Cold Blood

Chapter 14

Rooney arranged for Nick’s body to be sent home when the autopsy was finished. He had. called Nick’s sister to tell her the news and she had been silent and uncommunicative, but had said she would bury him and gave Rooney the address in downtown LA. Not until the end of the call did she ask how he had been killed. Her voice broke just a fraction when Rooney told her.

‘Lenny was always getting himself into trouble.’

‘Lenny?’ repeated Rooney, confused.

‘Yes, he called himself Nick, but we, the family, always use his middle name, Lenny, well, Leonardo. Er, just one thing, Mr Rooney — we can’t take his dog.’

‘That’s okay, I’ll see to the dog.’ They had nothing more to say to each other, so he paid his condolences and replaced the phone.

‘I’ll take care of Tiger,’ Lorraine had said quietly. Rooney had nodded and then excused himself. She knew he needed to cry, and he did, leaning up against the elevator, returning later to force them all to get on with the job.

Lorraine drank from a can of Coke, seemingly more preoccupied with getting the day’s work started than discussing Nick, and her apparent lack of emotion confused and worried Rosie. Rooney had warned her to leave Lorraine alone, and not to ask her questions, but Rosie couldn’t stop looking at her: Lorraine’s face was chalk-white and her eyes red-rimmed, but that apart, she seemed almost over-bright.

‘Rosie, will you quit gawping at me all the time,’ she snapped.

‘I’m just wondering if you are all right.’

‘I’m fine, Rosie — now how about we get back to the reason we’re all here?’

They discussed the hideous, rotting doll, and then Rosie wrapped it in two newspapers and stuffed it into a drawer. Lorraine did not have any energy to interview anyone, but she knew she would have to speak to Elizabeth and Robert Caley. They also discussed the importance of Fryer Jones’s arrest and release, and his implication in some way with the disappearance of Anna Louise, but Rosie and Rooney would not allow Lorraine to go alone to his bar. Nick had been murdered a few blocks from there, and if there was a connection they would have to find out. Nick’s stupidity in going off alone made them angry, as now they had no idea where he had been or who he had spoken to. But their anger did nothing to ease their grief.

Rosie pulled a face at the smell coming from Lorraine’s briefcase as she withdrew the video of The Swamp and knelt down to slot it into the video recorder she had persuaded the receptionist to lend them from the lounge downstairs.

Lorraine drew the curtains and perched on one bed as Rooney and Rosie sat on the other. She saw him give her a gentle pat and lean in close. ‘You all right, darlin’?’

Rosie nodded, returning his pat of comfort, making Lorraine feel excluded, but she ignored it as the film began. It was faded like some old sixties Technicolor film. Even the old Columbia Studios logo was fuzzy and the music was sliding badly. The pre-film script made them all lean forward.

‘This film has carefully researched the life and times of the voodoo queen Marie Laveau, who arrived in New Orleans in the early nineteenth century.’

The film was tedious, it took a long time for the actual plot to unfold. Despite the faint picture and blurred lines across the print, Elizabeth Seal was certainly a great beauty, and her dance with a live snake was the high point of the first twenty minutes.

‘They really did a good job of her make-up, she really does look black,’ Rosie murmured. The film rolled on, the plot at times very confused. Even though the film spanned more than one generation and everyone else became grey and wizened, the star remained looking about twenty throughout. Even when they laid her body in her coffin she looked young and beautiful, whereas the real Marie Laveau had lived into her eighties. It really was a Hollywood-style distortion of the true facts.

The end titles began to roll and Rosie picked up the controls to switch it off when Lorraine shouted, ‘Wait, wait! Roll it back, Rosie, STOP!’

They looked at the last section of the artists’ credits, and under the group heading of ‘SNAKE CHARM DANCERS’ were two very familiar names, Juda and Edith Salina, and under the group of ‘VOODOO PRIESTS’ they found the name of Fryer Jones.

Rosie turned off the TV and opened the curtains, while Lorraine picked up a fresh can of Coke and opened it on her way to the bathroom. There, she poured part of its contents down the toilet, and then topped it up with Nick Bartello’s vodka before returning to the bedroom. She sat down, drinking from the can, her foot tapping.

‘Well, I’ve got my energy back. I want to talk to Elizabeth Caley this afternoon...’

Rooney puffed out his breath. ‘You want me with you?’

‘No. We need to get to Juda Salina’s sister, you got an address, Rosie?’

‘No, not yet, I was about to when...’ She was about to say Nick’s name but covered fast. ‘She’s not listed in the phone directory but I got a directory of clairvoyants, voodoo advisers and experts from the museum. She may be in that, I haven’t checked.’

‘Do it, but you don’t go near her until I’m back. From now on we stick together, report in frequently, and if we move on, we give time and location.’

Rooney looked pissed, and Lorraine turned to face him. ‘Bill, I handled the Caley situation badly. In an interview with Lloyd Dulay, I said things I shouldn’t have done without checking the facts first. So I have to see him alone and apologize.’

‘Okay, you know what you’re doing.’

‘Not always, Bill, and I was out of line with Caley.’

‘Well, you got results.’

‘Yes, I did.’ She hesitated. ‘Nick gets murdered, Tilda Brown commits suicide. I got those results all right because I was angry and tired out, tired because I had been up all night screwing Caley.’

