Nula continued to paint her nails. ‘Listen, dear, why don’t you go and do your Perry Mason someplace else? Didi was my closest friend, we adored each other and we both loved little Holly — neither of us would hurt her. Whatever she was doing with Art — she never let on about it to me.’
‘Maybe not, but Art might have got angry with her. Maybe it was Art that picked Holly up?’
Nula wafted her nails about to dry them. ‘To be honest, dear, I don’t know what you’re getting at. You’ve had a wasted journey.’
‘Come on, Nula, I know you have to be in on it. Janklow listed a lot of Mrs Thorburn’s jewellery but he didn’t sell it. Did he give it to Art?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nula snapped.
Lorraine shrugged. ‘Fine, I’ll go, but I won’t keep quiet. You must know something because you had to be in on it.’ She tried a different tactic. ‘Look, I don’t like to do this but I’m broke. Maybe I’ll keep quiet if you give me a cut. I want money to keep my mouth shut, Nula. I lied about the agency crap — who’s ever gonna employ me?
Nula began to shake a bottle of foundation cream furiously and started to make up her face. ‘Obviously I have so much money that I get some perverse kick out of living in this shit-hole and getting twenty dollars a blow-job if I’m lucky. I don’t have any dough, all right?’
Lorraine walked slowly to the door. ‘Well, if you won’t help me, Nula, I’ll go to the cops — see if they’ll dole me out a few dollars for the information.’
Nula smirked and then said loudly, ‘Craig, why don’t you come in and say hello to Perry Mason, dear?’
Lorraine pressed her back against the door as Craig Lyall walked in from the bathroom. Nula started to collect her clothes, relaxed and seemingly no longer interested in Lorraine. She held up a dress, checking herself in the mirror, while Lyall moved closer to Lorraine.
Nula giggled. ‘Sit down, sweetheart. We’re going to have a little party, just the three of us. Well,
you
are. Open the bottle, Craig dear, she won’t be able to resist.’ She minced out into the bathroom.
Lorraine’s heart thudded. How long had she been in the apartment? Ten, fifteen minutes? Would Rosie do anything? Did she even know which was Nula’s apartment?
Lyall produced a bottle of vodka.
‘Don’t do this, Craig. I just wanted a cut of the jewellery, nothing more, and Janklow’s already admitted the murders. I won’t go to the cops, I promise, it was just a threat. I didn’t mean it — all I wanted was some dough.’
Nula shrieked from the bathroom, ‘What do you think we are? What are you so scared about? All we’re going to do is have a little party.’
She reappeared, wearing a black silk underskirt and stockings. She held out a pair of shoes. ‘If you think your shoes are nice, look at these, three hundred dollars, handmade.’ She slipped on first one then the other.
Lyall opened a bottle of vodka and poured a tumblerful. ‘Have a drink, Lorraine dear.
Go on, drink it?
She swiped Lyall’s hand away. The glass smashed against the wall.
‘Hold her down and pour it down her throat.’ Nula had opened a suitcase full of new clothes. She selected a smart navy dress with a white collar. Lyall gripped Lorraine’s wrist and dragged her towards the bed. She struggled and Nula smacked her hard across the face. ‘Listen, you’d better do what we want or we’ll mark your other cheek. Is that what you want, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes? I knew you were a cunt the moment you ripped us off at the gallery. You blackmailed Art. Now
drink?
Lorraine was trying to locate the fire escape. Did the apartment face the street? How long had she told Rosie she would be? She’d fouled up so badly. Had she really felt so sure she’d be able to face out Nula, get the information she needed and return to Bickerstaff? She’d been so off the wall, she’d lost her touch — she almost needed a drink she was so angry with herself.
‘Drink,’ Lyall said, but she still hadn’t taken the glass.
Nula moved to his side. ‘Your it down her throat! What are you waiting for? Few glasses and she’ll be begging for more. Go on, do it.’
Lorraine looked up into his scared face. ‘Don’t do this to me, Craig. I promise I won’t tell anybody you’ve got the jewellery—’
He gripped her cheeks and forced the glass to her lips. Nula grabbed her hair and held her head back, screaming at Lyall to get on with it.
