‘Did you see him when he was here the last time?’
‘No, but when he came to see Mr Janklow, he’d pop in and leave me his car keys. I think he banked up the street, but his office isn’t far away. He was always anxious about parking fines. Funny, really, worrying about something as small as that and then... he gets killed.’
‘But Mr Janklow was here then?’
‘Yes. Do you want to speak to him?’
‘Maybe later. I’ll just go see Mr Hunter. Thanks for everything.’
Lorraine walked out, into the blast of cold air in the corridor. Her heart jumped as she passed Janklow’s office but he was not inside; through the blinds, she could see a secretary placing papers on the desk. She continued along the corridor, came into the hangar and walked quickly out into the sunshine. She stood for a moment to get her bearings and then took off towards the path winding around the building, intending to go back to Rosie. Then she saw the Mercedes parked by a car-wash area. She hugged the wall when she saw a man talking to one of the attendants. He was gesturing to the car’s wheels. Then he leaned into it and pointed to the interior. She saw the attendant nod, then heard him tell two black kids to wash and vacuum Mr Janklow’s car, and polish up the chrome on the hub caps and fenders.
Lorraine waited, half wanting Janklow to turn round so that she could see his face but not wanting him to catch sight of her. He was wearing a pale blue linen jacket, white slacks and sandals. Slim, immaculate, his hair cut short and tight to his head — blondish-brown hair — just as she remembered. Steven Janklow was the man who had attacked her, she was sure of it. If only she could get a good look at his face.
Hunter appeared at the showroom doors. ‘We’ve a customer who wants a trial drive, Mr Janklow. It’s the Silver Cloud but we’ve already got someone that asked if we’d contact them if it looked like we’d got a sale.’
Janklow walked slowly towards him and Lorraine pressed closer to the wall. They were about to enter the building, Hunter stepping aside to allow Janklow to go in ahead, when Hunter saw her and waved. ‘I won’t be a moment, Mrs Page, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’ As soon as they disappeared, Lorraine hurried along the wide lane, past the Mercedes, to the road, hoping that Janklow’s attention would be on the customers.
As Janklow was walking towards the Japanese customers, Hunter mentioned that the police had been to speak to him that morning about Norman Hastings. He added, ‘There’s another insurance broker, or something to do with Hastings’s car, here. She was in my office but I just saw her outside. She wanted to know about Hastings parking his car in the hangar.’
Hunter was used to Janklow’s mood changes but he was stunned when the man pushed past him and walked back out the way they had come in.
‘What about the Silver Cloud, Mr Janklow?’
Janklow’s fists were clenched as he strode along the corridor to Sheena’s office and opened the door. She gave a nervous smile at the sight of him. ‘Where is this woman from the insurance company?’ he demanded.
‘She just left me, Mr Janklow.’
‘What did she want?’
Sheena swallowed. ‘Same as the other two officers. She was making inquiries about vehicles we allowed to be parked in the hangar.’
Janklow picked up the log book. ‘Did you get her name?’
‘I presumed Mr Hunter must have. She was interviewing him this morning.’
‘What do you mean, interviewing?’
‘Well, just talking to him. I don’t know what he said or anything. I was only doing what I was told, Mr Janklow.’
He walked out and into his own office, banging down the heavy book in a fury. He then rang through to the showroom.
Hunter was turning the engine over, the Japanese looking on with interest, when the phone went. Hunter excused himself and went to answer it. Janklow seemed hysterical, screaming for him to get into his office immediately. He didn’t care if they had customers, he wanted to speak to Hunter this second. If he valued his job he would get himself over there. Before Hunter could reply the phone was banged down.
Lorraine ran towards Rosie and climbed in beside her.
‘Thanks a lot, I’ve been roasting alive out here. Have you any idea how long I’ve been waiting? I’ve been round the block four times and I’m dying of thirst.’
Lorraine told Rosie to get out of sight of S and A. She hit the dashboard with her fist. ‘I’ve got him, Rosie, I know he did it. Maybe he did them all but I’m damned sure for one that Janklow killed Norman Hastings. We got an A-l suspect for Rooney.’
Rooney was sweating in spite of the chill of his air-conditioned office. He expected the FBI any minute to talk to him and the rest of the day would be spent discussing the murders, and his lack of progress. He’d finished the bottle of bourbon, his nose was redder than ever and his eyes were bloodshot. Bean put a large mug of black coffee and a packet of peppermints in front of him. Rooney had seemed less than interested in the new victim; he’d merely glanced at the reports and photographs. ‘What was she? Man, woman or what?’ Rooney muttered.
‘A transsexual prostitute. It’s in the report, happened last night around ten thirty.’
The only thing different about this one was that she had been hammered to the side of the head first, and had no rear scalp wound but multiple facial injuries. It had not yet been ascertained if the weapon was the same as that used in the previous murders.
‘Any witnesses?’ Rooney asked.
‘Nope. She or he was seen on the streets, then said she was going to have a break because she’d got something wrong with her right foot.’
‘That it?’
Bean nodded.
‘Well, let these smart-alecks sort it. Any sign of them yet?’
‘Due any time. They went out for lunch. Oh, you wanted a low-key inquiry run off at the S and A garage about the workers. Well, it’s all here. Hastings’s car was parked there in a hangar but he removed it the day before he was killed. He used it as a free parking lot — he knew the management. Place belongs to the Thorburns.’ Bean tweaked two fingers up when he said the name. ‘You want to take it further?’
‘If his fackin’ car wasn’t parked there on the day he died then it’s not much use to us, is it?’
The phone rang and Rooney motioned for Bean to leave. Out of the corner of his eye, Bean saw Rooney swivel round to face the wall behind him, the report of the morning’s interviews at S and A left untouched on his desk. He hoped Rooney would get his act together before the FBI grilled him. He looked shot and stank of liquor.
Lorraine was using a public call box.
‘You got something for me?’ Rooney snapped.
‘Yeah, but I don’t want to discuss it over the phone.’
‘Dunno if I can get away. There’s been another one.’ He gave Didi’s real name and that she was a transsexual prostitute. ‘She was in the car like the others, similar head wounds. Car was reported stolen a few hours after we found it.’
‘When did it happen?’ she asked bluntly.
‘Last night, around ten. Nicknamed Didi. You ever heard the name?’
They agreed to meet in an hour and a half’s time at Rooney’s favourite Indian restaurant. Just as he picked up the reports, the phone rang again. He was required in the Chief’s office. The FBI were waiting.
Lorraine joined Rosie in the car. ‘Where to now, partner?’ Rosie asked.
‘Didi’s dead — one of the transsexuals you met at the gallery.’
Rosie switched on the engine and Lorraine told her to put her foot down: she was meeting Rooney but wanted to talk to Nula first.
‘You going to tell him everything?’ Rosie yelled over the noise of the car engine. ‘Only you could maybe get some more dough out of him if you got a suspect.’