Cold Blood

Chapter 3

That same afternoon, Lorraine, Rooney and Rosie discussed how they would begin the investigation into the disappearance of Anna Louise Caley. First they would invoice the Caleys for an advance of salary. Rooney would approach the officers he knew had been or were still involved on the case in LA. This would cut down a lot of questions they would have to ask Mr and Mrs Caley, and before Lorraine talked to either of them she wanted as much background information as possible. All back issues of newspapers that had featured the girl’s disappearance had to be checked over at the library and xeroxed copies filed at the office.

They felt they were on a roll. One million dollars was one hell of an incentive.

That evening, Rooney met with the Dean Martin look-alike Detective Jim Sharkey for a liquid dinner. To begin with, Sharkey was non-committal; as far as he was concerned, the police had done about all they could do their end.

‘Consensus is, or was, she was kidnapped by persons unknown, though no ransom note was delivered. Other cases with similar characteristics would not have been kept open as long as this one.’

Rooney sniffed. ‘You sayin’ you had a lot of girls just disappearing?’

‘Yeah, a lot, Bill, and you gotta know it. We got a file as long as my arm on missing kids, and we try checkin’ out most of them. Believe me, we spent more time on this one because of the high profile of the Caleys. She disappeared in New Orleans anyway, so there was not a lot we could do this end. We even sent a few guys there to dig around but they came up with nothing, and they’re not the friendliest bunch of bastards, kinda suggested we back off.’

‘So you did?’

‘Yeah, we got nothin’ from LA, and we interviewed every kid she knew.’

‘Was the Caley girl into drugs?’

‘Nope, squeaky clean. You know, with no body discovered after eleven months, some of the guys reckoned the girl maybe just took off.

Bill sighed, leaning back in his chair. ‘Anythin’ come up against the parents?’

Sharkey looked askance. ‘What? Give me that again? They’ve fuckin’ hired the best in the business, if they’d had anythin’, anythin’ to do with their own kid’s disappearance, believe me, we’d have sniffed it. And the broad, she was weepin’ her heart out.’

‘Mrs Caley?’

Sharkey nodded. ‘She must have been one hell of a woman, still is. Geez, what a figure, and I’m tellin’ you, Bill, I never been one for older women, know what I mean? But fuck me, well, I’d like to give her a roll in the hay, no kiddin’.’

Rooney nodded. The fact that the pair of them hadn’t pulled a woman in twenty years unless they’d paid for it did not prevent their classic male ego from believing they could. They sank a few more beers, then switched to vodka. The dinner had been a long one. At midnight they called a cab, and made their way back to Sharkey’s precinct in uptown LA. Sharkey held his liquor well and even though he was off duty, he refused to let Rooney come into the station with him. To have ex-Captain Bill Rooney in tow breathing beer fumes over everyone could cause problems, even more so considering what he had agreed to do.

Rooney waited in the cab. It was almost an hour before Sharkey rejoined him and slipped him a thick xeroxed file of information. It had been an expensive afternoon, Rooney thought as Sharkey accepted the folded bills with a wink. He’d asked for five hundred dollars and a guarantee that if any questions were ever asked the files never came from him. Rooney never even mentioned the thirty-five-buck cab fare, he was too eager to get the statements back to Lorraine.

Lorraine worked on Sharkey’s information well into the night. As far as she could make out, Anna Louise Caley was a well-liked, friendly and very pampered young lady. The students in her year who had been questioned didn’t have a bad word to say about her. All the students and teachers alike made references to her being very pretty or even beautiful; none referred to her academic prowess but she was said to have been an excellent tennis player, swimmer, horse rider and all-round athlete. She had no steady boyfriend but Lorraine ringed the names of the boys that had admitted to dating her up until the time of her disappearance. She decided she would target them first. She had the names of numerous female students who all claimed to have been Anna Louise’s best friend, so they were lined up second. Then came the coaches and the college teachers. It was going to be a race against time: with only two weeks on the case, she had set aside only two days to complete the LA research.

Next morning, Page Investigations Agency was busy for the first time since they had opened. The phone in the office rang constantly, and Rosie was flushed bright pink and sweating as the calls came in.

Lorraine pointed to a large cork board on which she had pinned lists of names for interview, and those for her to cross reference and delete when necessary.

‘Okay, Rosie, you list every name, all the students I got to see in alphabetical order. We cross them out as we go along.’ Rosie nodded. There was a buzz in the office and it felt good.

Rooney had been assigned to make very discreet enquiries into the private investigation agencies hired by the Caleys, to see if there was an ex-colleague working anywhere he could palm money to, like Sharkey, and if they had any information worth digging into. He listed the companies on Lorraine’s big board.

‘My God, are they all on the same case?’ Rosie asked.

‘Yep. Caley’s sure been shelling out a lot of cash.’ Lorraine chewed her pencil and then stuck it in her hair.

‘Okay, this is how we work it, I do the college kids, you, Bill, start seeing what you can come up with about Caley, tap your old associates, whatever you need to do. Rosie, you’ll be the anchor-woman, you hold the fort here, we call in if we get anything, most important is that we get moving and come up with what we can as fast as possible... agreed?’

Rooney nodded as Rosie made a note of Lorraine’s mobile phone number and passed it to him. ‘We can all keep in constant touch,’ she beamed.

Lorraine flicked a look at Rooney and winked. ‘That’s what it’s all about, Rosie!’

Lorraine began the tedious and laborious interview sessions and hired a car, an ‘88 Buick which had seen better days, with a portable telephone to keep in touch with the office while driving herself from one meeting to another. Armed with two photographs of Anna Louise, she talked to fifteen students at UCLA. To be confronted with fresh young girls, eager to talk and full of youthful exuberance, made her feel tired and jaded beyond belief, but the mental picture she was gradually forming was basically the same one which had already emerged from the old police files. Making the kids feel relaxed with her was painstaking work and her fixed smile was wearing thin, but she persisted. By twelve in the afternoon she only had two names left on her list and went to the tennis courts to meet Angie Wellbeck, listed on Sharkey’s statements as a ‘best friend’. After Angie, she was meeting one of the kids listed as dating Anna Louise, Tom Heller.