‘What, are you serious? You fucked Robert Caley?’

‘Yes, yes, I did.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Rosie said, astonished.

‘Well, it’s true, and it was a dumb move to make, but...’ She gave a glum smile, and lifted her shoulders in an apologetic gesture. ‘Couldn’t help myself. So the next day I was so determined to find out if he was a suspect or not, I went at it like a bat out of hell.’

‘Nick was right then? He suggested you do it, and it got results.’

Lorraine turned away. ‘No, Bill, Nick was wrong. I didn’t fuck him for information, I did it because I wanted him. Now excuse me, I need a shower.’

She closed her bathroom door, and Rosie snatched up her notes, her face set rigid. Rooney reached for his jacket and made for the door.

‘That’s it, is it?’ Rosie said angrily.

He turned surprised. ‘What?’

Rosie put her hands on her hips. ‘We just accept it, say nothing? She sleeps with our client. The guy hired us, Bill, and she gets fucked by him. Oh, that is really very professional, really good work. Gets laid so hard that the next night she crashes out early and Nick goes it alone and gets killed?’

‘Rosie,’ Rooney warned, glancing towards the bathroom.

‘I don’t care if she does hear me, I am disgusted, disgusted!’

‘Don’t be.’

‘Why the hell not? Now she’s going to see his wife, what if she finds out, what do you think will happen? We’ll lose that bonus. I am through taking orders from that slut.’

Rooney opened the door and walked out into the corridor. ‘Come on, Rosie, she got the information on the trust fund and she might not have if she hadn’t gone through that connecting door.’ He stopped and turned back with a half-smile. ‘We don’t have one, do we?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Closing the door with a bang, she caught up with him at the elevator. ‘Was that a cack-handed come-on, Bill?’ Rosie glowered.

‘Hell, no. It was just a joke.’ He stepped into the elevator. ‘I wouldn’t make an indecent proposal to you, Rosie, I’ve more respect.’

The elevator door closed, and he pressed for their floor. They stood in silence as the elevator stopped and they stepped out into the hallway. Rosie’s door was first, and she was determined to open it without even looking at Rooney, but he placed his big hand on the handle.

‘Unless you wanted me to?’

She looked at him, refusing to allow herself to smile. ‘I haven’t had an indecent or a decent proposal made to me for a long time, Bill, but right now, with Nick gone, I don’t think I am ready for either. See you later.’

She turned the key and entered the room. Not until the door was closed behind her did she allow a small smile to break through. ‘The old buzzard’s really got the hots for me,’ she said to herself gleefully.

Lorraine dressed with great care, with the fan running overhead so she wouldn’t break out in a sweat before she’d finished admiring herself. She had one of her new suits on, a silk shirt, high-heeled sandals and a single strand of cheap but good-looking pearls. She picked up her briefcase, having washed everything inside and just about managed to get rid of the smell of the doll.

In reception, she passed Rooney, who turned and gave her a smile. ‘Looking good.’

‘Thanks. Was that you or Rosie who slammed the door?’

‘Me, getting worried you might have blown our million. Do you know if Mrs Caley has found out?’

‘If she has, I’ll sort it out. You won’t lose because of me, Bill. I know what I did was unethical, but at least I didn’t lie. Saying I’m sorry I did it would be a lie too. I liked him. Liked him a lot.’

Rooney turned away. ‘What about Nick? You liked him too?’

‘You know I did.’

‘Then we split three ways now, huh?’ he said sadly.

‘I guess so. What’s that you’ve got there?’

He held a folded sheet of paper. ‘A list of Nick’s possessions. His clothes, he had nothing else. His cowboy boots, his wallet and driving licence were missing.’

Lorraine sighed. Her heart sank, but then she remembered something. ‘What about the necklace? That gris-gris thing he had round his neck, that listed?’

‘Nope, but we don’t know if he was wearing it or if it was also stolen.’

‘Well, check his room and I’ll come straight back here as soon as I’m done at the Caleys’.’

‘They know you’re coming?’

‘No, best to keep an element of surprise! Mind you, they might refuse to let me in, but I doubt it. They must know by now about Tilda Brown, it was in the papers.’ Lorraine started for the doors, and stopped. ‘Bill, the newspaper wrapped around that voodoo doll. It had a date on it, February fifteenth, but no year. Could you check with the newspaper printers and see if they can date it by some of the articles? It’s just too much of a coincidence, the date. Anna Louise disappeared on February fifteenth, so if it was last year’s paper it means Tilda Brown kept that thing for a long time.’

She strode out through the heavy front door to meet her driver. Rooney remained staring at the pitiful list of Nick Bartello’s possessions, and he couldn’t help hearing his voice and that smoky laugh he had had. ‘No coincidences, Billy Boy. Never believe in them, just good detective work.’

Rooney sighed, a lump in his throat. He couldn’t actually remember if it had been Nick or Jack Lubrinski who’d said that. They had been so alike and now they were both dead. Rooney became aware of his own mortality and was scared; no son, no wife, but maybe, just maybe a future with financial security beyond his meagre pension. And maybe there was also Rosie.

Elizabeth hurled the pot of Lancaster neck cream at Caley’s head but it missed by yards and smashed against the wall of her bedroom in the beautiful Garden District mansion in which she had grown up.

‘How could you, how could you fucking do this to me?’

