Cold Shoulder

by Lynda La Plante

  “Do you know who it was?”

  Lyall chewed his lip. “I think it was—you said his name before—Thorburn.”

  Lorraine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Brad Thorburn? You mean he’s involved in all this?”

  “Yes, inasmuch as he picked up Holly and took her back to his house. I dunno what happened, but she somehow figured out what we were all doing—maybe she saw Janklow there—but she started pushing Nula and Didi for money. They got on to Art—they were really worried—and next thing I read she was murdered. I don’t know which one of them did it, but they got away with it because they made it look like this serial killer had done it. I think Art was involved. But I swear to God I don’t know. I was caught up in it all because I’d taken photographs of that Norman Hastings and he was a friend of Janklow’s, but I didn’t know that. It was just, well, I knew they were doing it and it seemed so easy.”

  Lorraine was trying to absorb what he was saying and then it clicked. “Were you blackmailing Norman Hastings?”

  “Yes, but then he went to Janklow and asked him what he should do about it. I suppose the two of them discussed it together. I’ve told you all I know. I had nothing to do with any of the murders. All I did was a little blackmail.”

  Bickerstaff checked his watch, crossed to the phone, and dialed. Even though the room was soundproofed, he spoke very quietly. Josh Bean answered.

  “This is Bickerstaff. I want Brad Thorburn brought in for questioning.”

  Bean hesitated. “I think he’s still in France, Mr. Bickerstaff.”

  “I don’t give a shit if he’s in Outer Mongolia, get him in.” He replaced the phone, feeling elated, and couldn’t wait to get his own hands on Lyall. And he couldn’t wait to lay it all before the chief for the sheer pleasure of seeing his face.

  Lorraine continued to question Lyall as he sobbed out his part in the blackmail racket. She made only a few notes, knowing that Bickerstaff would go over everything. She didn’t even feel self-congratulatory. She couldn’t stop Brad Thorburn’s face from drifting into her mind, and she only half listened as Lyall talked, freely now, as if relieved it was all out in the open.

  Lyall had used Didi to make up the men who came to him for secret photographic sessions. They had met through Mathews when they worked together in Santa Monica. When they met again in Los Angeles they continued their old tricks and Mathews let Didi and Nula use his apartment for photo sessions. He moved out, leaving them there. Didi continued to pass on potential blackmail victims. Janklow was paying first Art, then all three to keep silent. None had any indication that he was also a killer. He had always paid up without argument, regaining one negative after another, until he began to get edgy, saying he had no more money, no more jewelry.

  Lyall asked for water, sipped it, and then nervously kept tracing the rim of the glass with his finger. “Hastings didn’t have much cash but he paid up, fifty bucks here and there. But when Art found out he went crazy.” The rim of the glass squeaked as he ran his finger around and around.

  “Did you kill Norman Hastings, Craig?”

  “No, I didn’t. And I had nothing to do with any of those others.”

  Lorraine leaned forward. “What about Didi?”

  Lyall closed his eyes and sighed. “I saw her—she was already dead, she was at their apartment. Nula called me. She was lying on the floor. I never touched her. I think they had something to do with that girl Holly, but I don’t know what—they knew something, I’m sure of it.”

  “What about Mathews? Was he involved in Holly’s murder? That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it? That Nula and Didi had something to do with Holly’s death?”

  His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Yes, but I don’t know if Art was involved.” He started to cry, biting his bottom lip to stop the tears. “I swear all I’m guilty of is helping Nula to—” He broke down, and Lorraine waited until he had composed himself. “I helped move her body, carry it to the stolen car.”

  “When you carried Didi, did she have these injuries?” Lorraine brought out the photograph of Didi’s hideously beaten face again and he straightened up.

  “No. When I last saw her her head was covered in a black plastic bag, I never saw her face, and after she was put in the car, I went home.”

  When he had finished Lyall seemed more relaxed. He had stopped crying and seemed resigned. As Lorraine gathered her notes and files together, he gave her a weak smile. “I loved her, you know, really loved Nula. We were going to be married in Vegas—that’s why I helped her. It wasn’t anything but that, I didn’t do anything.”