Angie was wearing tennis shorts, a white T-shirt, Reeboks and little white socks with bobbles at the heel. She carried her tennis racquets in a very professional-looking white sling sports bag. She constantly plucked at it as she answered the routine questions Lorraine had asked all the students very politely — did she get on with Anna Louise? Did she know of anyone who did not like her? Anyone who might have a grudge against her? Who did she socialize with? Did she take drugs, drink too much? In essence, what was the missing girl like?

Angie sat on a bench, staring at her tennis shoes, and Lorraine could see faint freckles on her lightly tanned pale skin.

‘Well, she was real pretty, and always wore the most up-to-date clothes, you know, if something was in, AL always was the first to have it.’

‘AL?’ asked Lorraine, knowing full well that it was a nickname because it had been repeated to her so many times.

‘Yeah, we all called her AL. You know, Anna Louise is boring. I don’t mean she was boring, just her name.’

Angie said nothing untoward, or even gave the slightest hint that her friend wasn’t anything other than perfect. She just reiterated that although she was not academically inclined, she was great at sports and very competitive.

‘Like how competitive?’ Lorraine enquired.

‘Well, she liked to win, tennis anyway. We played a lot together, sometimes we played doubles. Her dad is a great player, he used to play with her I think, that’s why she was so good. Great backhand, very strong, although her serve wasn’t so hot, but she was a good player. Got enough practice in, I guess.’

‘Did she get angry if she lost?’

‘Sure.’

‘Aggressive?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Did she argue or get angry with anyone specific?’

‘No, she was kind of more angry at herself.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, if she missed a volley she’d shout and yell at herself, you know.’

‘Ah! So you never saw her fighting or shouting with anyone?’

‘No, but maybe you should ask some of the others. I mean, I played a lot with her but I wasn’t the only person she played with. Tilda Brown played with her mostly. She was closest to AL, but she hasn’t come back to school, not after AL disappeared, but I guess you know that.’

Lorraine nodded, underlining Tilda’s name in her note-book.

‘Did you all have the same coach?’

‘Geez, no way, AL was rich, you know, and her coach was ex-Olympic standard, a real professional. We’d all have liked to be coached by him,’ she giggled.

‘Did this create jealousy?’ Lorraine was even boring herself.

‘Yeah, but nothin’ to do with tennis.’

Lorraine looked at Angie who had removed her headband and was plucking at it with her fingers, picking off strands of fluff. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Jeff Nathan, the coach, is like a movie star, I think he coaches a lot of famous people. Sometimes when I went over to their place he’d play with us, you know, make up a four with her dad. That was the only time I got to meet him.’

‘The coach?’

‘Yeah, and her dad, he was real nice.’

Angie’s tennis partners were hovering, so she asked if she could go. Lorraine could think of nothing else to ask. Like everyone else she’d spoken to, Angie hadn’t given any real insight into Anna Louise but, like three other girls, she had mentioned the handsome tennis coach.

‘Were you her best friend?’ Lorraine asked as Angie sprang to her feet, eager to leave.

She turned and smiled. ‘I dunno about her best, I think Tilda was, but everyone liked her — she was a real nice girl.’ Angie’s face puckered for a moment and she hesitated, chewing her lips. ‘You think something terrible has happened to her?’ Lorraine looked away, as Angie moved closer. ‘Some of them say she’s maybe been murdered, is it true?’

‘I really don’t know, but thanks for your time.’

‘That’s okay. Bye now.’

Lorraine watched Angie join three other girls, all in similar white tennis gear. They looked over and smiled. She sat for a few moments, watching the girls warming up, slicing the ball over the net. Judging by the hard thudding crack of the ball she could tell, even though she was no tennis player, that the girls could play well. So if AL, as she was known, was better, she must have been very good.

‘I’d say she could have turned professional, if she’d had the inclination.’

Lorraine was outside the squash courts, talking to a gangly boy with a white sweat-shirt slung round his shoulders. Tom Heller was at least six feet two and good-looking in an ordinary, neat-featured way.

When Lorraine asked if he had played regularly with Anna Louise, he shrugged.

‘Yeah, sometimes on weekends at her house. Her dad is a great player.’

Lorraine nodded. ‘What about the coach, er...’

‘Jeff Nathan? Yeah, I played with him at her place. He gives private lessons.’

‘Did you like him?’

He frowned. ‘I didn’t really know him.’

‘Did Anna Louise like him?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You used to date her, didn’t you?’

‘Few times, nothing serious, beach parties, we were just buddies really.’

‘Did you have sex with her?’

He blushed. ‘No.’

‘Do you know if she was sexually permissive in any way?’

‘No, well, no more than anyone else.’

‘How many boys do you know had a sexual relationship with Anna Louise?’

He blushed again. ‘I don’t know, like I said, we dated a few times but no more than that.’

‘What about the coach? This guy Nathan, did he have a scene going with her?’

He looked with distaste at Lorraine. ‘I have no idea.’

She was suddenly pissed off by his supercilious attitude.

‘Look, it’s Tom, isn’t it? Well, I am trying to trace Anna Louise, she’s been missing for eleven months and she could be lying in a shallow grave or she could be dancing in Las Vegas. I am just trying to do my job, okay? So if she was screwing this tennis coach, and you maybe knew about it as her buddy, then I’d be grateful if you’d tell me...’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Do you know where I can find the tennis coach, Nathan?’

‘Maybe in the Bel Air. He plays there.’

‘Thank you, Mr Heller. Sorry to interrupt your game!’