Caley side-stepped the brushes and the silver-backed mirror that followed, and waited until she hurled her body down on to her velvet day-bed, her arm resting against her brow in classical fashion.

‘Go away from me, I hate you!’

He applauded. ‘Bravo, none of your performances deserved an Oscar more than this one, Elizabeth.’

‘Fuck you? she screamed.

‘Why don’t you just calm down? Why work yourself up into such a state that you’re gonna need to call your dealer for something to space yourself out into oblivion? That is what you usually do, isn’t it?’

She dived across the room and glared. ‘Calm down? You have stolen, stolen from your own daughter’s trust fund!’

‘Correction, she’s not my daughter.’

‘You were paid to treat her us one? Her face was red with anger, but even as she said it she wished she hadn’t as she saw the pain on his face. She immediately resorted to tears. ‘How could you steal from Anna Louise, Robert, and why? You know if you ever needed anything I always gave in to you in the end, you know that. So why?’

He sat sullenly, hands clasped in front of him. ‘Because I was sick and tired of coming to you for handouts. Sick and tired of playing the same charade, of forever needing you to bail me out. I didn’t want to touch one more cent of your fucking money. I just wanted for once to stand on my own two feet, prove that I could do it. Maybe get back my self-respect. That’s all there is to it, I didn’t want to ask you.’

She smiled. ‘Why not? You have for the past twenty years, and it’s not that I don’t have enough, for chrissakes!’

He felt exhausted even trying to explain, but he felt he owed her that much. ‘Because I knew it would work. I knew it, and it would have made me independent. Don’t you understand? It would have been my own show, not yours, not even associated with you.’

She smirked. ‘But you couldn’t pull it off, could you? Just like you could never have got the time of day from any one of your so-called partners without me — without my being who I am.’

He sighed, shaking his head bitterly, and his voice had an undercurrent of sarcasm. ‘True, everything I am is because of you, you’ve given me everything. What do you want me to do, kiss your feet? Jesus God, Elizabeth, I’ve been on my knees too often, taken too much of your shit to do it again.’

‘My shit? You think I like being married to a failure? You think I wouldn’t have liked someone I could lean on? Someone who would take responsibility?’

‘What? What did you say?

‘I need, I always have needed...’

He was hardly able to contain himself. ‘You and your needs are all I have been taking care of since the day I agreed to marry you, and that, as you fucking well know, was also part of the deal, taking you on, your drugs, your booze and Lloyd Dulay’s illegitimate child. Don’t you tell me about your needs. When have you ever, ever at any time considered mine? Huh?’ He dragged her towards him, scaring her. ‘Yes, look at me, Elizabeth, you look real good, because whatever I was paid to marry you, whatever contracts you had me sign to keep my mouth shut, were regarding Anna Louise. Now she’s dead, so that contract is now null and void.’

She tried to wriggle away from him, but he gripped her wrists, pulling her towards him. ‘Yes, dead, she is dead, and you just won’t face it.’

‘She isn’t, she isn’t, how can you say it? You don’t know for sure.’

He wanted to slap her but all he did was release her, moving as far away from her as possible. ‘It’s been nearly a year, Elizabeth, if she’s not dead, where in Christ’s name is she?’

She started to cry, and he began to walk out but she screeched at his back. ‘Juda said she felt her presence, she told me.’

He stopped and pointed his finger. ‘That goddamned woman is nothing but a leech.’

‘Takes one to know one, Robert.’

He took four fast steps towards her and back-handed her across the face. She stumbled, and then he went after her again, this time gripping her by her hair.

You have spent thousands on that fucking fake bitch. Even when I barred her from the house you still saw her, you even took Anna Louise to her, a fat, stinking pig of a woman who just greases your vanity to get what she wants. Well, how much did she make from you for her so-called psychic feelings on Anna Louise? How much, Elizabeth?’

‘Nowhere near as much as you have taken in one week, never mind twenty years. Juda and I...’

‘Oh please, not that again, not the old friend from the past, because it makes me puke. She’s a con artist, and what kind of vice she’s gripped you in for twenty years is beyond me, unless it’s blackmail.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Ridiculous?’ He sat down, shaking his head. ‘You don’t have a life, Elizabeth, you spend your days and nights in a drunken or drug-induced haze, and Lorraine Page...’

He hesitated. Just saying her name hit him hard. ‘Mrs Page told me you were now injecting a drug that could give you a thrombosis. Do you even remember me getting you in the ambulance, this time, to save your lifer How many more clinics, Elizabeth? How much more punishment can that body take, how many more times can it be surgically put back together again? Well, it’s no longer any concern of mine.’

‘What do you mean?’ She looked scared.

‘It’s over, I quit. I want a divorce,’ he said calmly and matter-of-factly.

‘I’ll have you arrested for using Anna’s trust, Lloyd will call the police.’

Robert Caley laughed. Deep inside, he felt good for the first time in days, perhaps years. ‘Really? Well, go ahead, and you know what I will do? I will tell everyone you lied to me, that Anna Louise was not my child. I’ll demand they give Dulay blood tests, and that means the very thing you are so terrified of, Elizabeth, your blood will be tested too. The gloves will come off, and if you want it dirty, it will be dirtier than you ever believed. I will expose your drug addiction and your freak friendship with that fat bitch.’

‘STOP IT!’

