Cold Shoulder (19 page)

‘How close are these, time wise?’ Fellows flicked his hand to Helen Murphy and Holly.

Bean crossed to the information section and looked up. ‘The reported attack on the woman in the Van Nuys shopping mall was on the same day Hastings was killed. This woman, Helen Murphy, was, as close as we can get from the labs, murdered about three days before we found her.’

Fellows nodded. ‘But they can’t be exactly sure, can they? I mean, it could be a day either side. Her body was pretty high, wasn’t it? Already decomposing?’

Bean nodded and then checked the information on Holly. Fellows had taken a small black leather diary from his pocket and was flipping through it, licking his fingers as he pushed the small pages over. ‘And, Lieutenant, Holly was killed on what date?’

Bean looked at Rooney. ‘Fifteenth of this month.’

Fellows pursed his lips. ‘You got dates for all the others? See if it’s always around the same time. I know some of them are four to six years old, but I’d like to get a calendar made up. Would you do that for me?’

Bean nodded. Fellows turned to Rooney and gave a glum smile. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s about it for today. It’s not much because I need more time, and I’ll hopefully come up with something else. I expect you’ve already come to the same conclusions yourselves. Basically, a lot of what I do in the end is simply common sense.’

He picked up his briefcase. ‘You’re not going, are you?’ Rooney asked anxiously. ‘I mean, all the team is coming in today to talk this over—’

Fellows snapped his case shut. ‘I’m sure you can repeat everything, and I have a game of golf waiting. If you just keep me informed of any new developments, I’ll get back to you.’

‘What did you think of him?’ asked Bean when Fellows had gone.

‘I take back everything I said. How’s that for starters?’

Bean grinned. ‘Odd character, wasn’t he?’

‘Big ears.’ Rooney sighed. ‘We’re almost back at the starting gate, aren’t we? From what he’s said, we’re off by a long way with Murphy’s husband. Nobody’s found the fucker anyway.’

He flicked at the blind on his office window. ‘You know, way back I was on a case, a missing kid — long time ago — but we’d all given up, we just had nothing. You remember that woman I saw that night when we went to the Indian?’

Bean raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, she was on the same case, a little girl missing. She found her body at the school. She was such a cute little kid, and…’ Rooney sighed, seeing the little girl’s face again. ‘Anyway, Lorraine — that was her name, didn’t I tell you about her?’

‘Drunk on duty, right?’

‘This was before she became a lush, years before, and she was a good cop, dedicated — well, as much as a woman can be. Anyway, she wouldn’t let go, she was so sure it was this janitor, but we had nothing on him. He even had a strong alibi for the afternoon the girl went missing. We’d all scrapped him as a suspect — she was even warned off from visiting the school and his place. Did it in her own time. She just wouldn’t back off him. And we had not one shred of evidence, it was just her intuition…’

Bean yawned and looked at his watch, he could hear all the men starting to arrive outside, and he wondered where the story was leading. Rooney too seemed uncertain, still flicking at the blind with his fat stubby finger. ‘She broke him down, I don’t know how, none of us did. She brought him back into the station for maybe the tenth time, questioned him over and over, and meanwhile there was the Captain going ape-shit, saying we’d be accused of harassment. Then she walked out, and she had this look on her face like some prize fighter. She lifted up her fist, said he’d admitted it, that he’d just broken down and admitted killing the little girl…’

Bean wasn’t listening, his attention on the doorway as he looked at the men that passed. ‘Everyone’s gathered. You want to go in?’

Rooney hitched up his pants. ‘Maybe we try again with Hastings’s wife, maybe we’ve been going too softly-softly, maybe he wasn’t such a good, upright, honest citizen. And we start trying to trace that missing witness again. We don’t back off, but keep on going — okay?’

Bean sighed. ‘You know, even if we do find her maybe all she knows is what she told us and that won’t help.’

Rooney jabbed at him with his finger. ‘Wrong. She never said where he picked her up from. She probably knows a hell of a lot more than she let on. Now, let’s get fucking cracking before the entire Sunday’s up the spout. We got to trace that bitch and all leave is cancelled as from now…’

The cab drew up outside a narrow, three-storey house facing the ocean that didn’t look much but, Lorraine knew, would have to be worth outside three million dollars. Mike Page was certainly doing a lot better for himself nowadays. The cab driver, who had been watching the clock, now turned to face Lorraine. ‘You want to drive around some more or are you getting out?’