It was almost lunch-time when Lorraine called the office on her mobile.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Fine, waiting for Bill to call in with any developments,’ Rosie said.

‘I’m on my way to see the tennis coach — what are you doing?’

Rosie pursed her lips. ‘A lot, I’ve got to arrange hotels, flights and...’ The second phone rang on Rosie’s desk. ‘Hang on, Lorraine, it might be Bill on line two.’

Bill it was, to say that he wasn’t getting much of a result from any of the other investigation agencies attached to the Caley case, but he was still plugging away. Rosie passed this on to Lorraine, who suggested that perhaps he should interview the psychic whom the Caleys had hired in LA. Rosie repeated this to Rooney and listened to his reply with both receivers pressed to her ear before coming back to Lorraine. ‘He says they’re all a fucking waste of time.’

Lorraine snapped back to Rosie, ‘You tell him that so are a bunch of racquet-swinging rich kids, but before we hit New Orleans we gotta cover ourselves here, you tell him that?

Rooney could hear her and laughed, and, still laughing, told Rosie to tell Lorraine she was the boss, but when she tried to do so the line was dead. Rosie put both phones down and began to check out the telephone manual for a way to connect calls on two lines.

Jeff Nathan had the kind of muscular body that most women fantasize about. His tight white T-shirt and his brief white tennis shorts showed strong tanned limbs which were very desirable, but within minutes Lorraine had sussed that all his masculine muscles would more than likely be wrapped around another equally tanned male’s body.

‘You gay, Mr Nathan?’

‘My, my, you are very aggressive.’

‘No, I don’t think I’d say that was an aggressive question but one I need to ask and know the answer to. You see, Mr Nathan, I am trying to find a young girl who’s been missing for eleven months, and if you had sexual relations with her then...’

He smiled, and relaxed his macho tennis pro image. ‘Yes, Mrs Page, I am,’ he said, looking at the card she had passed him.

‘Thank you. So, tell me what you know about Anna Louise Caley.’

‘Well, I was her personal coach, so I’ve lost a nice income. Anna Louise could have played professional standard, she was very coordinated, strong, but she had a major fault; if she made a mistake she couldn’t forget it. She became very angry at herself and it usually fouled up the rest of her game. The more anger she felt, the worse her game progressed.’ He cocked his handsome head to one side. ‘You see, I really did only know her as her coach, I can tell you about her game but nothing about her personal life.’

‘What about her father?’ Lorraine asked.

Nathan shrugged. ‘Good player, hard hitter, but no speed. He’d wait for the ball to come to him, never used the court. She was never interested in being a serious player, all she ever wanted was to beat her father, but whenever they played she lost it. And she could have beaten him.’

‘Did she come on to you?’ Lorraine asked as they walked towards the court. She found his fake capped-toothed smile unattractive but realized that for a young kid it could be devastating.

‘Come on to me? My dear, that is, sadly, the main part of why people, well, women, girls or whatever, keep hiring me. I have to look and act the stud.’

‘Were you?’ she tried one more time.

‘Was I what? A stud? Oh, please...’ Nathan’s tanned neck stretched, his perfect features wreathed in smiles.

‘So she was, say, infatuated?’

He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. ‘Maybe, but I assure you it was not in my interest to encourage her in any way. Like I said, the Caleys paid me well to coach their daughter and I would have been foolish to foul up a good weekly income.’

‘Weekly?’

‘Yep, although sometimes I’d get to their place and she didn’t feel like playing, but I was always paid.’ Nathan turned as a petite blonde woman with a frilled white tennis skirt waved across to him from a court. ‘I gotta go, but if you need to speak to me again, any time. Do you play?’

Lorraine looked at the blonde attempting to knock a ball over the net. ‘About as good a game as maybe she has!’ He laughed, she quite liked him. ‘Thanks for your time, I appreciate you seeing me.’

She hadn’t got much from Nathan, again nothing that had not already been recorded by the police files. She watched him in action with his ‘student’ and realized on closer inspection she was well into her late forties. Poor woman, she thought, she must have the same infatuation with Jeff as his students, staring at his rippling muscles as he began to drag his ball basket to the centre of the court opposite the blonde.

‘Let’s just warm up with a few easy ones, shall we, Mrs Fairky? See how you’ve progressed.’

Lorraine made her way back to the car park and she heard Mrs Fairley squeal a lot of ‘Oooppps’ and ‘Oh, I’m so sorry...’ as the balls she attempted to swipe expertly dribbled into the tennis net.

Lorraine felt totally drained by the time she drove out of the university complex, and she was also irritated. Maybe it was the students’ youth, their nonchalance, but no one had given her any real insight into the missing girl. Just as nobody seemed to have a bad word to say about her except that she got a bit itchy when she missed a fucking volley.

Lorraine called Rosie at the office from her car phone. ‘Any developments?’

‘No, not as yet,’ Rosie replied.

‘Rooney gone to see that psychic?’ asked Lorraine.

‘I think so, but he sort of thought it was a waste of time.’

‘Yeah, okay, I’m on my way to the Caleys’. I haven’t come up with anything positive yet so I’ll interview them and then call in when I’m through.’

‘Oh, I think Rooney wanted to be in on your meeting with the Caleys, didn’t he?’

‘Rosie, I am running this case, not Bill Rooney.’

No sooner had Rosie replaced the phone than Rooney barged into the office.

Rosie smiled. ‘Lorraine just called in, she’s on her way to the Caleys’.’

‘Shit, I wanted in on that meet.’

‘I know, I told her, and she said she was running the case, so...’

Rooney tossed his hat at the stand and missed, then took off his jacket, showing his sweat-stained shirt. ‘Well, I got a contact. Old buddy of mine used to be on the Force ’bout ten years ago, now works with the top investigation agency hired by the Caleys, Agnews. To be honest I didn’t think he’d still be working, got a good pension when he was invalided out. Poor bastard got a leg full of lead... I’ve arranged to see him tonight.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Nick Bartello.’ Rooney frowned.

