Rooney crossed to the bank of screens and gazed at the one showing the occupant of cell fourteen. Brendan Murphy was sitting on the bunk bed, his hands held loosely in front of him. He was wearing a denim jacket and a stained T-shirt. His shoes had been removed. His beer gut, even larger than Rooney’s, hung over his baggy old jeans. Rooney could not see who was in the cell with him but he heard the soft voice asking him to start from the beginning again and to take his time. Murphy seemed to stare directly into the camera and then ran his thick stubby hand over his square jaw.
‘Jesus Christ, I’m gettin’ confused, I’m hungry, I want some cigarettes. I dunno how many more times I can tell you I’d not seen my wife for almost ten months. I’ve not met the other woman more’n once or twice and that was fucking years ago. You got the wrong man.’
Rooney dragged on his cigarette. Murphy did not resemble the only description they had of the killer — nothing could be more different. He was thickset, overweight, at least six two and, by the look of him, had never worn a jacket in his life. Murphy listed plaintively where he had been on the night of the murder and then stood up, angrily swinging his fist. ‘I wasn’t even in Los Angeles, for chrissakes. I told you all this in Detroit. You’re gonna make me lose my job.’
Rooney had seen enough. He did not believe for a minute that Murphy was their man so let the FBI question him. The longer they were out of his hair the better.
He drove to Mrs Hastings, pausing on the way to buy some bourbon and a packet of mints. He took three heavy slugs from the bottle as he drove on, then unwrapped a peppermint to disguise the smell.
Rosie was woken by Lorraine presenting her with a cup of tea. She was dressed for a workout. ‘I’ll be back for breakfast,’ she said brightly.
She pushed herself at the gym and Hector monitored her weights. She also did a full step aerobic class. Then she had an ice cold shower and felt fit and sharp. She even ran from the bus back to the apartment — long, slow, steady strides, not pushing herself or working up a sweat.
Rosie had laid out all her vitamins, the protein drink, cereal, fruit and yogurt. Lorraine ate hungrily. It was still not nine o’clock but even after all her exertion she didn’t feel tired. She was feeling like the old Lorraine Page used to feel before she hit the bottle.
‘I met this guy called Brad Thorburn last night,’ she said to Rosie. ‘He knew the lecturer I went to see at the college, Andrew Fellows. They were playing squash and...’ Lorraine stared into space, seeing him again, his handsome face, his athletic body. ‘He lives at that house in Beverly Glen. He owns it. And that vintage car garage.’
Rosie pulled out a chair and sat down as Lorraine sifted through her photographs. She looked closely at the Mercedes, then at the man they presumed was Steven Janklow. All they had in focus was his chin and a bit of his right nostril. She drew the clearer photograph of the blonde woman beside it. ‘I think you’re right — this is the same person.’
Lorraine flipped through the files, checking for Norman Hastings’s section. ‘I want to go and talk to Hastings’s wife. While I’m doing that, I want you to hire another car and pick me up there in a couple of hours. But first see if you can get a section of this picture of the woman blown up so we get to see more of his or her face.’ Lorraine counted out some cash. It was running low again.
‘Any chance you can touch that friend of yours to pay us a bit more?’
‘I’ll try but I doubt it.’ Lorraine handed out sixty dollars, plus Mrs Hastings’s address.
‘You going to tell him about those photos?’ Rosie asked.
‘Not yet. We need more, I don’t want to foul this up.’ Rosie picked up the newspaper from the steps outside and tossed it to Lorraine. ‘See you later.’
As the screen door slammed after Rosie, Lorraine opened the paper. She couldn’t miss the blazing headlines: ‘HAMMER KILLER STRIKES AGAIN’. She laid the paper out flat on the table: no name for the victim, just that she was white, aged between late thirties and forties and found in the trunk of a stolen vehicle. The murder had taken place early evening, the licence plate number was given and the location where it had been found, along with a request to the public for any information that would assist the police inquiry. A suspect was being held.
Lorraine called Rooney but was told that he was not at the station. She checked her watch. It was too late to change her plans.
Rooney had been waiting outside Mrs Hastings’s house for fifteen minutes. She was not in but, according to a neighbour, was probably taking her daughters to school so would not be long. He took another few swigs of bourbon, screwed on the cap tightly, then unwrapped another peppermint. He settled back, reached for one of the newspapers he had bought and broke wind loudly as he glared at the front page.
Mrs Hastings finally returned. She parked her car in the drive and carried a bag of groceries inside. Rooney figured he’d wait a while longer before paying his visit. He looked into his driving mirror and saw Lorraine walking up the road. She paused as if checking she had the correct address. As she walked past his car, Rooney lowered the window. ‘Morning,’ he said loudly.
When she saw it was Rooney Lorraine said, ‘Hi, I was going to talk to Mrs Hastings.’
‘I’ll come in with you.’
Rooney saw her hesitate and then, ‘Fine, but maybe I can get more out of her without you.’
‘You seen this morning’s paper? It’s not public yet but it wasn’t a she, it was a he — or an it, according to the pathologist. That’s why I came here — thought I’d have another go at Mrs Hastings.’
Lorraine didn’t react to the information. This was the moment she should have discussed Janklow but she didn’t.
‘Says they got a suspect in custody.’
‘Brendan Murphy, husband of one of the victims. The suits have arrived. They brought him in from Detroit. I’ve not even had access to him yet but...’
‘But?’
‘It’s not him, I know it. Let’s talk to Mrs Hastings.’
‘Let me try before you, Bill. You been checking out that vintage car garage?’
‘I got two guys on it this morning.’
She could smell liquor on his breath. ‘You okay?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, they gave me the fucking kiss-off this morning. Well, until the FBI are ready to roll. They want me for a briefing later today.’
Lorraine straightened. ‘You mind if I say something, Bill? It’s just that I can smell the booze — that and peppermints. If I was you, I’d grab a cup of coffee. Mrs Hastings sounds like the type of woman who’d report you and you don’t want to give the FBI a rope to swing you on...’
Rooney swore and cupped his hands round his mouth, blowing into them. His jowled face wobbled childishly. ‘Okay, I’ll be back in fifteen. I’ll grab a bite to eat. If you’re through wait for me on the roadside.’
He found a deli about four blocks along and parked the car. As he waited for his order he thought how incongruous it was for Lorraine to be telling him to sober up. He’d always been a heavy drinker but now he was drinking more during working hours than he ever had. He wondered if that was the way Lorraine had started. She’d had marital problems but, then, so did all the men. He dreaded the thought of being retired and at home with his wife. It gave him nightmares, as she wittered on about them getting a trailer and travelling round the country. He could think of nothing worse. He couldn’t recall the last time he had taken his wife out to dinner, or, for that matter, when he had taken her anywhere. He became more and more despondent as he ploughed through his breakfast. Everything he did revolved around his station, his men, and now it was going to end. Pushing these morose thoughts out of his mind, he tried to concentrate on the case. He wondered why Lorraine had wanted him to check out the vintage car garage. Did she have something for him, something she’d held back? She hadn’t made it sound important, but in the old days Lorraine always kept her cards close to her chest. He’d reprimanded her about it, reminding her that she was not a one-woman agent but part of a team. He remembered her snapping back at him, saying the day the men treated her as part of the team, she would work with them. She had put him down hard and fast because at that time she held a higher rank. It had always needled him, needled a lot of men, that she had gained her stripes before them.