Cold Shoulder (32 page)

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.

‘Yes, I love Mike. Now I got to go home. We both got enough problems without starting up any new ones.’

She had never seen Lubrinski ill at ease but he was that night, pulling at his thick black curly hair. ‘It is kind of different for me, Lorraine.’ He shook his head, looking at her. ‘You don’t know, do you? You got no idea. Jesus Christ, Lorraine, I love you. Some days I don’t know what to do with myself I love you so much and sometimes I get scared for you, and I know that’s not a good thing but I can’t stop it, can’t stop loving you, wanting you. And sitting so close to you, day in day out, is driving me crazy. I’m gonna ask for a transfer. It’s nothing to do with you being a good or bad partner, it’s just that I want you and… well, now you know.’

Two nights later he was shot. When she tore off her tights to wrap around his thigh as he was bleeding to death, Lubrinski had joked that at long last he was getting her pants down — he knew he would in time. If he’d known she’d do it when he was shot, he’d have stood up months before…

She held him in the ambulance. His breathing became laboured, his eyes unfocused. She kept telling him to hold on, to keep talking. The last thing he said was that he loved her and the last thing he heard before he died was Lorraine saying that he was a stupid, dumb bastard because she loved him too, and if he didn’t hold on and pull through she’d strangle him with her tights. She saw the light go from his eyes in disbelief. She’d seen so much death, been so close to it, but this was like losing her own soul, as if he was taking it with him.

Lorraine went back to her apartment, needing Mike more than ever, but he wasn’t there. She drank herself into a stupor and collapsed on the bed. Mike came back about two hours later. As soon as he saw her he shouted that Lubrinski had got her drunk again and she had said quietly that this time Lubrinski had nothing to do with it.

‘I don’t believe you. I’m gonna see him, report him.’

‘Try the City Morgue, Mike, but I doubt if he’ll talk back to you, he’s dead.’

Mike was stunned, had tried to hold her, but she couldn’t stand him near her, couldn’t bear anyone to touch her. All she wanted was to drink herself into oblivion. Poor Mike had tried to understand, to persuade her to take leave when it was offered, but she refused; she couldn’t stand not to be busy, not to be working. She began to believe that Lubrinski had taken a part of her with him when he died. Nothing she did made any sense, neither did anything Mike said. She was irritable with the girls, she was bad-tempered and uncooperative at work, but somehow she carried on until she finally lost control and killed an innocent boy.

‘We’re almost there,’ said Rosie.

Lorraine opened her eyes. She wanted a drink. That was all she could think about. She didn’t care about anything else. ‘I want a drink.’

Rosie drew up outside a grocery store and hurried inside. She returned with a pack of Coke. ‘Here, you wanted a drink!’ Lorraine opened a can and gulped it down. Rosie opened one for herself and then proffered a piece of homemade banana bread.

Lorraine sat bolt upright. What had Rooney said? The latest victim, all they had on her or him was that his last meal was banana bread. She felt her body break out in a cold sweat. Was it Didi or Nula that was always making banana bread? Could it possibly be one of them? Didi was blonde, the right age. He had said it was a transsexual — but it couldn’t be, it was impossible.

‘I got to make a call, Rosie.’

Rosie looked at her. ‘Oh, yeah, like you just got to go in there and make a phone call. You think I’m dumb. I know what you’ll be making, a bottle of vodka. No way.’

Lorraine had her hand on the car door. ‘Shit, if you feel I can’t be trusted then come in with me.’

Lorraine had Rosie right at her elbow as she placed the call to Nula and Didi’s apartment. Nula answered, her voice drowsy. ‘It’s Lorraine, who am I speaking to?’

‘It’s Nula, sweetheart, how you doin’?’

‘I’m great, Nula. Is Didi there? I need to speak to her.’

‘Nope, she’s not come in, been out all night, the dirty cow. She’ll be back soonish because she’s got a girl comin’ to have her hair cut. You want me to get her to call you?’

‘Do you know where she is?’ Lorraine asked, trying to keep her voice laid back.

Just then the doorbell rang at Nula’s end. It was probably Didi just coming home, she said; if Lorraine wanted to hang on and wait she’d bring Didi to the phone.

‘No, I got to go, I’ll call later.’

Rosie waited, head on one side. ‘What was that all about?’

Lorraine shrugged. ‘I thought maybe something had happened to Didi but she’d just gotten home.’