‘Italian, is he?’

‘At one time. She won’t like him. Dunno if they met, they were attached to different departments, he was drugs, she was with me on homicide.’

‘Why won’t she like him?’

‘He’s a dead ringer for her old partner Lubrinski, same kind of guy. Nick and he were partners, short-lived ’cos Lubrinski moved over to my team.’

‘Who’s he?’

Rooney frowned. ‘She never mention him to you?’

‘No.’ Rosie crossed to the coffee percolator and began to brew up a pot.

‘They were partners at the old station.’

‘So why won’t she like him? If he’s a pal of yours maybe he can give us some inside information.’

‘Maybe. So she’s never mentioned Lubrinski to you?’

Rosie returned to her cluttered desk. ‘No...’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Well, maybe that’s why.’ She sat down.

‘He was one hell of a guy, Lubrinski, great cop. In fact, I gotta tell you, Rosie, during my time I saw a lot go down, not all died, some just folded, you know, mentally, but Lubrinski, when I was told he’d bought it, he was the only officer for whom I cried. Not because he was one hell of an officer, he was that, but he was also a main guy, could drink any man under the table. Loner, crazy son of a bitch. When I partnered him with Lorraine I reckoned on fireworks...’

‘And?’ Rosie asked only half-listening. But because Rooney remained silent she looked up. He was staring into space.

‘They were one fucking good team, best I ever had. He was injured in crossfire, took three bullets. He bled to death in the ambulance. She’d made a sort of tourniquet to try and stem the blood, used her pantihose... but it didn’t work. He was dead on arrival at the hospital, and she wouldn’t let go of his hand. Orderly told me they’d had to force her to let go, that she kept on saying he was gonna be okay.’

Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, she’s never mentioned any of this to me. What happened after?’

Rooney sighed, shifting his bulk. ‘She requested to be returned to duty immediately. About six weeks later she killed that kid...’

Rosie knew about the boy Lorraine had shot by mistake, a young kid caught up in a drugs bust. ‘Maybe this Bartello isn’t such a good idea. Maybe she won’t want to be reminded of the past.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ Rooney said, trying to change the subject. ‘And the guy’s good.’ Then the phone rang, so Rosie’s attention was diverted. As she answered she didn’t hear Rooney say softly, ‘I think she was in love with Lubrinski.’

Rosie held one hand over the phone, waving the other to Rooney. ‘It’s Nick Bartello.’

‘Hey, Nick, how you doing? You got my message then? So can we meet, have a few drinks? Sure, where are you?’ Rooney jotted a note down on Lorraine’s notepad. ‘Okay, I’ll be there, gimme half an hour...’ He slowly replaced the receiver. ‘Okay, I’m out of here. If she calls in, tell her I’ve gone to Joe’s Diner, lemme suss the guy out.’ He picked up his jacket. ‘Rosie, maybe you don’t say anything about Lubrinski. Like you said, it was a long time ago and I don’t want her to think we’ve been gossiping, okay?’

Rosie nodded, distracted yet again by the telephone. By the time she had answered, Rooney had departed. The call was from Robert Caley, asking to speak to Lorraine to say his wife was indisposed and he would be at home rather than the office as arranged. His manner was abrupt, cold. A man, Rosie determined, very used to handing out orders.

Rosie called Lorraine on her mobile and passed on the message. She got a blast of foul language as Lorraine had actually been on her way to Caley’s plush office complex, the Water Garden, in Santa Monica. She did not mention Nick Bartello or Lubrinski as Lorraine cut off her call as abruptly as Robert Caley had, but she wondered about what Rooney had said about Lubrinski. The dawning realization of just how little she knew of Lorraine’s past life made her feel uneasy, perhaps because it also meant, if she were truthful, that she didn’t really know ex-Lieutenant Lorraine Page, the woman she shared her home with.

The same austere butler ushered Lorraine into the Caleys’ lounge and asked her to wait. She did not sit down, choosing instead to study the other photographs of Anna Louise in their ornate frames. One particular picture caught her eye: Anna Louise was standing between Nathan, her tennis coach, and her father, Robert Caley’s arm around her shoulders, as if he was showing her off to the camera, a look of paternal pride on his face.

Ten minutes ticked by. Lorraine now studied the large oil paintings of Elizabeth Caley’s film roles. She really was an astonishingly beautiful woman. She crossed over to one that Rooney had pointed out, which depicted one of Elizabeth’s earliest starring roles in which she looked no more than twenty years old. She was wearing heavy golden hooped earrings and a pale blue silk turban like the headcloths black women sometimes wore, arranged in an odd way Lorraine had never seen before, with the material knotted into points to give the impression of a crown over the young woman’s head. Her shoulders were bare, the skin of her whole body tinted a tawny brown, and she was covered only by the brief draperies of a brightly coloured scarf. A small plaque was set into the embossed gold frame, inscribed with the words ‘Marie Laveau, Queen of New Orleans’. Looking from paintings of Elizabeth Caley to the photographs of Anna Louise and her father, Lorraine could see little family resemblance.

Twenty minutes passed and Lorraine checked her watch, then the ormolu mantel clock. It was almost 5 p.m. She was about to walk out of the room when the butler returned, and, remaining at the open door, gestured for Lorraine to follow him, giving no apology for the fact that she had been kept waiting.

Lorraine followed the silent, black-uniformed figure past the wide sweeping staircase and into a corridor, turning left into a wonderfully light, glass sun room. The vast conservatory was, she thought, some kind of extension to the main house. Tropical plants were in such profusion that it resembled a florist’s, with the heady perfume of magnolia and jasmine lingering in the air and condensation misting the lower glass panes. They continued through the jungle, out into a courtyard shaded with plants growing from white painted tubs. Crazy-paved paths and a gazebo with white trailing curtains dominated the end of the courtyard, and primrose-yellow cushions adorned the white garden furniture. A table with chilled orange juice, an ice bucket with two bottles of Chablis and an array of glasses stood in the centre of the gazebo.