He smiled, now ticking off on his fingers. ‘I will give details of your plastic surgery, the face lift, the body tucks, the liposuction. So much for your big star status! The only place you are still a star is here, out in the real world you were forgotten fifteen years ago.’

‘Stop this?’

‘No, Elizabeth, you stop this sham right here and now because there’s no need for it to continue. Without Anna Louise, there’s nothing. Consult your lawyers, but there will be no contest.’

‘Don’t do this, Robert. I mean it, don’t do this or you will be sorry. I’ll make you so sorry.’

‘Will you?’ He was walking out now, smiling all the while. ‘You’ve made me sorry, Elizabeth, from the day we married. Now I’m going to make you pay for it and you will pay for those twenty years. Believe me, that mega-fortune is going to be sliced right down the middle.’

‘I’m warning you,’ she said furiously.

‘No, I am warning you, because this time I mean it!’

She glared, her mouth a thin tight line. ‘You do, and I will fight you, tell them you even had sex with your daughter!’

‘That deserved a punch in the face, Elizabeth, but I will never strike you again. You will never hold that against me, and as you know, she was not my daughter.’

‘You adopted her.’

‘I gave her my name. I also loved her like a daughter, and she loved me. You can’t take that away. There’s nothing you can do to harm me. It’s over. Goodbye.’

‘She was a cheap slut, you didn’t know that, did your The precious daughter you loved so dearly was a cheap whore.’

‘Don’t do this, leave her be.’

Elizabeth smirked. ‘Ask Mrs Page, get her to show you the photograph of your beloved sweet daughter.’

He walked out, closing the door quietly behind him, and she stood in a blind fury, wanting to scream after him, kick him, punch him, scratch his eyes out. But she walked to the window and looked out, her arms and hands clenched round herself. Her voice was hardly audible.

‘I will make you bleed, Robert Caley. So help me God, I will make your life a living hell, just like mine.’

Lorraine stared out of the car window at the ranks of gracious colonnaded houses which the new American arrivals in New Orleans had built for themselves in the Garden District when cotton, sugar and slaves had begun to make them rich: street after street offered the same vista of dazzling white columns, black iron-work fences and the dark green of shade trees and glossy clipped shrubs. Much of the area dated from the decades before the Civil War when the natural wealth of the whole region had poured into New Orleans, and it was as though the magnificent Italianate and neo-classical houses had been erected to show the world that the South was an empire to rival any that had been seen upon earth.

‘Nice area,’ said the driver. He was slowly warming to Lorraine; he liked the fact that she never felt the need to patronize him or involve him in some inane conversation, and that she didn’t hide her moods. He liked it that sometimes she was really attractive as a woman and sometimes she was not. Tonight she was. She looked sexy and classy, and it made him straighten up in his seat. When they arrived at the tall, double-galleried mansion on one of the most exclusive streets in the district, he was out of his seat fast to hold open the passenger door. Lorraine held her hand up for a moment, took a swig from a can of Coke, which she had brought with her, then tucked it back against the seat. The soft drink was laced with vodka, and she had already bought another bottle back at the hotel.

‘Okay, just hang in there, pal, ’cos I don’t know if they are gonna let me over the door-mat.’ She looked up at the great white house, framed between two chestnut trees behind an austere spearpoint fence, and straightened her jacket.

‘Right, ma’am, I’m here, no place else to go, ready and waiting.’

She turned and stared at him for a moment. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Frankie, short for François.’

She touched his shoulder lightly. ‘Keep your fingers crossed, François.’

He liked it that she didn’t call him Frankie; François sounded cool.

Missy, one of the Caleys’ maids, ushered Lorraine into the drawing room.

‘Will you please wait just one moment while I inform Miss Elizabeth you are here. I think she is resting a while.’

‘Thank you, and would you stress that it is very important that I speak to her?’

Elizabeth hung up the phone and smiled; she hadn’t even had to persuade Juda, she agreed instantly. She then called Edward to tell him to return to LA immediately and collect Mrs Juda Salina — it was imperative that she arrive as soon as possible.

She felt more confident now — she’d get Robert put into his place, she’d make him pay. She smiled at her reflection in the large gessoed and gilded mirror above her bureau, and the feeling of compressed rage lifted until she was almost light-headed just thinking about taking revenge. Robert Caley was no more than a cheap con man, he’d been one when she met him. He was very attractive, that had helped, and he’d taken the bait even faster than she believed he would. But it had had to be fast because she had already been three months pregnant, and neither she nor Lloyd, who was already married, had wanted any scandal. And after Caley had signed the prénuptial agreements, and the various other deals for a considerable amount of money, Lloyd and Elizabeth had toasted each other with chilled champagne.

‘He’s a good find, Elizabeth,’ Dulay had said admiringly.

‘Well, we didn’t have too much choice.’

Dulay had leaned over and patted her belly. ‘Con men are easy enough to control. Never let him handle the purse strings, my darling, I’ll always oversee all that, and I’ll get trust funds set up for you and my baby.’

‘If it’s a boy, Lloyd, what then?’

‘Screw the scandal. You get rid of the creep, I’ll get a divorce, and we’ll get married.’ They had toasted each other again.

