It was hard for him to take in everything Rosie said. Just the pertinent facts were enough to make him break out in a sweat. Lorraine had been attacked by the so-called hammer killer; she was the witness the police were searching for; she was also investigating or assisting the police in their inquiries. It was hard to believe, and even more so when Rosie slipped in that Lorraine’s ‘partner’ was also helping the investigation.
They couldn’t carry on the conversation as Lorraine walked in. She was surprised to see Jake.
‘You come for breakfast?’
‘Nope. I was wondering if you wanted to come to a meeting.’
‘What? Are you nuts? It’s not even nine o’clock. Besides, I can’t. I got to stay in the apartment.’
‘I’m gonna get dressed,’ Rosie said, eyeing Jake and jerking her head towards Lorraine, who watched her go out and then started to wash the cups.
She ran water into the sink. ‘So, what has she told you?’
Jake fiddled with his collar.
‘Is it about me admitting I wanted a drink?’
Jake shrugged. ‘You may not know it, Lorraine, but you just broke through, and you’ll make it even if it doesn’t look or feel like it right now. But I want you to come to a meeting with me this morning. According to Rosie you might need a morale boost.’
Lorraine put her head on one side. ‘She tell you I might be arrested?’
‘Is it true?’
She put down the dishcloth. ‘It’s true, and I think I’m gonna need a lot more than just a morale boost.’
‘Then you’ll come to the early-morning meeting?’
Bean strode into Rooney’s office, hands in his pockets. ‘Ambulance just taken his body away.’
Rooney pulled at his nose. ‘How the hell did he do it?’
‘Broke his glasses and slit his wrists.’
‘FBI must be shitting themselves.’ Rooney snorted with a half-derisive laugh and sneer.
‘Yep, all in there blaming each other and patting each other on the back at the same time.’
Rooney gaped. ‘What you mean?’
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I mean, why kill yourself if you’re innocent? They reckon he must be the one.’
Rooney snorted again. ‘That’s bullshit. We know he couldn’t have done two of them because he was inside. They got the report of his criminal record, didn’t they?’
Bean said that they might have found some discrepancies over the dates. Whatever, they were not digging too deep as the Chief was putting out a press release that the suspect in custody had admitted his guilt.
‘Had he?’ Rooney asked, astonished, because when he’d last seen Mathews he hadn’t — far from it.
‘They reckon so, but they still want to question his accomplice.’
‘His what?’
‘Lorraine Page. I was told you were bringing her in. They’ve been waiting for you.’
Rooney could feel the warrant in his pocket. He took it out and passed it to Bean, his heart pounding. He felt sick, needed time to plan what he was going to do with the information Lorraine had passed him. He had already decided not to mention the theft of Norman Hastings’s wallet, and would maybe tell her to leave out the cufflinks. He was even toying with trying to keep the attack on her out of his statements; now it looked as if it was out of his hands. He asked himself why he’d go out on a limb for her like this, but all he came up with was that he liked her, but if it got out that he’d used her, paid her, and had been privy to the information, he’d not only be out in the cold but his hoped-for bonus was shrinking by the minute.
The squad car drew up outside Rosie’s apartment just moments after they’d left for the AA meeting. All vehicles were instructed to be on the look-out for the prostitute Lorraine Page, described as five feet nine, short blonde hair, last seen wearing a cream suit and silk shirt. She was to be arrested on sight.
Lorraine was still uncertain as to why she had let Jake and Rosie talk her into coming to the meeting. Maybe, if the truth was to be admitted, it was because she was at a loss and she was also scared.
The woman was neatly dressed in printed cotton, her hair well cut, parted in the centre and constantly falling forwards to hide her face. She spoke quietly, nervously. ‘My name is Carol. Nine months ago I was sleeping rough, I felt there was no hope for me. I felt no shame, I felt nothing. I had lost my husband, my children, my home and my job. I had turned to prostitution to feed my drinking. I was a prostitute, a thief. I owned only what I stood up in, I had nothing, and no respect for anyone, least of all myself’ Carol continued to talk and Lorraine held tightly to Rosie’s hand, understanding for the first time what she felt, what she had been through and that she was not alone. Everyone at the meeting, she now began to realize, had felt shame and rejection, knew loss and humiliation.
When they stood and warmly applauded Carol, when they embraced her and congratulated her, Lorraine was one of the first to leave her seat. She was shy, at first proffering her hand, but then she put her arms around her. ‘I’ve been there too. I know how you feel,’ she said simply.
Carol hugged Lorraine back. ‘We’ve all been there, that’s why we’re here.’
‘What was the hardest thing for you?’ Lorraine asked.
‘Facing myself, not being angry or ashamed. It wasn’t me but the drink. I hid behind it, I know that now, and I’m determined to stay sober, I got a job today. I was scared but I told them I’m an alcoholic and now that I know that’s what I am, I feel free. For the first time in years I’m not hiding.’
‘You said you hid behind drink. What did you mean?’
‘I was afraid of failing. I’m a nurse and I had a patient, a child, who died. I gave the wrong medication and I was never able to face the guilt or come to terms with it. I have now. It will always be with me but I can deal with it, I’m taking responsibility for myself and I want to stay sober. I have to stay sober or I’ll go down again.’
Jake was watching Lorraine. He winked at Rosie. ‘It was good we came. You were right, Rosie, it was important for her.’
‘And for me too. If Lorraine had started drinking I’d have probably joined her,’ Rosie replied, and Jake smiled.
Lorraine joined them. ‘Thanks for bringing me. Now we should get back in case Rooney needs me.’
Rooney watched the FBI agents talking to his chief. He sat in a hard-backed chair at the rear of the room; when anyone looked to him for an opinion he made no comment. The press had been given statements and the suits felt that, by the arrest of Art Mathews, they had been able at least to gain time. Even if they couldn’t provide evidence that Mathews had murdered all the victims, they were satisfied that by his own admittance and subsequent suicide he had been guilty of at least three.
Andrew Fellows had come in and they had been in deep discussion with him for two hours. He did not disagree with their conclusions but raised doubts that Mathews was the killer. Not until they seemed to have grown tired of their own voices did Rooney ease his bulk from the chair. ‘You mind if I put my two cents in?’
They had forgotten he was even in the room. The Chief looked pointedly at his watch. Is it about the Lorraine Page woman?’
Andrew Fellows frowned. ‘Lorraine Page?’