‘Mr Caley will join you shortly.’ The butler wafted his hand for Lorraine to sit, and hovered over the table. ‘May I offer you wine, juice, or...’

‘Still water,’ Lorraine said curtly, irritated that Caley was still keeping her waiting. She sat on a white wicker chair, shifting the yellow cushion to one side, glad of the shade given by the trailing muslin curtains. The butler poured her some still water into an ice-filled glass, and with a pair of silver tongs expertly picked up a ready-cut slice of lemon to rest on the edge of her glass.

‘Thank you.’ She accepted the glass, watching as he uncorked the wine, first feeling the bottle with his hand, then wrapping a napkin around the neck, before placing it in the ice bucket.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Page.’ He actually backed up two steps before he turned and walked back into the house. Lorraine looked at her watch; she had been there well over an hour, and with only two weeks on the case, it was an hour lost. She sipped the iced water, and seeing a large glass ashtray leaned forward to draw it closer. She hesitated for a moment, then lit up a cigarette. She looked around the yard, and turning in her chair, she could just see the edge of the tennis courts. She got up and walked to the narrow pathway. To her right she could see the entire double tennis courts, to her left was a vast swimming pool with rows of sunbeds laid out next to each other, each with pale lemon towels, with small tables between, like a hotel patio. Beyond the pool was a large pagoda-style building which she assumed held the changing rooms and showers. Water fountains at either side flanked a path which led into a Japanese garden or what she supposed was one because of the bonsai shrubs and trees. There was no one visible, not one gardener, swimmer or tennis player. Apart from the chirping of the birds, it was all strangely silent: so silent it was unnerving. Again she checked her watch and physically jumped when Caley appeared as if from nowhere.

‘I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. Did your secretary explain that my wife is indisposed, which is the reason I am here and not at my office?’

He did not seem to require a reply to his apology. He was standing by the table, pouring himself a glass of wine. There was a moment of hesitation and she saw him flick a glance at her glass of iced water. He did not offer her wine but filled his glass and sat on one of the yellow-cushioned wicker chairs. Half-turning, he picked up the cushion and tossed it on to the chair nearest him. He was dressed casually in light brown slacks and loafers. His arms were bare, his pale blue silk shirt-sleeves rolled back casually. Robert Caley lifted his glass to her and sipped the wine, but she could not see the expression in his eyes behind his gold-rimmed shades. Everything about Robert Caley had that LA gloss, that mark of high fashion, from the thin gold wrist-watch on his left wrist to the single fine loose gold band on his right. He wore no wedding ring.

‘You have a very beautiful garden.’

‘Mm, too manicured for my taste, and this flimsy thing reminds me of something off a movie set, but it has a purpose.’

Lorraine sat down and drew her glass closer, feeling very self-conscious.

‘My wife never sits in the sun, she is too pale-skinned.’ He obviously did; he was one of those men Lorraine presumed had a year-round suntan. Caley was also a very confident man and apparently in no hurry to ask why she wished to see him.

Lorraine stubbed out her cigarette and felt his eyes giving her a swift appraisal from behind the shades. She coughed lightly and crossed her legs, reaching down by the side of the chair to retrieve her purse.

‘Do you play tennis, Mrs Page?’

‘No, I don’t.’

He smiled, and sipped his wine. ‘I didn’t think you did, but you work out, correct?’

She hated the fact she was blushing, and busied herself with opening her purse to take out a note-book. ‘Yes, but as you checked up on me I am sure you must be aware I was not, until recently, in what one could describe as being in the best of health.’

He lifted his glass to her. ‘Well, you certainly look well today. Is your hair naturally blonde?’

‘Yes, but I have streaks.’ She suddenly laughed, finding their conversation ridiculous. No man had ever asked her whether or not she was naturally blonde.

‘My daughter’s hair is as blonde, ash-blonde, but then you must know, you have photographs.’

‘Yes, I have, thank you. And thank you for sending the retainer fee so promptly.’

‘Ah, that will be Phyllis’s doing.’ Caley reached for the bottle again and refilled his glass. ‘Would you like more water?’

Lorraine shook her head. ‘I don’t think I can deal with your butler, he reminds me of a character from one of those British television series on PBS.’

Caley laughed, a lovely deep warm laugh, and he crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair. ‘Close to the truth, actually. He used to be an actor, a lot of Brits come out here for the pilot season hoping for work. When they don’t get it, I suppose they take what work they can, but Peters has been with us for many years. I think he’s refined his role rather well. The other servants are from home, or Elizabeth’s old home in New Orleans — Berenice is our housekeeper, and we have two maids, Sylvana and Maria, plus Mario the chauffeur. I think we also have about four gardeners who maintain the grounds and the pool.’

Lorraine made a note of the servants. ‘Can I ask you some questions?’

‘Of course, that is the reason you are here, go ahead.’

‘I gathered from talking to her friends that your daughter was very well liked. In fact, it’s a rare occurrence when—’

‘She is very well liked,’ he corrected, as if resenting the use of the past tense.

‘I met her coach, Jeff Nathan.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, he’s a good coach and Anna Louise is an excellent player. I’d hoped she would think about turning professional, she is a natural athlete.’

‘Are you?’

He leaned forward. ‘Sorry?’

‘Are you a natural athlete?’

‘Good God, no, but you’re not here to talk about me. Did anyone you have spoken to come up with anything new?’

‘No, they did not, so it will obviously be necessary for myself and my team to go to New Orleans when I’ve completed my interviews here.’

He nodded, sipping his wine.

‘I know you have gone over and over this, Mr Caley, but would you tell me in your own words exactly what occurred the day your daughter went missing?’