They had even decided that they would call him Louis if it was a boy. She had wept when a girl was born, and Anna Louise was named after the son Lloyd had wanted so badly. But he had been true to his word and made watertight financial settlements, hiring advisers to handle the money and trust funds, for both herself and Anna Louise. But his visits grew further and further apart, until she only saw him once a year at Mardi Gras. Anna Louise never knew who her real father was because Caley had kept his side of the bargain, had brought her up as his own, and was named as the father on the birth certificate.

Missy peeked in. ‘A Mrs Page downstairs asking to see you, said it’s important ma’am.’

Elizabeth frowned, irritated at the interruption of her daydreaming, but then felt guilty. ‘I’ll be right down, Missy, just powder my nose.’

She opened one of the drawers of her satinwood bureau and stared at the rows of pill bottles, then she slammed it shut. ‘Now don’t, Elizabeth, don’t get it started all over again,’ she said sharply to her own reflection. ‘Just stay calm.’

Lorraine waited downstairs, looking around her at the double parlour whose elegant proportions and furnishings exhaled restraint and grace as unmistakably as those of the Dulay house screamed for attention. Whatever impulses Elizabeth had towards movie star glamour she had kept in their place in the Los Angeles house, while here little had changed since the inventory taken by her great-grandmother. The ceiling frescoes painted shortly after the house had been erected had never been covered, while the Russian carpets, the piano and music box, and the delicate chairs and side tables had been part of the young bride’s dowry: curtains that fell straight and plain to the floor did not try to compete with the magnificent plasterwork of the cornices, and for fifty years the walls had been a deep and quiet Nile blue. The two fireplaces were unashamedly empty of dried flowers or fake logs; above one hung a family portrait, above the other, a Corot.

It was a quarter of an hour before Elizabeth Caley came into the room, looking stunningly beautiful in a cream silk suit.

‘Mrs Page. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.’

Lorraine smiled. ‘That’s all right, really.’

‘Now, what can I offer you? Champagne, or wine, or maybe a real Southern sloe gin?’

‘I don’t drink, Mrs Caley.’

‘Oh, well, maybe an iced tea?’

‘That would be fine.’

Elizabeth rang for the maid, drew up one of the chairs and sat opposite. ‘You wanted to see me?’

She was bright-eyed, not a hair out of place, groomed and manicured and more confident than Lorraine had ever seen her before.

‘You look very well,’ Lorraine said quietly.

‘Thank you, I am. Ah, refreshments.’

Missy passed them both tall fluted glasses of iced lemon tea, with slices of lemon and lime. It was refreshing, bittersweet.

‘Mmm, delicious,’ Elizabeth said, putting down her glass. ‘Cigarette?’

Lorraine took out her own pack and lit Elizabeth’s first before her own.

‘Have you any results, any news?’ She could have been asking about a movie contract from an agent, she showed no emotion whatsoever. She was clearly in control of herself.

‘Well, I have certainly been kept very busy,’ Lorraine opened her note-book and took out her pen. ‘You know the Polar bears on Anna Louise’s bed, did you give them to her?’

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, but knew it was not a joke question. ‘No, I think Robert gave her three or four. She used to call him Polar because sometimes he can be very frosty, you know.’

‘Did he also give one to Tilda Brown?’

Again, Elizabeth seemed slightly fazed by the question. ‘I really don’t know.’

Lorraine looked at her directly. ‘Did you hear about Tilda Brown?’

‘Yes, I did, they were the first people I called on when I arrived. Tragic, just terrible.’

‘Yes, it is. I interviewed Tilda, just to go over her original statements, but she confirmed that she never saw Anna Louise.’

Lorraine paused while Elizabeth sipped her iced tea, patting her lips with a folded white linen napkin.

‘Do you know a man called Fryer Jones?’

Elizabeth blinked and then shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’

‘He was the only person the police arrested for questioning, an eye witness said he saw him on the night of the fifteenth talking to Anna Louise close to his bar near the French Quarter, not far from your hotel.’

‘I didn’t even know they had arrested anyone.’ She sounded surprised.

‘Well, it wasn’t put out as they released him the same evening. He had a number of alibis from people who stated he didn’t leave his bar the entire evening. There was a Jesse Corbello, his brother Willy, and young sister Sugar May, plus...’ Lorraine passed the handwritten sheet Rooney had jotted down from the police files. ‘Do you know any of these people at all?’

‘No, no. I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘Do you know Edith Corbello at all?’

‘No.’

Lorraine seemed to concentrate on her note-book, but she was watching Elizabeth closely, she had hardly given the list a glance. ‘But you know Juda Salina.’

Mrs Caley was tensing up now, small signals of her unease showing. Her knees pressed close together, her arms twitched slightly. ‘Well, you know that I do.’

‘She is Edith Corbello’s sister, they used to be known as the Salina sisters.’

Elizabeth suddenly gasped. ‘Of course, yes, I do recall her. I don’t know her but I remember Juda mentioning her sister, she’s married to Fryer Jones, I think.’

Lorraine looked up, taken by surprise. She paused a moment before continuing. ‘There is also another son, Raoul Corbello, he was working for Juda in Los Angeles.’

‘I don’t recall the name.’

‘And also a second daughter, she’s eighteen, Ruby Corbello, she is about to be crowned.’

‘Not debutante of the year, surely!’

‘No, she is queen of a new black krewe in the Carnival, it’s apparently a great honour, and a big ceremony.’

‘Yes, yes, it is. More tea?’