Rosie had read the entire newspaper. She tossed it aside and checked her watch. She looked at the front entrance, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Then she got out of the car, trying to remember the name of the person Lorraine was seeing. She looked down the row of names by the intercom but most were scratched out or blank. She pushed open the main door, walked into the corridor, which stank of urine, and climbed the stairs to the first floor. Half-way up she stopped when a door opened and two kids ran out. She had to flatten herself against the stairwell as they charged past her. A woman came to the door and Rosie hurried towards her. ‘Have you seen a tall blonde woman?’ The door slammed in her face.
She continued up to the second floor, where a male voice demanded to know what she wanted. She turned to face an elderly black man wearing overalls and carrying a broom. ‘You live here? What you doin’ here?’ Rosie explained she was looking for someone. ‘What apartment?’ he demanded.
‘I dunno. She came in about half an hour ago to visit a friend — Nula. You know anyone called Nula?’
He shook his head and shoved the brush at her feet. ‘Get out, go on, get out. This is private property.’
She got to the car in time to see the kids who had pushed past her breaking one of its rear-view mirrors and the window on the driver’s side had been smashed. Rosie kicked at the glass in fury as the kids ran off shrieking. She carefully removed the glass from the seat. Where the hell was Lorraine? As she straightened up she saw a man walking out of the building with two suitcases. He was in one hell of a hurry and she was about to shout to him when he turned into a yard. Rosie followed, reaching the entrance as the man was throwing suitcases into the trunk of a car. Just as she was about to cross towards him, a woman shouted and he looked up to the fire escape.
Nula was leaning over the railings. ‘Get another bottle, and hurry up.’
Lyall got into his car and started the engine. Rosie stared hard at Nula, sure it was the right woman. She wasn’t sure what to do. If Lorraine was with her, maybe they were just talking and she’d go nuts if Rosie suddenly barged in. On the other hand, if Lorraine was in trouble and Rosie did nothing she’d be just as mad. ‘Think like a detective, Rosie, come on,’ she muttered. ‘What would Mrs Super Sleuth Lorraine Page do?’
Standing on an old crate, she managed to drag the pull-ladder of the fire escape loose and started to climb upwards. One or two rungs snapped off as she put her weight on them so she almost fell back to the ground. Half-way up she wondered what the hell she was doing but by then she was almost at the first landing.
She grabbed the railings and ducked under the barrier to stand on the first escape. She was scared that if someone saw her they might push her off, so she picked up a garbage bag and tried to look like a resident dumping it. She passed one window after another, peering in, looking for Lorraine. The apartments were run down and squalid, and she saw no one until the fourth window revealed a couple eating, She dodged back the way she had come and headed up towards the second floor. Suddenly, the bag split and refuse clattered down the fire escape. She froze. The landing window opened below. ‘What the fuck’s goin’ on up there?’ The window banged shut again and Rosie held on grimly, heart pounding. She nearly fell off again when another of the rusted steps gave way and felt her arm wrench almost out of its socket as she hung on. It was only her anger with Lorraine that kept her climbing.
It took Lyall just a few minutes to get to the corner store, buy two more bottles of vodka and return to the apartment block. He parked right behind Rosie’s car, ran up the stairs two at a time to the third floor, and banged on the door for Nula to let him in.
Lorraine was on the bed, her feet tied together with a pair of Nula’s tights and her hands bound in front of her. The empty bottle was on the bed beside her. Nula was dressed and everything was packed ready to leave. Lyall locked the door and chucked the bottles onto the bed beside Lorraine. He was sweating with nerves. ‘There’s a car smashed up outside, a rental from LA — that hers?’
‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’ Nula snapped.
Lyall picked up the cases. ‘I’m not hanging around, Nula, I’m getting out now with or without you. If that bitch could find us so can the cops. She’s probably workin’ for them.’
Nula was unscrewing the cap of a fresh bottle, glaring at him. ‘You’ll do just what I tell you and so will she.’ Nula pushed the bottle between Lorraine’s lips, tilting it. The vodka dribbled down her chin covering her chest, ‘Drink it, Lorraine!
Swallow it?
The vodka hit the back of Lorraine’s throat. She had to swallow but she turned her head away. Nula slapped her face hard and pinched her nose so that when she forced the bottle between Lorraine’s lips she had to swallow. The liquor made her body feel as if it was on fire and the room began to blur. ‘That’s a good girl, come on, let’s see you finish the bottle.’
Lyall was frightened. ‘Christ, you’ll kill her.’
Nula laughed. ‘What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do? Get those bags down to the car.’ He opened the door and suddenly Nula sprang off the bed and ran towards him. ‘
No!