He drained his glass and stood up. ‘We had breakfast. My wife was checking her packing so she did not join us, it was just Anna and myself. She was in good spirits, looking forward to the trip. We usually go for the last weeks of Carnival, have done for many years. The date of Mardi Gras itself is worked out backwards from Easter, so it can fall on any Tuesday from early February onwards, from February third through to March ninth.’

Lorraine smiled and consulted her notes. ‘Thank you. So last year you left on February fifteenth?’

‘Yes. At about nine-thirty I spoke to my wife and said she and Anna should be ready to leave at noon. I had some business to take care of at the office and when I returned a little before twelve, the cases were already in the limousine. I showered and changed and we left for the airport just after twelve-thirty.’ His voice was expressionless, having repeated this many times before. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked to the side of the gazebo, leaning against one of the pillars. ‘I have a private jet. I did not fly it myself as I had some papers to sort through on the flight, so we used my pilot, Edward Hardy. Anna sat with her mother, looking through the magazines on the central table, and asked Elizabeth if she could arrange for Phyllis to collect one of the evening gowns she liked on the fashion pages. Elizabeth called Phyllis and arranged it there and then, shortly before we landed. My car was waiting at the tarmac and we went directly to the hotel. Anna Louise was as excited as she always was. She was planning to see a friend.’

Lorraine flicked through her notes. ‘Friend would be Tilda Brown, yes?’

He nodded so Lorraine continued, ‘And you all went straight to the hotel?’

‘Yes, we always have two adjoining suites booked for the entire Mardi Gras month.’

‘That is the Hotel Cavagnal?’

‘Yes, Rue Chartres. It’s an old hotel in the heart of the French Quarter, the balconies overlook the courtyard on one side and the streets on the other.’

‘Why do you choose to stay at a hotel when you have houses in the city?’

‘Well, during Carnival it’s good to be central to all the action.’

Lorraine looked at Caley, unconvinced, and he continued evenly, still meeting her eyes, ‘And sometimes I prefer to conduct my business away from a domestic setting.’

Lorraine looked back to her note-pad. ‘So you arrived at the Cavagnal...’

Yes. The maid, she’s called Alphonsine, unpacked my wife’s clothes first, then mine, and then she went to Anna Louise’s suite. We have various functions and parties we always go to, so she checks that everything is pressed or that nothing requires laundering.’

Lorraine nodded, and waited. ‘Alphonsine lives in New Orleans?’

‘Yes, we have staff at one of our homes there. They help us at the hotel, see if we want anything taken to the house and get everything ready there, as we generally go to one or other residence when Carnival ends.’

Lorraine flipped through her notes. She had the addresses of the Caley households and lists of their staff. ‘So what time—’

He interrupted her. ‘As soon as we arrived, Elizabeth arranged for a massage; I remained in the suite making some business calls. Anna Louise joined us for tea and we decided we would dine at the Cavagnal, early, as we had a number of invitations and er... She has a wicked sense of humour, and began to mimic some of the more elderly ladies who had asked us for cocktails. At one point Elizabeth ticked her off, said that after that evening she would be free to see her friends, but for now she had to behave. Elizabeth is quite a celebrity and enjoys being the centre of attraction on these occasions, probably reminds her of the old days when she really was a star.’

‘Did Anna Louise argue with your wife?’

‘No, in fact they began to discuss what they would wear, girls’ talk. I went for a swim, came back around seven. I showered and changed, Elizabeth was already dressing, her hair had been done. She always used the same hairdresser, again someone she has known for many years.’

‘Oscar Cloutier?’

‘Yes. He left at about seven-fifteen. We both went down to the dining room for seven-thirty. We had some champagne ordered. At seven forty-five Elizabeth asked me to call Anna Louise’s room, so I did. There was no reply, so I returned to the table, presuming she was on her way down.’

Lorraine looked over her notes. Robert Caley had repeated his original statement almost word for word, even down to the dates of the Mardi Gras. He went on to say that he and his wife began to order, and he even ordered barbecued shrimp, her favourite New Orleans dish, for Anna Louise.

‘When it got to about eight and Anna Louise had still not come down, I asked the waiter to call her room again. He said there was no reply, so I went up to her room and as it was locked I used the connecting door between our suite and Anna Louise’s. Nothing that I could see was out of place and the gown she was going to wear was laid out for her on the bed. I went into the bathroom and the sitting room, and saw her purse, or at least the one she had been carrying on the flight, so I simply thought she had gone out to visit someone and had been delayed. I returned to the dining room.’

‘But you had asked her to join you for dinner. Did she usually disobey?’

‘Well, sometimes she would say she would do something, but like any teenager she could not always be relied on.’

‘But your wife had specifically asked her to join you both on this particular evening.’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Did she seem not to want to? You said your wife reprimanded her for mimicking some of the people who had invited you for cocktails later in the evening, correct?’

He sighed, irritated. ‘I wouldn’t call it reprimanding, in fact I said “ticked her off”, so it was not a very serious exchange.’

At any other time when you were in New Orleans had Anna Louise agreed to dine with you and not turned up?’

‘I suppose so, but I can’t recall any single time it was of importance. She knew the city and was very aware of the obvious dangers about being out alone in certain neighbourhoods. We had both been very firm about her not wandering out alone at night. And she never did, or not to my knowledge.’

‘She knows the city well, knows the old French Quarter?’

‘Yes, of course. Elizabeth is from New Orleans so Anna Louise had been there off and on since she was a child. She even made her debut at one of the Carnival balls.’

‘So Anna Louise also has many friends there?’

‘Yes, well, not that many because she was educated here, but one, Tilda Brown, is a close, if not her closest, friend. She was also studying at UCLA but came from New Orleans, so they have much in common.’

‘So you presumed that she might have gone to see Tilda?’

