Rooney sighed. ‘He give a description of the driver?’
Bean shook his head. ‘He said he wasn’t on duty until late and the car was already parked. We’ve got a number for the daytime attendant but we’ve not spoken to him yet.’
Rooney checked his watch. ‘Get on to that right now.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Rooney waited another two hours before the doors opened and the masked and gowned attendant gestured for him to follow. Draped in green sheeting, the body dominated the white-tiled room, whose strip-lighting gave a surreal white brightness to all the rows of instruments and enamel sinks.
‘Morning, Bill,’ said Nick Arnold, the pathologist, as he washed his hands at a large sink. ‘You’re pretty impatient for this one, aren’t you? I hear you’ve been hovering outside — you should have come in.’
Rooney hated being anywhere near an autopsy. He’d never gotten used to the way corpses were sliced open, never been able to stand hearing the hiss of stinking gases or looking at the blood pumping out; the open, sightless eyes of the victim as their body was systematically inspected.
Arnold knew Rooney of old and understood he wouldn’t want to take a close look. He appeared distinctly greenish already. ‘Come and have a coffee,’ he said pleasantly. ‘It’ll be a while before we get the photographs and tests completed.’ He yawned. ‘Got called out of bed for this one.’
‘So did I,’ muttered Rooney as he slumped into a low chair, its cushioned seat puffing loudly as his bulk made contact. ‘So what you got for me?’
‘Death occurred late evening — can’t be more specific. Until I get my reports back, I can’t pinpoint the exact time but it was evening and the last meal was banana bread.’
That’s a big help,’ Rooney slurped his coffee.
‘Victim’s age was late thirties, may even be forty, but fit — good muscle tone.’
‘Was she blonde?’ Rooney asked.
‘Yep, but who said “she” was female?’
‘What?’
Arnold grinned. ‘He was almost a she and at first glance I’d have said definitely female, heavy breasts, but he was also well endowed in the nether regions. Transsexual, Bill, one who’d been on a lot of hormone replacement treatment, Adam’s apple has also been removed at some time.’ He stood up and pointed to drawings. ‘Hammer blow here to the base of the skull, which would have almost certainly rendered her unconscious. Her face was beaten to a pulp, nose, cheekbones and frontal lobe shattered, very heavy blows, one eye forced back into this region and the other socket split open by the force of the hammer. Not a pretty sight now but I would say she or he had at one time been quite attractive. Hair is bleached blonde, well cut. We’ve also got nothing from under her fingernails so the first blow was unexpected. She put up no resistance.’
Rooney went into the forensic laboratories to see the victim’s clothes. They were reasonably expensive, some with well-known labels, but only the shoes would be helpful. They were large-sized, high-heeled stilettos and made in a specialist shoe store that catered for transsexuals and transvestites. As Rooney jotted down the information, he was sure he could get an identification of the victim quickly.
Bean joined up with him back at base. He had talked to the parking attendant, who had no recollection of the driver of the vehicle. He was sure the car had been parked there for more than twenty-four hours. The car’s owner had been away for a week and only knew the car was missing when he returned home. Neither of the attendants could be certain of when the Lincoln had been left.
Rooney instructed officers to check out the garage. Perhaps the killer had stolen the car, left it there, then returned in another vehicle with his victim. Forensic reports from inside the Lincoln yielded no bloodstains, no fingerprints in the interior or the glove compartment, and the driving wheel had been wiped clean. They did, however, find long strands of blonde hair which were sent to be tested and matched to the victim’s. All this took considerable time — time Rooney did not have. At nine thirty Chief Michael Berillo summoned him.
Rooney listened to him glumly. He was still to lead the officers in the inquiry but only until the FBI officers had familiarized themselves with the evidence. Then they would take over and, as Rooney’s chief had said, ‘You can start mowing the lawn, Bill.’ He’d sounded gloating, even if unintentionally. Mowing the lawn was not something that Rooney pictured himself doing even if he’d retired of his own free will. Now this enforced ‘release from duty’ sat uneasily on his wide, sloping shoulders. ‘You mustn’t feel you’ve been ousted due to any unprofessional conduct or lack of ability. It’s just that—’
Rooney leaned on the Chief’s desk. ‘You gotta have a scapegoat, someone to blame for not making an arrest. Sure, I understand. I just didn’t expect to go out this way. I’ve given the best years of my life to the force but it don’t matter. Somebody’s got to pay for not finding this crazy bastard, so why not make me the sucker?’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Bill.’
‘At least I should have a chance to talk to this guy they brought in with them.’
The Chief coughed. ‘They’re with him now but I’m sure they’ll let you talk to him later.’
Rooney knew they’d all been aware of the possibility he’d be replaced but his men seemed taken aback that it was happening so quickly. For all his bad-tempered ways, he was well liked. Bean, too, felt a trifle embarrassed. If Rooney was being moved, it meant that everyone on the case would be scrutinized. He repeated Rooney’s request that until the FBI formally took over, they must all work double time.
No one attached to the case had yet had access to Brendan Murphy or had seen him brought in. Bean patted Rooney’s shoulder. ‘Be just our luck if they walk in with a suspect and pin the whole string on him. They’ll get all the glory and we’ll be made to look fools.’
‘We want to know who he or she is so that’s our first priority.’ Rooney jerked his head at the pictures of the last victim, already being pinned up, and plodded out of the incident room. He had decided to have one more crack at Mrs Hastings. The link between her husband, victim and cross-dresser, and the latest victim, was too much of a coincidence.
‘Captain, should I take what we’ve got over to Andrew Fellows?’ Bean called after Rooney. ‘See if he can help us out at all?’
‘Sure. I’ll be interested to hear what Big Ears has to say.’
While Bean went off in search of Fellows, the rest of the team split up to make inquiries with known transsexuals, shoe and clothing stores that might recall the victim. Rooney assigned two men to run checks on the employees at the S and A vintage car garage in Santa Monica but told them to keep it low key.
Rooney stepped into the lift and went down to the basement. He proceeded along the brightly lit corridor towards the holding cells. He had to pass through innumerable security doors and left his weapon in the locker outside the last before he took the key. Then he joined the duty sergeant at his computerized board, which indicated every occupied cell and every corridor, a maze of small red and green lights.
‘Where they got the suspect?’
The sergeant indicated cell fourteen.
‘Any way I can hear what’s going on?’
The sergeant gave him a sidelong look and flicked a switch, ‘FBI been with him for hours.’