‘No, thank you.’ Lorraine picked up her glass, she had only taken a few sips, and watched Elizabeth pluck at something on her skirt. ‘And what about Lloyd Dulay, do you know him?’

Elizabeth’s head shot up and she stared wide-eyed at Lorraine. ‘Of course I know Lloyd, he’s a dear old friend.’

‘Anna Louise was his daughter,’ Lorraine said flatly.

Elizabeth looked away, her cheeks flushed. ‘You have been busy. I hope you have been equally discreet, that is a very personal and private matter. Did he tell you or did Robert?’

‘It will remain private, Mrs Caley, I assure you, and Mr Dulay told me himself.’

‘Good heavens!’ She sighed and then said she felt tired, and if Lorraine had no further questions would she mind if she excused herself?

‘I saw your film The Swamp and I enjoyed it very much.’

Elizabeth laughed, a little theatrically. ‘Oh, goodness me, where on earth did you see it?’

‘Mr Dulay kindly lent me a video. I noticed in the cast-list that both the Salina sisters and Fryer Jones were in the film, not large parts, basically extras.’

‘I didn’t mix with the extras, Mrs Page.’

‘But you saw a lot of Juda Salina.’

‘Yes, but not during the filming. We met up years later at some function here, and if you don’t mind me saying so, I really can’t see how that old film has got anything to do with you tracing my daughter. Good heavens, I was almost her age when I made it, so it was a long time ago.’

‘Do you believe in voodoo, Mrs Caley?’

Her hand flapped. ‘Oh, really, I can’t answer that, no, no I can’t answer that.’

‘Did your daughter?’

‘I very much doubt it, she was a very sensible girl.’

‘So are many of the thousands of worshippers here. Do you know if Tilda Brown believed in it?’

‘Tilda? I wouldn’t know, but then one never knows what children get up to.’

‘She was hardly a child, she was the same age as Anna, almost nineteen...’ Lorraine wondered whether or not she should mention the doll. She knew Elizabeth was lying, her tic had become far more pronounced, as she brushed her skirt one moment, then picked at the flecks of the raw silk, then scratched with her long red fingernail.

There was a long pause, and then Lorraine went for the kill. ‘I found a doll in Tilda Brown’s tennis racquet case. It was a disgusting, stinking, hand-made doll encased in excrement and urine. It was made, although crudely, to resemble Tilda, and even had a cut-out photograph of her face stuck on to the head. Human hair and, I think, possibly blood was matted on the top of it and there was a long pin sticking through the left eyeball out to the back of the head.’

Elizabeth Caley stared at the toe of her sandal, very still now. There was another long pause before Lorraine continued, ‘Because of their distress, I have not been able to discuss my findings with Mr and Mrs Brown, but my partners are taking the doll to the mortuary, hopefully to get samples of Tilda’s hair and blood to see if they are a match.’

‘This has nothing to do with Anna Louise,’ Elizabeth said sharply.

‘Perhaps not, but do you know what that doll represents? According to a book I have on the voodoo culture, it is a terrible curse. It is, Mrs Caley, a death doll.’

Lorraine flicked through one of the handbooks Rosie had bought from the museum. She found the page and pressed the book further open. ‘“Put hair of the person you want to affect in the side of the doll, use black pin where you wish to induce pain”, you will see a diagram—’

‘No, I don’t want to see it, take it away from me, please.’

Lorraine closed the book. ‘This might have no connection to Anna Louise, but on the other hand, I must—’

‘Stop this right now, and do not for pity’s sake show the Browns anything so repellent. It is just appalling that you should even think that poor little Tilda would have—’

‘She wouldn’t have made the doll for herself. Somebody must have made it and given it to her. Maybe whoever did is guilty of manslaughter at the very least!’

‘No, she committed suicide.’

‘I know that, Mrs Caley, but Tilda was Anna Louise’s best friend and I am simply trying to ascertain if they played around, went to any ceremonies.’

‘No, absolutely not. No.’

‘But you are very close to Juda Salina, at one time a high priestess, as was her sister. Edith Corbello is apparently less active now, but still runs a spiritualist group and a similar practice to her sister’s in LA. Juda Salina doesn’t mention the voodoo connection, but hands out leaflets to her clients advertising that she is a psychic medium, reads tarot cards, specializes in trances and hypnotism, spiritualism and... voodoo. I have a copy of her leaflet—’

‘No, I do not know anything about this.’

‘But as Anna Louise went to Mrs Salina on a number of occasions with you, might she not have seen this? And being young and impressionable she may have started messing around with the occult.’

Elizabeth pushed her chair back, scraping the beautiful antique rug. ‘I do not want to repeat myself, Mrs Page, but this has gone far enough. I do not wish to discuss this element in any way whatsoever. In fact, if you believe Anna is dead, then I see no point in your continuing.’

Lorraine stood up. ‘No point? I am trying to find out if your daughter was murdered and at the same time who is responsible. She has been missing for eleven months.’

‘I know that?’

‘So why say there is no point in pursuing this angle?’

‘Voodoo is not an angle, Mrs Page, it is a way of life, and you probably would not understand the complexities of it. It is taken very seriously here and is not, as you have implied, similar to the occult or black magic. It is not used for curses or evil, but the reverse, it is practised as a safeguard against sickness and is spiritually uplifting.’