Yes, I did.’

‘Did Mrs Caley also think she had gone to see Tilda Brown? Only I believe Tilda had been staying here in LA with you shortly before you left.’

He nodded, then shrugged. ‘They’d had some tiff and Tilda left the day before we did. Stupid really, as we were going to give her a ride with us, but...’

‘Did you know what the girls argued about?’

‘No, I did not.’ He seemed irritated, his foot tapping. These were obviously questions he had been asked before.

‘According to previous statements you did not call Miss Brown’s home until very much later that evening.’

‘Yes, that is correct.’

‘Why did you not call Tilda Brown immediately?’

‘Because we finished dinner and, as I said, we had engagements, commitments, if you like.’

‘So even though you saw your daughter’s purse left in her room...’

Caley turned to face Lorraine. ‘I did not call Miss Brown’s family or anyone else because I did not think anything untoward had happened and nor did my wife.’

‘How did your wife react to your daughter not coming down to join you for dinner?’

He sighed. ‘Elizabeth is a little more volatile than myself. She was very angry with Anna. We left the hotel at about ten to go to our first engagement. When we returned to the hotel at about fifteen minutes after midnight, we became concerned. We called Miss Brown’s family. Tilda was in bed so we spoke to her parents and they told us that Anna had not been by or phoned. They had not seen her.’

‘May I ask if you are wearing prescription lenses?’

‘What?’

Lorraine stared at him and he slowly removed his sunglasses. ‘Thank you.’

He moved closer so she could see his eyes. He leaned on the table. ‘You think I’m hiding something?’

‘No, but I like to see—’

‘What, the whites of my eyes? Or do you and your type get a kick out of the pain? Because, Mrs Page, every time I have gone through this, every statement I give, you don’t think I feel somehow to blame? That if I had acted faster my daughter might have been traced? Well, I do blame myself, every minute of every day. My daughter has been missing for eleven months, Mrs Page, and every phone call, every letter is a hope, and every hope makes my heart thud in my chest. What did you expect from me, tears?’

‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask.’

‘You ask whatever you want and I will try to answer, just as I have done with every single agency we have hired. I know the police here have given up, but I also know the case is still open in New Orleans. How do you expect me to behave? I want my daughter back, I pray she is alive, whether she has run off with some unsavoury character or whatever she has done, I will forgive her because this is hell. All I want is to see her again, I love her, I was proud of her, and I miss her.’

He was bitterly angry and yet his eyes brimmed with tears. It was unexpected and it threw Lorraine. His open emotion and obvious declaration of love for his daughter were distressing. This sophisticated, handsome man was suddenly more vulnerable than any man she had ever met because he was unable to control himself. Half-turning from her, he started to cry, awful low sobs.

‘I miss my lovely daughter, Mrs Page. If I pass the tennis courts I hear her laughing, shouting out to me. Just sitting here in this stupid fucking gazebo hurts because I hear her laughing about it, sending it up, like the ridiculous Japanese garden we both hated. And then I have to listen to my wife crying every night, watch her face when the telephone rings. This house is dead without our little girl.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t need your sympathy, Mrs Page, I need my daughter found. Or worse, I need to know she is never coming home, then I can get on with my life.’ The tears spilled down his face and he wiped them away with the back of his hand, replacing his glasses. ‘Excuse me, if you need to ask any more questions go ahead.’

Lorraine closed her note-book. Everything he had told her was on record, he had given no further insight into what had actually happened to Anna Louise. She picked up her purse and replaced her note-book, then hesitated.

‘There is just one more thing, Mr Caley. You said you made calls from the hotel, to business associates, I presume, and I have no record of who you actually called.’

‘You’ll have a list delivered by morning.’

‘Your business is real estate. Could I ask you to give me a more precise account of your business transactions in New Orleans and here in Los Angeles?’

He turned away. ‘What in God’s name has my business got to do with my daughter’s disappearance?’

‘Maybe nothing, but then again it might, so I really would like to have as much background on you...’

‘You’ll have it. Now if you would excuse me.’

‘Yes, of course. Er, just one more thing, I know your wife is indisposed, but would I be able to speak for a moment with Phyllis?’

He nodded and walked to an intercom phone she had not noticed at the side of the gazebo. He picked it up. ‘Phyllis, would you come into the yard, please? Mrs Page would like to speak to you.’

Robert Caley collected the open bottle of wine and walked out towards the tennis courts as Lorraine remained seated, looking after him.

Rosie was trying to decipher Bill Rooney’s appalling handwritten scrawl.

‘I can’t make this out, what is this?’ she asked.

Rooney yawned. ‘The psychic the Caleys used. She wasn’t at home and I been back twice. I left two messages.’

‘Juda?’ Rosie enquired.

Yeah, that’s her name. I reckon she’s a waste of time, all flakes if you ask me. I’m gonna go for a few more drinks with Nick Bartello, he’s on to something, so if her ladyship calls in, tell her she can catch me at home later. A lot later, if I know Nick.’

Rosie nodded and jotted down Juda’s name, phone number and address. ‘I gotta go to a meeting tonight but I’ll leave a message for her here and at home.’

‘Good, you do that. See ya!’ Rooney thudded out as the phone began to ring.

‘Mr Rooney there?’ said a thick, drawling voice with a real down-home Louisiana accent.

‘No, I am so sorry, he’s not available. Who’s calling: Can I take a message?’

‘I’m just returnin’ the man’s calls. It’s Juda Salina. You know what it’s about?’

Rosie perked up, becoming the partner in the investigation agency. ‘Yes, we are investigating the case of Anna Louise Caley and...’

The phone went dead. Rosie looked at the receiver, wondering if it was something she had done her end. She wrote a memo for Rooney and Lorraine, saying the psychic made contact. Rosie also noted the time and date the call had come in. She was being very professional.