  Lorraine walked across to the door. “They’ll want a statement from you, Craig, and I think you’d be wise to tell them everything you know, just as you’ve told me. Don’t let her get away with it.”

  Bickerstaff didn’t congratulate Lorraine. He almost grabbed her notes from her while directing his men to begin the detailed requestioning of Craig Lyall. Lorraine sat in his office, Rooney’s ex-office, completely drained, as the atmosphere around grew charged with excitement. She felt ill, her head thudded, but all she could think of was Brad Thorburn. Had she been wrong? Could he be implicated in the murders? Had he always known more than he had let on?

  “What about Thorburn?” she asked Bickerstaff quietly.

  “We’re having him brought back from France.” He hesitated and leaned over her. “How involved do you figure the smooth bastard is?”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “You mean there’s something you don’t know about this business?” Bickerstaff didn’t mean it to sound quite so sarcastic; he was actually trying to pay her a compliment, but she was not amused.

  “I didn’t think Brad Thorburn was involved.”

  Bickerstaff looked directly at her. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  * * *

  Bickerstaff was by now moving like a man on speed, talking nonstop, firing instructions right, left, and center. Lorraine remained sitting in his office, thinking about Brad Thorburn, until they were ready for her.

  Nula was not brought up from the holding cells until four P.M. that afternoon. She had refused to be interviewed without her lawyer present, so they had been forced to wait until Craig Lyall’s statement was completed. Bickerstaff was given permission by Chief Berillo to allow Lorraine Page to watch the interrogation of Nula from the adjoining viewing room. She was taken from his office, back down to the basement level.

  As Nula was being ushered from the cells, she was aggressive and abusive, and had to be half dragged along the corridor, kicking and spitting. Bickerstaff might not have intended Lorraine and Nula to meet. It could have been coincidence that the two met in the corridor coming from opposite ends. Only when Nula saw Lorraine did she quiet down, visibly shocked into silence. As the door closed behind her, Lorraine entered the adjoining room. Nula had become outwardly calmer and asked for a mirror in order to check her makeup and wig. Sitting at the table, her lips a deep dark vermilion with a sheen of gloss, she asked for a tissue to wipe her teeth as small flecks of the lipstick had stained her front teeth.

  “Well, I’m ready, are you?” she smirked, looking at the one-way mirror.

  Bickerstaff stood by Lorraine, both looking at Nula. He didn’t turn to her when he asked if she wanted to sit in on the interrogation rather than watch it from the viewing room. She nodded, he then turned to face her and smiled. “Good, I hoped you’d agree.”

  First Bickerstaff then two uniformed officers followed by Lorraine entered. Nula turned slowly to face her and then laughed. “I underestimated you,” she said, completely relaxed, and apparently unconcerned by the formidable lineup. If anything, she seemed almost to be enjoying the attention. Her lawyer waited to speak until everyone had been seated and the tape recorder turned on.

  Nula was facing two separate charges: blackmail and extortion, and first-degree murder. She stated that her birth name was Nicholas Simmons. Her lawyer now turned to Bickerstaff. “My client categorica
lly denies any part in the charges leveled at her and she has the right to remain silent. She has been made aware of certain statements by Craig Lyall, implicating her in these said crimes, and again denies playing any part in the said crimes but will, if required, be prepared to stand trial for the prosecution and to implicate Craig Lyall as being solely responsible for the crimes.”

  There was a short pause before Bickerstaff began by asking Nula directly if she had been involved in the blackmail of Steven Janklow.

  No comment.

  Had she struck David “Didi” Burrows during an argument and then, with the assistance of Craig Lyall, carried his body to a stolen car and deposited it?

  No comment.

  Bickerstaff asked detailed questions for almost half an hour. Each one was answered with “No comment.”

  Throughout, Nula sat checking her nails, fixing her skirt, straightening her frilled blouse. She sometimes looked at Lorraine, raising an eyebrow, and then, as if bored by the proceedings, yawned, crossing and recrossing her legs. When the photographs of Didi were displayed, she averted her face and stared at the wall. When she was asked again to look at photographs, she sighed and glanced down, then looked at her lawyer.