‘I am trying to learn, Mrs Caley, and if you have any information I would be grateful.’

‘What do you mean, information? I don’t have any information, why do you think I hired you? And as I did hire you, Mrs Page, I am now dismissing you. I will fully reimburse any costs you have accumulated to date, but I no longer wish you to continue this investigation.’

‘I am sorry, but I can’t walk away from this.’

‘Of course you can, you’re only hired, you have no personal ties to keep you.’

‘I’m afraid I do. You see, my partner was murdered working on this case, so I have strong personal reasons why I would like to bring it to a conclusion.’

Elizabeth hesitated, but did not ask any further details about the murder, dismissing it. ‘You seem to have forgotten what that conclusion was, Mrs Page.’

‘Not at all, it was to find your daughter, dead or alive.’

‘But you have not found her.’

‘And my time is not up. I still have over a week to go, we have an agreement.’

‘And I am paying you off, finished. Phyllis will send you a cheque. Now, if you will excuse me.’

‘One million, Mrs Caley, you can pay off the final week now or whenever, but the contract still stands.’

‘Don’t be silly, it was a verbal—’

‘No, it wasn’t. We have it in writing, one million dollars. So even if you did pay me off, I wouldn’t leave, not until I had covered every possible avenue. I’m sorry.’

Elizabeth’s hands were clenched tightly, her face set in a hard, furious glare. ‘You don’t know what you are getting into, Mrs Page.’

‘One never does on a case, Mrs Caley. That’s what makes it so interesting, the unexpected twists and turns.’

Elizabeth’s voice was hushed, threatening. ‘You might just get something unexpected here, and believe me, you will wish to God you had walked away.’

Lorraine felt drained as Elizabeth Caley left the room, her footsteps echoing on the black and white chequer-board tiles of the hall as she called out, ‘Missy, Mrs Page is leaving, show her out!’

The maid appeared at the door.

‘No need, Missy, I’ll do that.’

Lorraine replaced her note-book in her briefcase and turned as the door slammed shut and Robert Caley stood there.

‘You’ve got a fucking nerve coming to the house.’

She snapped her case closed, her legs shaking at seeing him so unexpectedly. She took a hold of herself and looked up, meeting his eyes.

‘I owe you an apology. I said things I shouldn’t have without verification. I am sincerely sorry.’

He stuck his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Sorry? You bad-mouth me to my partners, you pass around scurrilous, disgusting accusations about myself and my daughter, you remove details of private papers from my desk and—’

‘I have said I am sorry.’

‘It’s not good enough. I want a formal letter of retraction sent to Lloyd Dulay.’

She blushed and could not meet his eyes. ‘But you were using Anna Louise’s trust find illegally.’

‘You don’t back off an inch, do you, Mrs Page? That one-million-dollar bonus must be a big incentive.’

‘Maybe as big as your daughter’s trust is to you?’

‘Touché!’

Lorraine picked up her briefcase. ‘I am not scoring points, Robert.’

‘Aren’t you?’

She sighed. ‘No, I am not. I am trying to do my job, that’s all.’

He was so angry he wanted to throttle her. ‘Does that include fucking someone for information the way you used to for a drink?’

She wanted to say that it had meant so much to her, she wanted to drop her briefcase and go into his arms. Instead she froze him out, her eyes without a flicker of emotion, so direct and cold it was he who broke the moment, turning away from her.

‘Did you give Anna Louise toy white Polar bears?’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘What?’

‘She had a row of white bears on her pillow, you gave them to her?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your nickname, or pet name was Polar?’

‘Yes, yes, it was.’

‘Did you also give one of the same white bears to Tilda Brown?’

‘No.’

‘Do you recall how many you gave to your daughter?’

He had to sit down. She was snapping out the questions as if he was some suspect held on a rap in a police station.

‘It’s important, Robert, how many?’

‘Five, for her thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays. I then said there was no more room for them, they were to mark her teenage years, for her diaries.’

‘Her diaries?’

He rubbed his head. ‘Yes, the bears unzip, they have a sort of secret pocket where she used to keep her yearly diary.’

Lorraine could feel the buzz. ‘Did the police ever see them?’

He shook his head. ‘No...’

‘Why not?’

‘They weren’t there. Maybe she grew out of them, I don’t know.’

Lorraine’s buzz went flat fast. ‘Shit! Okay, now can you try and remember if on that flight, the one on the fifteenth, Anna Louise carried or packed one of those bears?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘It’s very important, Robert, think.’ He shook his head, and she came closer. ‘When you went into her bedroom at the hotel did you see one of the white bears?’ He sighed, and she moved even closer. ‘Shut your eyes and think, Robert. You said her purse was in the sitting room and her new dress was laid out in the bedroom, so you must have looked at the bed.’

‘Why? What’s so important?’

She was close enough to bend down and touch him but she remained upright. ‘When I went into Anna Louise’s bedroom in LA, I found four bears lined up on her pillows. Four, Robert, not five, four.’

He reached out, not looking at her, and stroked her calf, her leg so slim he could almost slip his hand right around it. ‘No, there wasn’t one in the hotel.’ He eased her round to stand in front of him and leaned forward, his head pressed into her crotch. ‘Why did you not even answer one call, Lorraine, why?’