Phyllis toyed with her glass of mineral water. ‘She needs pills to make her sleep and sometimes she can’t get up. Today is one of them, we had the doctor out but he prescribed a different sedative. It’s all very sad, poor woman, but I’ll make sure she can see you tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’

Lorraine sipped the melting ice, the deftly placed slice of lemon now floating on top of the residue of tepid water. ‘So you didn’t see or hear anything untoward the day the family departed for New Orleans?’

‘No, I did not.’

‘And Anna Louise was happy and carefree, excited by the forthcoming trip?’

‘Yes, they were often more like friends than mother and daughter. I mean, they had the odd little argument, only natural, she was quite wilful but she never sulked.’

‘The day they left, February fifteenth, you received a call from the Caleys’ private jet?’

‘Yes, I did. Anna Louise had seen something in Vogue she wanted me to purchase for her.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she often just call you to get what she wanted? According to the files a three thousand, five hundred dollar black chiffon Valentino dress. I would say that stinks of a spoilt kid.’

Phyllis pursed her lips. ‘The Caleys happen to be extremely wealthy, Mrs Page, and I assure you that was not unusual. You may say she was spoilt, but at the same time she was also one of the sweetest, most natural young girls I’ve ever known.’

‘But she was spoilt.’

‘No more than any other child of rich parents.’

Lorraine hesitated, and then said quietly, ‘Or parent...’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow?’

‘Yes, you do. Surely it is obvious that the main money in the Caley family is Elizabeth Caley’s.’

Phyllis pursed her lips. ‘Mr Caley is also a very successful businessman.’

‘But he was not that successful when they first married. An old press cutting hinted that he was not a wealthy man and they met when he was showing Mrs Caley a property.’

Phyllis froze. ‘I am afraid this is not something I can answer. I have only worked for the Caleys for ten years so whatever happened previously I have no knowledge of. All I do know is Mr Caley works exceptionally hard.’

‘What work is he involved in specifically in New Orleans?’

‘Mrs Page, I am not privy to Mr Caley’s business. I am Elizabeth Caley’s companion and secretary.’

‘But you settle the bills. You did, I believe, pay my fees and will continue to pay them, is that correct?’

‘Yes, Mrs Caley instructed me to pay your retainer.’

‘You didn’t discuss it with Mr Caley?’

‘I made a note for him to be aware of exactly what I had done, as I always do.’

Lorraine made no mention of the one million bonus Mrs Caley had promised to pay. She was beginning to feel tired; it had been a long day and she had to drive back to Pasadena.

‘Thank you. Oh, just one more thing — Tilda Brown, Anna Louise’s girlfriend, was staying here and she was supposed to return to New Orleans with the Caleys but instead left the day before. Do you know why?’

Phyllis rose to her feet. ‘No, but probably over a tennis match, they were always playing tennis. I think Tilda used to make up her own rules and it infuriated Anna Louise.’

‘Did you hear them arguing at all?’

‘No. Tilda just asked me to arrange a ticket for her and she was driven to the airport by Mario.’

‘Thank you, Miss Collins. I’ll walk out via the gardens.’

Phyllis nodded and said she would warn the security guard to open the gate.

‘Is there a full-time guard on duty?’

‘Yes, since Anna Louise’s disappearance we’ve had a lot of press hanging around outside, and Mr Caley didn’t want his wife disturbed, so we now have full-time security guards patrolling the estate. To begin with it was feared that perhaps Anna Louise had been kidnapped, so the guards were employed for everyone’s peace of mind.’

Lorraine prepared to leave. Just as she walking away from Phyllis she stopped. ‘Is this house Mrs Caley’s?’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘And the property in New Orleans?’

‘Yes, I think a lot of it belonged to her family.’

Lorraine hesitated, wondering whether or not she should ask Phyllis the next question, or leave it until she spoke to Elizabeth Caley personally.

‘Was there something else?’

‘Er, yes, it may be nothing, but who is the main beneficiary of Elizabeth Caley’s will?’

Phyllis glared, and Lorraine knew she had made a mistake.

‘It’s probably inconsequential to the investigation but at the same time you must understand that I—’

She was interrupted. ‘I really can’t help you, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay. What time shall I call in the morning?’

‘About eleven.’

‘Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow no doubt.’

‘Yes, you will.’ Her sharp features were even more pinched as she stared at Lorraine. ‘You certainly do a lot of research.’ She did not say it as a compliment but Lorraine smiled as if it had been one.

‘I believe that is the point, is it not? And you must understand, Phyllis — I hope I can call you Phyllis — that everything you say to me is in total confidence. If there is anything that you feel would help my investigation, anything at all, I hope you will feel free to call me at any time.’

She caught it, just a flicker of hesitancy, but then Phyllis covered with a tight, brittle smile. ‘You keep to the left walkway and it will lead you round to the front of the house. Good afternoon, Mrs Page.’

Lorraine walked from the courtyard along the immaculate paved path. She passed the tennis courts and stopped. Robert Caley was sitting on a white painted bench, the bottle of wine held loosely in his hand, seemingly staring at the empty tennis court. She continued on past the vast swimming pool with its carefully laid out sunbeds, and could see a maid folding up the unused towels.

Lorraine would have gone on but Robert Caley called her and she turned to face him. He still wore the dark glasses but removed them slowly as he looked at her.

‘I’ll be going to New Orleans. If you need to go there within the week, please call me. You can...’ He gave a boyish smile. ‘I’m offering you a ride.’

She returned his smile. ‘Thank you, I’ll call you.’

He nodded and stood watching her as she walked round to the front of the house.

Lorraine had found Robert Caley very attractive, she’d known it when he had leaned towards her across the table in the gazebo, but any sexual desires had to be dismissed because if she discovered that he could benefit from his daughter’s disappearance or death, he would be under suspicion. And by now Lorraine intuitively felt that Anna Louise Caley was dead.