, Bill.’
‘I bet you did.’
‘Why don’t we go back up there, Bill, just you and me? If Janklow’s there, it’s him you should be taking in, never mind me! If I’d been in my car, it would have been me who was dead.’
Rooney slammed the car door and started the engine. ‘No way. Not until I’ve discussed this with the Chief. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be.’
Lorraine had been hoping againt all hope that this would never happen but now there was no alternative. She would become a witness for the prosecution and all it entailed. Any idea she had had of starting up as a private investigator would be ruined: when the press got to hear about her part in the murder investigation she and her past would make the headlines. She stared out of the window as they drove towards the precinct. She wanted a drink, could feel it sweeping over her. She wanted a drink rather than face it all.
She hardly said a word as Rooney led her into the station. The duty sergeant noted down all her particulars, she was photographed, and her prints taken. Then she was led away to Rooney’s office.
Rooney had called the Chief and was waiting for him. He had shaved and changed his shirt for what looked like an even more crumpled one from his locker. He was drinking coffee and talking to Bean when Lorraine was brought into the room. Rooney introduced Bean who shook her hand and drew out a chair. ‘When we’re ready, we’ll take your statement. We’ll also tape it and film you, okay?’
Lorraine asked if someone was preparing the movie rights but no one laughed. Bean fetched her some water and cigarettes and, as he seemed so helpful, she asked him if she could call her friend Rosie to let her know she was okay.
Lorraine waited in Rooney’s office for some time. She was told they’d be held up until the FBI agents arrived; neither Rooney nor the Chief could deny them access to her. When she was eventually taken into the large room where everyone was gathered, it was eleven thirty. She remained closeted there for a further four hours. In that time she gave a clear statement of everything that had happened since the day she had first been attacked in the car park. When asked why she had not come forward, she said it was because she had removed Norman Hastings’s wallet. She didn’t lie, she could see no point. She answered all their questions directly and truthfully. No one appeared impressed by her subsequent investigation or her attempts at piecing together the evidence she had accumulated.
‘Why are you so keen on continuing this investigation, even placing yourself at risk?’ one of the agents asked. She didn’t like the look of this one: his square jaw, which worked overtime, his clean-cut face, his blond crew-cut and neat suit, like a comic-strip man.
She looked over at Rooney who nodded quickly. ‘I needed the money, I was being paid to do it by Captain Rooney.’
Although they knew about her record since leaving the police force, they seemed loath to believe that that was the only reason she had taken such risks. Surely she had another motive?
‘I suppose I did. I hoped that if I succeeded in assisting the department, then it would stand me in good stead for the future if I ever wanted to start up as a private investigator. But if I have to be a prosecution witness, then it’ll destroy that chance. I know this case’ll get a load of publicity and like me, well, they’ll go for the jugular — that’s a joke. The ex-cop ex-hooker’ll make good copy, might even get a headline “Madame Dracula”. I doubt I’ll be able to live it down. I might be able to move away, but I’ve got contacts here and you need contacts in the investigation business, right?’
They made no answer but glanced at each other before they all left the room, leaving her with a stone-faced policewoman. They returned an hour later. It was almost dawn. But Lorraine detected another undercurrent.
The Chief gave a grimace — she supposed it was some kind of smile but because he was so tense his lips just curled over his top teeth. ‘Mrs Page, would you be willing to continue assisting this inquiry?’ Rooney wouldn’t meet her eyes and the Chief continued, ‘There could be certain risks involved.’