  Holly’s pictures were laid in front of her. This time her lawyer asked her to look at the photographs as requested. She picked one up, glared around the room, and then let it drop back on the table, drumming her nails on it.

  “No comment.”

  “Are you saying you do not recognize her? Or that you do not know her?” Bickerstaff asked impatiently.

  “My client refuses to answer that question in case it may interfere with her request to act as a prosecution witness.”

  Bickerstaff turned toward Lorraine. He gave a brief nod and they requested a break in the interview to enable them to confer. Both left the room.

  Bickerstaff shoved his hands into his pockets. “This could go on for days. You want to have a try, see if we can hurry it up in there?”

  “Okay. Is it legal for the same lawyer to represent both parties?”

  “Lyall has already given his statement. It’ll be up to him to hire someone else. I would, if I was him, but that’s not my main concern right now.”

  They went back into the interview room and the tape was turned on again. The date and time repeated. Lorraine pulled her chair up close. Nula giggled and leaned across the table. “Your turn now, is it?”

  Lorraine ignored her remark. “She was just seventeen, Nula. Why did you have to kill her? What harm had she ever done you?”

  Nula conferred with her lawyer and then sat back.

  “My client wants to know why Ms. Page is present at this interview. She is aware that she is not attached to the FBI or the police Homicide Division. She is also aware that Ms. Page is a chronic alcoholic. I would also like to lodge my own formal complaint as to such a woman being present.”

  Bickerstaff leaned back in his chair. “No comment.”

  “Is she some kind of witness?” the lawyer asked tersely.

  Nula smirked. “They couldn’t put her on a stand in any court of law, she’d be laughed off. She’s a drunkard, she’s a whore, and she’s even been paid for working with Art Mathews. She more than likely instigated the blackmail—she was certainly paid enough to keep quiet. Ask her! Has anyone asked her how much Art Mathews paid her? I never touched Holly, nor did I hurt my best friend. She’s making it all up, probably with that pervert Lyall. I can even smell the booze on her—it’s coming out of her pores. Look at the way her hands are shaking.”

  Lorraine refused to be goaded but she was blushing, not, as it would appear with embarrassment, but anger. She turned to Bickerstaff and got a steely stare back, as if to say “back off me.” He hesitated, as if he was going to say something, but then looked away.

  Lorraine leaned back and imitated Nula’s smiling face. “I’m as sober as she is and she’s lying. I was never paid a cent by Art Mathews.”

  “You lying cunt,” Nula spat out.

  “Takes one to know one,” Lorraine snapped back. “But then you don’t have one. Is that your problem? Is that why you had to kill little Holly? Because she was young, beautiful, everything you wanted to be but—”

  Nula stood up, pushing away the restraining hand of her lawyer.

  “She was about as innocent as my ass!”

  “Taking your clients away, was she?” Lorraine shot out and Nula swiped at her from across the table.

  Lorraine was on her feet. “That’s it, Nula, come on, show what you’re really like. Show just what a mean bitch you are—and you are mean. The way you hammered poor Didi’s face after all she’d done for you.”

  No one in the room acknowledged what was going on. They sat stony-faced as Nula and Lorraine shouted at each other. At one point, an officer half-rose but Bickerstaff glared. He wanted this catfight to continue.

  Nula snarled, “It was me that did everything for her. Don’t you know anything?” She pointed a red-tipped talon at Lorraine. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Without Didi you were nothing. She had to tout you around—you couldn’t even pick up a john without her.”

  “Fuck you, that’s bullshit.” Nula’s hands were on her hips. Her lawyer tried to make her sit down but she stepped away from the table.

  “She told me, said you were a useless piece of garbage.”

  Nula swiped at her again.

  “And then when you found out she’d kept a ring, you just snapped, didn’t you?”

  Nula looked at them all smugly. “I know what you’re trying to do. Well, I’m not saying another word.”