‘I wanted to, Robert, but I was too guilty. I was all out of kilter that day, tired from being with you. And I suppose when Tilda hinted about you and Anna, and Dulay told me about the trust fund, maybe I was jealous, or plain angry, but I have no excuse, I should not have said the things I said without...’

She could feel his breath, his lips pressing through her skirt, but a part of her mind was working by itself. She remembered Phyllis saying she packed the day they left, or was it Elizabeth?

‘I have to go, Robert.’

He dropped his hands and rested back in the chair, looking up at her. ‘What’s so important about the bear?’

She had picked up her briefcase and was already crossing to the door. ‘Tilda Brown said Anna Louise did not see her on the fifteenth, but what if she was lying? What if the bear was a peace offering, because they’d had such an argument? It was over you, Robert, do you know that? Your daughter was jealous of the attention you gave Tilda.’

He stood up, hands wide. ‘Jealous? She was jealous of little Tilda?’

‘On that day, before you went to work, you passed Tilda on the tennis courts, remember? You kissed her because she was crying, and Anna Louise saw it.’

‘It was harmless, I swear before God!’

‘I know that, but Anna Louise didn’t, and I think it sparked off a jealous rage, which resulted in—’

‘Tilda leaving...’

She nodded, then looked at the phone. ‘Can I make a call?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, dialling the Caleys’ home in LA. Phyllis answered, and before she could even enquire how Lorraine was, she was asked if she recalled seeing Anna Louise packing, on the fifteenth. Phyllis fell silent.

‘Phyllis, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I am, I’m thinking. You see, I never did any packing or anything like that, but I remember Mrs Caley asking if I’d check to see if Anna Louise had packed any nice dresses as she would be invited to a lot of parties and—’

Lorraine interrupted. ‘Did you see what was in her bags?’

‘Well, yes, and so did Mrs Caley, they were full of T-shirts and sneakers.’

‘Anything else?’

‘I don’t think so. They had a bit of a tiff about it later because Mrs Caley told Anna to go and repack. But I never saw what was in the bag and I don’t think Mrs Caley did. Was it something important?’

Lorraine said it wasn’t, and thanked Phyllis. As she replaced the receiver, Missy appeared at the door.

‘I’ve brought all your cases down, Mr Caley.’

Lorraine frowned. He waited until Missy had gone and then said quietly that he was moving back into the hotel. ‘Can I call you?’

Lorraine went up to him and kissed him. He slipped his arms around her and they were embracing when Elizabeth Caley appeared in the doorway. Lorraine caught sight of her watching them and quickly broke away.

‘Shit!’

He now saw Elizabeth hurrying back up the stairs. ‘It’s all right, I’m leaving her, it’s true. I’ve had enough, I am leaving for good. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. You going back to your hotel?’

‘You’re leaving her?’

‘Yes, I should have done it years ago.’

Robert kissed Lorraine again as she got into the car. ‘Maybe have dinner tonight?’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’

She smiled up at him, wanting him to kiss her again, and he touched her cheek. ‘Elizabeth said something about a photograph, you showed her a photo of Anna Louise. Did you?’

‘Yes, it was taken at a night club.’

‘Do you have it with you? Is it something I should see?’

She hesitated. She had it with her but decided against showing it to him now. ‘I’ll talk about it with you tonight.’

He kissed her again and shut the car door, watching her smiling and waving to him as François drove off.

François flicked a look at Lorraine from the driving mirror, and smiled. ‘Well, they certainly let you over the mat!’

She laughed, a big, loud bellow. He was getting to like this lady a whole lot.

‘Back to the St Marie?’

She leaned back on the seat and closed her eyes. ‘No. Tilda Brown’s.’

She felt guilty about feeling so good and couldn’t help smiling. Robert Caley was no longer a suspect and he would also be free if he left Elizabeth. And she looked forward to spending another night with him. Lorraine drained the last of the vodka and Coke, reassuring herself constantly that she was in control: the craving had stopped — she didn’t crave the drink, she was just slaking a normal thirst. Everything was under control.

Elizabeth Caley watched the car drive out from behind the old lace curtains of her bedroom. She didn’t know how she was going to deal with everything and she needed Juda badly. It was all falling apart, and the pills in the drawer drew her like a magnet.

Lorraine sat forward, chewing her lip, flicking through her note-book to her early jottings. They had all said it, how odd it was that Anna Louise actually ordered that dress, the one she saw in Vogue and then had been so determined to get. She had called from the plane to ask Phyllis to get it for her. So maybe she had not repacked anything at all after her conversation with Elizabeth, but put the Polar bear inside her bag. Lorraine knew she was making erratic assumptions and wild guesses, but maybe all the fuss about getting the dress sent out had a reason, because everyone had been in a good mood when they got to the hotel the night Anna Louise went missing.

Lorraine was so intent on working everything out to a rational conclusion that she did exactly what she had agreed not to do: she forgot to call in to check with Rosie and Rooney and inform them she had left the Caleys and was now on her way to Tilda Brown’s home. Something else she had no intention of telling them was that she asked François to stop at a liquor store, where she bought herself a six-pack of Coke and another bottle of vodka. It was all right, she told herself, nobody would know, and as long as she kept doing the top-ups in the can, no one could even suspect. It helped too, it helped a lot to forget Nick Bartello’s voice, his smile, made it all go away. Most of all, it made her feel certain she was in control.