Kophch was white, his face so tight with anger because his client was blowing it. He should never have admitted what he knew about Lorraine. Kophch rose to his feet. ‘I insist we take a break now.’
‘Sit down,’ Janklow leered. ‘I’m beginning to enjoy myself. This is fascinating. Go on, ask me anything you want.’
Bickerstaff said evenly, ‘Listen to me, I don’t care if we scooped a witness off the streets. All that matters to me is that she’s a witness, you tried to kill her, you used a claw hammer. You know the type because there must be a hundred of them at your garage. I am quite prepared to let you go, Mr Janklow, but I will need a blood test. You see, you made a big mistake with the assault. She attacked you as well, didn’t she? She made you bleed, didn’t she? And, Mr Janklow, we have a sample of blood taken from the vehicle, the same vehicle into which you stuffed Norman Hastings’s body. We have what I think is your blood. And now would you open your shirt.’
Janklow had become still, his face drawn, his hands clenched in front of him.
‘Open your shirt and remove your tie.’
Lorraine clutched Rooney as Janklow slowly loosened his tie, slipping it away from his neck, and undid his shirt, one button after the next. It was horribly sexual — he was flicking glances to each of the men in the room and then he pulled away his shirt, revealing his white neck.
Bickerstaff got up, hiding Janklow from Lorraine and Rooney as he peered at the man’s neck. He stepped back. ‘You’ve got a mark the right side of your neck. Where did you get it?’
Janklow shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have a German shepherd dog. He bit me a few weeks ago, maybe a couple of months. You can ask my brother, he was there, he saw it.’
Bickerstaff returned to his seat. He asked the other officer to contact Brad Thorburn. Janklow did up his shirt.
‘Did you ever use Norman Hastings’s car, Mr Janklow?’
‘Oh, I might have — yes, I did... well, not drive it. I sat in it once, and — oh, I remember it very well. I was sitting talking to Norman, and I had a dreadful nosebleed because I have a weak septum.’
‘What date would that be?’
‘I borrowed his handkerchief to stem the bloodflow. Brad saw it, because I looked dreadful, very white and shaking. So I have a witness to that as well.’
Janklow buttoned up his shirt and unbelted his trousers as he tucked in the shirt tails, giving hideous flirtatious glances round the room. ‘I did not kill anyone, I did not attack anyone, I am an innocent man, and now I would like to go home as I’m tired.’
Bickerstaff would not let up. He asked again where exactly Janklow had had the nosebleed, and on what date. Janklow yawned and said in the front seat of Hastings’s car — he’d been parking it for him in the garage.
‘What date would that have been?’
‘I have no idea, around the sixteenth, I suppose. That was why I didn’t come into work the following day, the seventeenth, because I felt poorly. I spent the day with my mother instead.’
Bickerstaff began to collect his files. ‘I think, Mr Janklow, you can leave. We will, of course, have to check all this information, make inquiries to verify your alibis, both with Mr Brad Thorburn and Mrs Thorburn. I would also like you to pass to us further details of your whereabouts on the other dates you were unable to recall where you were.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll check back in my diaries, give the relevant information to Mr Kophch and, as they say in the movies, I’ll get back to you.’
Lorraine looked at Rooney in disbelief. ‘He’s going to walk! They’re going to let him walk out of here.’
‘Looks like it,’ Rooney said bluntly.
‘But it’s obviously him! You know it, they must know it.’
‘We’re not through with him yet.’
Lorraine kicked at her chair. ‘What about me? Don’t I count? I’ve said it was him, I know it was him — he did this to me!’ She showed Rooney the scar at the back of her head and then slumped in her chair. ‘Jesus Christ, I even feel like some of the women I used to take statements from, the whores beaten within an inch of their lives. They always used to say to me, “Nothing will happen, nobody cares about us, nobody cares if they beat us to a pulp, because we don’t matter.” Are all those dead women of no consequence? Because you know, Rooney, if he walks now he’ll never be brought back in.’
As if to confirm what she was saying, the chairs were scraping back in the interview room, Kophch assisting Janklow to stand up. He was joking about his crumpled shirt.
Lorraine pushed past Rooney and made for the door. He grabbed her. ‘No, don’t do it, Lorraine, you don’t go out there.’
She wrenched her arm free. ‘He’s walking out, Bill! I swear before God I’ll make a citizen’s arrest! I’m not going to let him get away with this—’
‘He just did. Now sit down.’
When Janklow and Kophch had departed, the atmosphere in the incident room was of exhaustion and depression. Bickerstaff looked at Lorraine and lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat. Lorraine’s hands were on her hips. ‘Get me a wire — get me set up. I’ll get him to incriminate himself. I swear before God I’ll bring that piece of shit in.’
Bickerstaff was worn out, but he grinned at her. ‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.’
Bean drove her home and, as he had been instructed, remained with her, sleeping outside in the patrol car. Bickerstaff had taken him aside and warned him to keep her under watch day and night. Janklow knew who she was, maybe even knew her address. The following morning he was to get her some decent clothes before he brought her back into the precinct. Now she was all they had and everything depended on her. He was not to let her out of his sight for a moment.
Lorraine, accompanied by Bean and Rosie, set off early for Rodeo Drive. She chose an elegant suit, with a tight, pencil-slim skirt with a thigh-length slit, and loose jacket with a soft creamy silk blouse beneath. She chose high-heeled shoes with matching clutch bag. Conscious that she was to be wired, she also bought a fitted, slightly padded, brassière and matching panties. A suspender belt and fine pale stockings completed the outfit. She had her hair streaked, cut and blown dry, a manicure and a facial. Rosie and Bean trailed from one place to the next, sitting in the salon as she was made up by an expert. The whole process took three hours so she did not arrive at the station until after twelve.
Rooney gaped at the bill and even more when he saw her. He flushed with embarrassment. She always had been one hell of a looker, but now she was stunning. He blew it, however, when he said, intending a compliment, ‘Holy shit, they sure done a hell of a job on you.’
Rooney was not the only one taken aback by Lorraine’s appearance. Bickerstaff’s jaw dropped and the Chief, who had screamed bloody murder when he had seen the cost, also complimented her. Lorraine found it almost amusing the way they suddenly drew out chairs for her, jumped to light her cigarette. She loved the feel of the soft kid leather handbag, containing new lipstick, powder compact, silk handkerchief, calf-leather wallet, silver lighter and cigarette case.
She was to wear a small pick-up mike disguised as a decorative pin attached to a gold chain round her neck. It was in the shape of a heart and could record from a five-mile radius. She was impressed by its sophistication: she had half expected the old box in a belt strapped to her waist as she had been used to in the past. Even if she was stripped naked, Rooney said half in jest, it would be hard to find. She had flicked him a look, wondering if they were all aware she had been to bed with Brad Thorburn. It seemed likely as she was warned that the only time she would lose contact with the radio surveillance truck would be if she took a shower.