‘Drive around a while longer.’

He sighed. ‘Okay. Anything you want, lady, this is your ride.’

They did another tour of Santa Monica, then returned and parked in exactly the same place as before.

‘This is it, lady. I got an account customer I need to pick up, so, if you don’t mind…’

He was lying, she knew, he just wanted her out of his cab, probably because it was Sunday and he wanted to get home. She paid the fare, and stepped out. Hardly had the cab door shut behind her before he drove off. She felt marooned, afraid to walk the few yards to Mike’s front door, yet unable to turn and walk away. She stood there, frozen.

‘Lorraine?’ The voice was unmistakable. It was Mike. She turned and shaded her eyes. He was wearing an open neck shirt, white slacks and flip-flops. A big dog with long scruffy hair padded beside him. Her heart was thudding and she knew she must be flushed a bright red and her whole body broke out in a sweat. Mike had a deep sun-tan and his teeth gleamed; his dark brown eyes had lines at the side, crow’s feet, but apart from that he didn’t seem much older than when she had last seen him.

‘Hi!’ He stood about a foot away from her. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until later.’

‘I got a taxi.’

He smiled, reached for her bag and she let him take it.

‘I got something for the girls, I don’t want you to think I’m staying over…’

He took her elbow, about to draw her towards the house, then he stopped. ‘They’re out swimming but they won’t be long, so we can have a chat, catch up.’

She followed him towards the front door, but he went down some steps to enter the house through large french windows which opened onto a verandah.

This is nice,’ she said lamely.

‘Yep — and it’s breaking me financially, but the kids love it,’ He paused. ‘Oh, maybe you don’t know. I’ve got two sons — they’re with the girls and Kathy.’

Lorraine nodded, presuming Kathy to be their stepmother. She stepped into the big open room, where toys and newspapers, even breakfast dishes, had been left on a huge round table facing the ocean window.

‘Sorry about the mess but Sundays we just let everything hang out. Now sit down and I’ll get some coffee going.’

Lorraine sat on the wide sofa. She looked slowly around the room, at the paintings, the throw rugs, the grains of sand that sparkled on the floor. ‘Can I smoke?’

Mike cleared the table, and looked up. ‘Sure, I’ll find you an ashtray.’

She lit up, her hand shaking so much that she glanced over to see if he’d noticed, but he was carrying a stack of dishes into the kitchen. The door closed and she inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill her lungs. She got up and stood by the open window, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Mike held onto the edge of the sink, shaken. Nothing had prepared him for the way she looked. She had aged so much — she was skin and bone, her face scarred so badly she seemed to squint. He shook his head, wishing he had more time to prepare the girls. Then he heard Sissy calling, and before he had time to warn her not to come down, she was in the drawing room. He listened at the door.

Sissy was wrapped in a cotton kimono. She was deeply tanned and had waist-length, ash-blonde hair. She was as tall as Lorraine, but full-breasted, her legs muscular and taut. Her long arms and perfect hands immediately pulled the kimono closer as she had no belt and was naked beneath it. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.’

Lorraine bowed her head. ‘I’m, er… well, I guess you knew I was coming. I’m Lorraine.’

‘Oh, yeah, I’m sorry. Where’s Mike?’

Lorraine swallowed. ‘He’s making me some coffee.’

She wondered who the beauty was, but Sissy seemed totally at ease, striding to the kitchen. ‘Darling, you should have said, or yelled up that Lorraine was here. I’ll go back up and shower, leave you two to have a chat… Mike?’

He walked out of the kitchen and slipped his arm around Sissy. ‘Well, you’ve met. This is my wife, Sissy.’

Lorraine forced a smile as Sissy walked out and up the stairs. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ she said quietly.

Mike nodded. ‘The girls adore her, and — well, lemme get the coffee.’

Lorraine looked out onto the verandah and lit another cigarette from the stub. Then she started to cough, one of her awful, chesty, phlegmy coughs that made her feel weak and her eyes run. She gasped, tried to control it and Mike appeared with a glass of water.

‘You should give that up!’

She shrugged, still coughing, and took the glass. Mike returned to the kitchen, and Lorraine remained outside on the verandah, sitting on one of the wooden bench seats. She drained the glass and set it carefully on the table. At least her hands were no longer shaking.

Mike carried out the tray of coffee and set it down. He poured a cup, and she smiled. It was the first time she even faintly resembled her old self: Mike noticed that she still had the palest of blue eyes.