I don’t want you pissing your pants and driving off. ‘We’ll go together. Open the other bottle.’
‘I’m not doing it!’
Nula punched him and pushed him up against the wall. ‘We got to do this, we’ve no choice. She knows enough to get them sniffing round us and if they pick me up I swear before God you’ll go down with me.’
Nula sat astride Lorraine pouring the vodka down her throat. Lorraine heaved as if to vomit and Nula withdrew the bottle and again slapped her hard across the face. Her eyes closed and her body went limp, and Nula poured the rest into her slack mouth. The liquid dribbled down her face, into her hair, saturating her.
Nula got off the bed, Lorraine was motionless. ‘Let’s go,’ Lyall pressed. ‘We’ll miss the plane, Nula!
Come on?
Rosie, meanwhile, was on the third floor, edging along the fire escape, peering into one window after another, as Nula and Lyall got into their car and drove off. Her legs were shaking, her hands cut from the rusted rails as she inched towards the landing window, She’d break the glass if need be — she was not going to go any higher or climb down. Now she didn’t even care if she was arrested for breaking and entering. She got to her knees and began to crawl the last few yards. It was then she saw Lorraine.
She banged on the window. Lorraine half turned her head but then went back to untying her legs. She kept flopping over and she was giggling. Rosie banged on the window again but Lorraine seemed oblivious. Rosie attempted to open the window but it held firm. She pressed her face closer as Lorraine tried to stand, lurching into the wall, then into the dressing table. She rolled around laughing and then she saw the bottle of vodka that had fallen off the bed.
Rosie kicked at the window. The glass cracked but only after she had used both feet was there a hole big enough for her to undo the lock.
Lorraine paid her no attention. She was trying unsuccessfully to drink from the bottle. Rosie heaved her bulk through the window. The glass cut her leg and she was gasping for breath from the effort. She reached Lorraine as she lifted up the bottle to drink and grabbed it. Lorraine screamed and tried to hold onto it but Rosie wouldn’t give way. She tore the bottle from her, ran with it into the bathroom and poured the contents down the sink.
She became aware of an ominous silence from the other room and dropped the bottle. Lorraine had passed out. She looked green, her breathing rasping, rattling. Rosie was terrified that she was choking and dragged her to the bathroom, hung her over the bath, then ran water over her, pushing at her lungs. Lorraine heaved and coughed, then vomited. Rosie forced her under the cold water tap. She was like a pitiful rag doll, unable to fend Rosie off, unable to do anything as she retched.
Rosie got her to her feet and forced her to walk up and down. Her head lolled on her chest; she couldn’t speak; her eyes were unfocused and she didn’t seem to know who Rosie was. She mumbled incoherently and then slithered to the floor. ‘Lemme sleep.’
Rosie dragged her up again, walking her up and down. She was crying — she was so afraid. She didn’t know if she should call an ambulance and she kept asking Lorraine her name but she couldn’t reply, just kept saying that she wanted to sleep. It wasn’t until she had been violently sick again that Rosie helped her to the bed. She stripped off Lorraine’s clothes and drew back the sheets, rolling her naked body further onto the bed.
‘Lorraine? It’s Rosie.’
Lorraine’s eyes drooped and she gave a weak smile. Rosie went into the filthy kitchen, where she brewed some coffee. She went back to the bed and shook Lorraine, who moaned and flapped at Rosie to leave her alone. But Rosie persisted, made her sit up and tried to get her to drink the coffee. After half an hour, Rosie could tell she was coming round. She asked where she was and Rosie said they were in San Francisco but it didn’t seem to sink in. She closed her eyes again but Rosie still wouldn’t let her sleep: she pressed ice cubes wrapped in a pillow slip to Lorraine’s head. ‘Rosie, I have to sleep. Leave me alone.’
Finally, Rosie lost patience. ‘
Right.
I’m going to leave you. You disgust me — just as you got everything going for you. Why did you do it?’
Lorraine threw aside the sheet. ‘I got to have a drink, Rosie, I’m going crazy, my head aches. Just get me a drink.’ She held her head in her hands. ‘I got to make a call — got to call Bickerstaff. Is there a phone here?’
‘The state you’re in you can’t call anyone.’
Lorraine squinted up at her. ‘They forced it down me.’ She tried to stand but the room spun and she had to sit down again. ‘Nula, you got to get her arrested, she’s with that photographer Craig Lyall. I got to call Bickerstaff.’