They left the grocery store and drove off to the S and A garage. This time Lorraine was going to go in. She needed to speak to the man Mrs Hastings had recognized. She also knew that Steven Janklow might be there and if he was, she was going to have to come up with a good reason for her presence.

Nula fetched her coat. The two officers didn’t say why they wanted her to accompany them to the station, but she knew it was something to do with Didi because they had asked for photographs of her. If she had just been arrested for prostitution, Nula knew they wouldn’t want photographs. It was something else, something bad. All they had asked was if she knew David Burrows. Nobody ever called Didi David, only the cops. Half an hour later Nula identified Didi’s body. She was in such a state of shock she was unable to speak coherently. All she could do was whisper Didi’s name over and over. The face didn’t resemble that of her beloved friend. Only the red nails and the big topaz ring made Nula sure it was Didi. Two uniformed officers returned her home by patrol car. They helped her inside the apartment, before they asked when she had last seen Didi.

The FBI checked into the complex list of dates and pickups that Brendan Murphy could remember. They contacted the trucking agencies he worked for and released him. He had not lied: Brendan Murphy was not in Los Angeles when his wife Helen had been killed and neither had he been near any of the other locations where victims had been found. Deprived of a suspect, they began to study the case history. Having been brought in to trace Murphy, they were now assigned to the murder investigation.

L
ORRAINE SAT with Rosie in the parking lot adjacent to S and A Vintage Cars. ‘Right, here I go. You wait here and if I’m not out—’

‘I’ll shoot myself.’ Rosie laughed.

Lorraine got out of the car, gave her jacket a quick tug to straighten the back and walked briskly towards the main reception area. No one was around and the vast stretch of the polished mahogany counter held leaflets sprayed out like fans. Dull soft music, songs from the twenties, was in the air. A number of Oscar-like statues, racing cups and awards stood in glass cabinets and everywhere there were pictures of vintage cars.

Five gleaming automobiles were lined up in front of the showroom windows: a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce, a Rolls Corniche, a 1950s Bentley, a Bristol and a two-door Mercedes sports. The leather interiors were as immaculate as the gleaming chrome, wooden dashboards, large steering wheels, by today’s standards almost fragile-looking. Lorraine could see her distorted image reflected in the hub caps. She looked squat.

‘Hi, how can I help you?’

She turned to the equally polished salesman. His hair gleamed, as did his teeth, his deep tan, his eyes. He had the S and A logo on the pocket of his navy blazer and on his maroon tie. He smiled expectantly, one hand shifting his immaculate starched cuff closer to his wrist, he was all logo-ed out. She wondered why he hadn’t had S and A stamped on his forehead.

‘Do you have an office? I’d like to discuss something with you.’

The teeth gleamed as his lips drew slightly apart in another fake smile. ‘Would you like to tell me what it’s about?’

‘Sure, if you have an office. I am Mrs Page, and you are?’

He stepped behind the counter. ‘Alan Hunter. I am the chief sales assistant. How can I help you, Mrs Page?’

He gave her a cool, studied appraisal. Even though his eyes didn’t seem to leave hers, she felt as if he was scrutinizing her from her worn shoes to her second-hand suit. ‘May I ask what you’re selling?’

She would have liked to hit him in the face. She used to love times like this, times when, confronted by a real smartass prick, you drew out your ID and said in a low voice, ‘You want to check my ID, sonny?’

‘I’m not selling and I’m not buying. I need to talk to you in private. What did you say your name was?’

Something in her voice unnerved him so he hesitated and repeated his name.

‘Bight, Mr Hunter. I don’t want to waste any more time and I don’t want to discuss anything in this swimming pool of a lobby.’

He touched the knot of his tie and gestured towards a glass-windowed door.

Lorraine walked across the reception area and paused when she saw a picture of Brad Thorburn. He was sitting on the wing of a racing car wearing a white racing-driver’s suit. One arm clasped a helmet, the other lifted a glass of champagne. To right and left were more pictures of him posing at racetracks.

Hunter opened his office door, motioning her to enter ahead of him. ‘Are you with the police?’

She placed her purse on his empty polished mahogany desk and took out her cigarettes. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

Hunter did not demur and Lorraine surveyed the room. ‘You don’t appear to be very busy.’

‘We are, I assure you. Most of our customers wait for us to deliver, few come to the building. We have hangars and workshops out at the rear of the showroom. Can I ask what you wanted to talk to me about? Is it traffic violations?’