‘So. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ve often wondered how you were, hoped you’d get in touch.’

He waited for her to reply but she stared ahead. He could see the deep scar down her cheek, and her body shaking slightly. He’d sometimes wondered how he would react to seeing her again. He’d expected to feel anger, or perhaps attraction, rather than this deep sadness. He had worried that she might have some custody query, or have become financially secure enough to want the girls to live with her. But the worn, old-fashioned safari suit, the cheap shoes, everything about her looked seedy and worn. Worse still was Lorraine herself. She had always been so positive, arrogant even, now all he could see was a pitiful shell of what she had once been. That was what he felt more than anything: pity, and an overwhelming relief she was no longer part of his life.

‘I don’t drink any more, Mike.’ Her voice was smoky from too many cigarettes, deeper than he remembered.

‘Good, that’s good…’ he said, hesitantly.

‘But I sure as hell could do with one now!’

L
ORRAINE SAT on the verandah shading her eyes, waiting for the first glimpse of her daughters. Mike stepped out carrying two photo albums, and came to sit beside her. Momentarily her shoulder rubbed against his.

‘These are my boys — Chip, whose real name is Charles, and this is Mike junior.’ They were both blond, both as beautiful as their mother. She quickly turned the pages back to the beginning, barely interested in Mike’s sons. The first photograph was one she remembered: they were sitting side by side on a piano stool, Sally with a front tooth missing.

Mike looked up, hearing a shout from the beach. ‘Here they are…’

Lorraine stood up and leaned on the rail. Sissy had one boy by each hand, and behind her walked a dark-haired teenager — but running up ahead were the girls. Sally and Julia, torn jeans, faded T-shirts, as suntanned as Sissy, they shouted and waved. Lorraine was stunned. They were both so tall, so different… she would have passed them in the street and not recognized them. ‘My God,’ she murmured.

Mike laughed. ‘Yeah, they grow up fast, don’t they?’

Sally was ten, Julia twelve. Six years was a very long time. Their initial exuberance faltered as they reached the verandah, and they turned to Sissy as if they needed her to be with them, but Mike called for them to come on up. Julia was tall for her age, as slim as Lorraine had been at twelve.

‘Hello.’

Lorraine smiled. She would have liked to put her arms around her daughter, but she wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted. Sally wouldn’t come close; she hung back as if afraid. Sissy slipped her arm around Julia’s shoulder. ‘Now, why don’t you three show Lorraine the photo album, and I’ll make some lunch?’

‘Okay,’ said Julia.

Sally sat beside Lorraine, but Mike followed Sissy into the lounge and pulled the doors half closed behind him. He watched for a moment before joining his wife in the kitchen.

The three sat in uncomfortable silence. Lorraine knew the dolls were a mistake — certainly for Julia, who seemed sophisticated and grown-up. Sally sat with her head bowed.

‘I’m sorry not to have kept in touch with you both…’ Lorraine said haltingly.

Julia gave her a strange, furtive look. ‘That’s okay. This is me winning a swimming prize at school.’ Lorraine leaned forward to look at the photograph, and the tension eased slightly.

Lunch was served inside because it was cooler, and Julia showed Lorraine where the bathroom was so she could wash her hands. Lorraine crept from room to room, peeking in at each door, until she found her daughters’ bedroom. It was full of posters and rugs, old teddy bears and a wardrobe bulging with clothes. Untidy comforters lay on their unmade beds, but it was a room any girl would covet. The last door she opened revealed Mike’s study, the walls covered with pictures of the family, and some of himself on fishing trips. There was a large modern desk with stacks of files and papers, and Lorraine was just closing the door when she caught sight of a picture of herself, with the girls. It surprised her that he would have it, and she edged into the room, afraid that anyone should hear her creeping around.

She leaned across the desk to get a better view of the photograph and then froze as she inadvertently knocked some papers onto the floor. They were business letters, and as she glanced disinterestedly over them, the letter heading of one document caught her eye. The company was a vintage automobile reconditioning firm, specializing in imported cars. The letter confirmed that leather upholstery had been installed in a Mercedes sports car, circa 1966, and the client had refused to accept the costs. It was not, however, the contents of the letter that caught Lorraine’s attention, it was the small black and green oval raised letters of the company logo: S & A. She was almost certain she had seen it before… not on a letter… It was on a pair of cufflinks.