  She sat down and smoothed her skirt as Lorraine walked to the side of the room and propped herself against the wall. “Nobody’s asking you to, Nula, because we know. We know that you tried to get the ring off her finger—even threatened to cut it off—but she wouldn’t part with it. She told you to piss off, so you punched her, like the man you really are. All this makeup and wig, all the fancy clothes, you’re just a heavy-handed man underneath it all, aren’t you, Mr. Simmons? But Didi, she was really beautiful, wasn’t she? She was curvaceous, petite, not a big ham-fisted bastard like you. She had tiny delicate hands.… Look at your hands, Nula.”

  Nula elbowed her lawyer. “Tell her to shut the fuck up. This isn’t legal. I want to leave.”

  Bickerstaff calmly looked at the lawyer. “Tell her she won’t be leaving here for a long time.”

  Nula stood up again and lunged forward. “You’re all jerks, all of you, you’ve got nothing on me, nothin’ but what that wimp Lyall has told you and he’s full of shit.”

  “Then why don’t you tell us what really happened?” Bickerstaff asked.

  “No fucking way, you asshole, I’m not sayin’ another word. I know my rights, I don’t have to tell you anything because I know all you’ve got is his word against mine. That’s all you’ve got and until we make a deal and make me a prosecution witness, I’m not talking.”

  Lorraine was still standing by the wall, arms folded. “Tell us about Holly. Why did you kill Holly?”

  Nula shouted, “I never touched her, I never touched Didi, I never did anything and I know you got nothing on me, nothing. Janklow killed them, just like he killed all the others—it’s in the papers. It’s Janklow. I’ve got nothin’ to do with anything.”

  “But he didn’t kill Holly and he didn’t kill Didi.”

  “Yes, he did.” Nula was red in the face with fury. “He was a sicko, everybody knows it, he’s nuts, can’t even stand trial. Don’t you follow what’s going on with your so-called investigations? I know what you did. You put poor Art in prison and you killed him. You gave a big press conference, ‘We got the killer,’ and you were wrong. How come nobody is standing trial for that? He was innocent. I’m innocent.”

  Getting no reaction from anyone she turned back to Lorraine, pointing at her. “I’ll scream it all out to the papers about you, Lorraine Page, about what’s going on in this room. Ja
nklow has admitted to killing Holly and Didi, Janklow is a sicko, a pervert and—”

  “So are you,” Lorraine said softly.

  “Get her out of this room or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Nula? Kill me like you did Holly?”

  “This isn’t right, she shouldn’t be allowed to do this to me, she’s saying things to get me going. Well, I’m not gonna say another word. If you got the evidence, then arrest me, charge me. Go on, let’s hear you do it.”

  Nula put her hand out to her lawyer, who looked confused. “I wanna tissue, it’s so fuckin’ hot in here, gimme a tissue.” She snatched the paper tissue her lawyer held up to her and dabbed her face. Her makeup was starting to run, her mascara smudged, and a section of the front of her wig gauze had broken loose. She tugged at it with annoyance.

  Bickerstaff checked his watch. It was almost six-thirty. He suggested they take a break and continue the interview the following morning.

  “Does that mean I can go?” Nula asked.

  “You will be held in custody pending further inquiries.”

  “But you haven’t charged me,” she said. “Can they do this?” she asked the lawyer.

  “Yes, I’m afraid they can, with Craig Lyall’s statement against you and …”

  “Bastards,” she muttered.

  “You’ll meet plenty of them, Nicholas,” Lorraine said quietly. “How many will be in her cell with her? Three or four?” she asked Bickerstaff. He made no answer.

  “I want to be put in the women’s section,” Nula demanded.

  “That won’t be possible,” Bickerstaff said flatly and turned to the lawyer. “Please explain to your client that as she is listed as male on her birth certificate she cannot be placed in a female wing.”

  For the first time, Nula seemed frightened. She clung to her lawyer. “But I’m a woman. They can’t do this to me.” He whispered to her and she looked at Bickerstaff, then Lorraine, lunging at her, knocking over the table. “You bitch! You did this to me! You know what’ll happen to me in with those animals.”