‘Yes, yes, he was, for ice-boxes and domestic appliances.’
‘Did he work on his car engines?’
‘He could repair anything from a toaster to a car. The neighbours were always asking him to fix things and he was such a kind man, he’d never say no.’
Lorraine used the opening and showed the photograph of Janklow. ‘Did he ever help this man out?’
‘I couldn’t tell, there’s not all his face there, but I don’t think so.’
Lorraine showed the second picture, each one taken at the S and A garage. Mrs Hastings looked at one after the other and then tapped one. ‘This one. He came here once to talk to Norman about his car.’
Then she showed the photo of the white Mercedes driven by Janklow in blonde wig and make-up. Mrs Hastings glanced at it. ‘I don’t know her.’
‘Have you ever seen the car?’
Mrs Hastings took the photograph and stared at it. ‘I don’t know, a lot of people came to see him. As I said, he was always helping people out.’
‘It’s a Mercedes sports car, drop head. It would also have a hard top. Maybe you saw it with that on?’
Mrs Hastings frowned. ‘I don’t know. There’s something familiar about it, it’s difficult to say. What colour is the hard-topped hood?’
Lorraine took a chance, reckoning if the body was white maybe the roof was too.
‘Well, no, I remember a similar car out in the drive once but it had a black top, sort of dipped.’
Lorraine began to put away the photographs, still relaxed. ‘Did you see who was driving it? Who it belonged to?’
‘No, they were in the garage out in the yard. Norman used to keep odd spare parts out there so that was another reason why he had so many people coming round. He’d charge them — just expenses, it was his hobby but I hated it. It made his hands all dirty, and oil on everything.’
Lorraine stood up and smiled. ‘Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful, and I really appreciate it. Would you mind if I come back if I get a better photograph of the man in the Mercedes?’
‘No, I don’t mind. In fact, I haven’t minded talking to you at all.’
Rooney was just drawing up when he saw Lorraine walk out. She waved to Mrs Hastings and he saw her glance towards his car. He opened the passenger door as Mrs Hastings shut her front door and Lorraine got in beside him. ‘I’d stay clear of her — she’s nervous, more worried about her husband’s “little problem”, as she calls it, getting out to the press than she is about the murder.’
Rooney sniffed. ‘You got anything for me?’
‘I might have a suspect but until I’m sure I’d prefer to do a bit more digging around — maybe in a few days.’
‘I need anything you’ve got now. I don’t have a few days.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Give me until the end of the day. I also need anything you’ve got on the latest victim.’
‘I told you all I’ve got. Until they’ve finished the tests, that’s it. She was a man and her last meal was banana bread.’ She had her hand on the door ready to leave when he said, ‘You and Lubrinski, were you an item?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m just trying to figure you out.’
‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I know. I was just mulling things over, and I started to think about him, he was a great guy.’
She nodded but made no reply. He reached down for his bourbon and unscrewed the cap. He drank from the bottle and she turned to look at him. ‘It’s the bourbon that reminds you of him. Because he always had a bottle under his seat. Why are you drinking, anyway?’
He gritted his teeth as the bourbon hit his stomach. He took another swig. ‘I need it. Did you drink with him?’
‘You know I did.’
‘On duty?’
‘Sometimes, but mostly we saved the session until we were off.’
‘Did he get you started on the booze?’
She laughed. ‘I didn’t need Lubrinski to start me drinking, Bill, I managed it all by myself.’
‘Why?’
She suddenly became tetchy. ‘How about I was just screwed up, tense and scared I’d foul up, and there’s nobody else to blame but myself.’
‘Your husband? The kids, was that it?’
‘For chrissakes, back off me. Why do you want to start on this?’
He took another swig and screwed on the cap. ‘Because I’d like to know, and maybe I feel guilty. Maybe this is a conversation I should have had with you years ago.’
She got out of the car and leaned in. ‘You’re too late, Bill, there’s nothing you can do now. What happened happened. It’s over.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He said it gruffly, not looking at her, and she straightened up, about to slam the car door, when she bent down to look at him again.
‘About Lubrinski, Bill, he was the best friend I ever had. I trusted him with my life but he was a crazy fool, he took risks, got into a lot of things that I tried to stop, but he wouldn’t listen to me, he never listened to anyone and, in answer to your question, we were not an item, we were just partners.’
Then she shut the door and walked off just as Rosie appeared on the opposite side of the road. Rooney drove away in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
‘How’d it go?’ Rosie said cheerfully.
Lorraine told her to drive to the S and A garage in Santa Monica. Then she closed her eyes and leaned back. She could see Lubrinski’s face as clear as if it was yesterday. They had got drunk together on many evenings, they’d talked about everything under the sun, always carefully skirting round themselves. But eventually it had happened. She’d been boozing heavily and he’d insisted she sober up at his place before Mike saw her and threw a punch at him. He was always joking about Mike, snide one-liners about her house-proud husband, but she wouldn’t let him run Mike down. He should try and clean up his own act, his wife was no angel. They had squabbled like teenagers and eventually called a truce, that neither of them would discuss their partners. They had shaken hands and Lubrinski had drawn her close.
‘Does this make you a single woman now?’
She had tried to slap him but he ducked so she hit the window of the patrol car. Her knuckles hurt and she sucked her fist. He reached over and caught her hand, drawing it to his lips.
That night she had been totally smashed. Even though she had drunk as much as he had, he seemed never to show it. Not until she watched him attempting to brew the coffee did she know he was as drunk as she was. ‘You’re plastered, Lubrinski, talk about the blind leading the blind. Here, lemme do it.’
He lay back on his unmade bed in his one-room apartment with dirty clothes strewn all around. Lorraine offered to come by and clean it up for him. He said he liked it this way, he knew where everything was, but after they’d finished the coffee he couldn’t find the patrol car keys. He started throwing things about, swearing. Then he threw up his hands and laughed his wonderful, deep bellow. ‘I’m lying, they’re in my pocket.’ He pulled them out and dangled them. ‘I just wanted to keep you here a while longer but now I’m stone cold sober I don’t have the guts.’
‘For what?’ She was still laughing at him.
‘To hold you. You ever think how much I want to hold you, Lorraine Page?’
She stopped laughing, got off the bed, went to him and gently slipped her arms round him. He held her close, he didn’t kiss her, he didn’t fondle her, he did exactly what he had said he wanted to do: he held her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, could feel his heart beat, could feel him tremble. She had smiled up at him and then released herself. ‘I got to get back to the kids.’
‘You love him, don’t you?’ he asked.
She was confused. She didn’t really know. The rows and bitter arguments had been wearing her out. Mike hated Lubrinski, constantly implied that he was more than just a working partner. He also hated the way she had started drinking so much. He blamed that on Lubrinski as well. Mike blamed everything on anything and anyone but himself.