Cold Blood

Chapter 4

Rooney said he reminded him of someone called Lubrinski.’

Lorraine reacted, giving Rosie that funny half-squint look, her hair covering part of the scar on her cheek. ‘Did he now?’

‘Yeah, said he was injured in some shoot-out. He’s got a nickname, Nick the Limp.’

‘Really?’ Lorraine said non-committally.

‘So who was this Lubrinski guy? And what was that about you using a pair of pantyhose as a tourniquet, is that true?’

‘You should know Rooney by now, Rosie, he’s full of crap. He should have been doing what I told him to do, like contact the psychic. We got two weeks, Rosie, just two weeks.’

‘But you told Bill to check out all the agencies, and I’m not exactly sittin’ on my butt doin’ nothing all day, thank you very much!’

‘Oh, shut up. And if you don’t wanna use the shower I will. Maybe see if I can see her tonight.’

Under the water-jets of the shower, face uptilted, eyes closed, the memories came back. The way Jack Lubrinski had looked up at her in such agony and gripped her hand.

You’re gonna be okay,’ she had lied. ‘Ambulance’s gonna be here any second, you old bastard, but in the meantime...’

‘Hell, if it takes being shot to see you whip off your panties I’d have done it before.’

‘Shut up, you perverted shit.’

He’d died in her arms fifteen minutes later as the ambulance, siren screaming, cut its way through the traffic to the hospital. He was still holding on to her hand like a child when she saw the light go out of his eyes. They’d had to prise his hand away from hers. She hadn’t wanted to let go, sure that maybe there was hope, but there had been none. The black-haired, dark-eyed Lubrinski had left a deep empty place inside her. Was that why she wanted Robert Caley? Was that gonna be the game plan for the rest of her life, the look-alike Lubrinskis? Was that why she was attracted to Robert Caley, because he was dark-haired, with fierce, scared eyes? That was what she had seen when he’d taken the shades off, fear and pain. Lubrinski had always hidden behind the smart remarks, the tough exterior, until he was dying; then she had seen something in his eyes that squeezed her heart. What was it? Why did it attract her? What she felt was in no way a mothering feeling. She didn’t want to mother Robert Caley: she wanted him to screw her, just like she had wanted Lubrinski. But at that time she had been married with two kids. She wished she had just once told him before he died that she loved him. She shut her eyes tightly, clenched her teeth together; she wasn’t going to cry now, it was all too long ago. But she couldn’t stop the tears, because for the first time she was admitting to herself that she had been in love with Jack Lubrinski. She had fought and denied it, even after his death, but now all these years later she wept for him and whispered to herself, ‘I loved you, Jack, and I still miss you.’

Rosie opened the shower curtain. ‘I called the psychic. She says she won’t see nobody.’

Lorraine reached for a towel. ‘Wanna bet?’

‘You going there now?’

‘Yep. We’ve got two weeks Rosie, just two weeks.’

‘Oh, can I come with you?’

Lorraine was about to refuse, but Rosie’s child-like eagerness changed her mind.

‘Sure, why not?’

The address was good but the apartment was in the lower ground floor and at the end of a corridor. The apartment block was an expensive one with intercom buzzers, top-level security and an underground car park for residents. Lorraine had been lucky; she had simply followed a car into the parking area, waving at the woman in front who had smiled back, unaware that Lorraine had no right to be there.

‘Bingo, we’re in. We can surprise Mrs Salina unless she saw us coming in her crystal ball,’ said Lorraine as she followed the woman into the car park.

‘Learn something every day,’ Rosie said, impressed, but Lorraine was already hurrying out of the car.

‘Afternoon,’ Lorraine smiled as the woman parked her Saab convertible.

‘Afternoon,’ she replied, switching on her blinking alarm and heading towards a private entrance door.

Lorraine moved quickly to join the woman as she punched in the security code to access the elevator into the building. ‘Weather’s strange, nearly seventy already today.’ She glanced behind her, irritated to see that Rosie was still getting out of the car. The woman nodded, more intent on getting her house keys out from her purse than concentrating on Lorraine. The elevator door was still open, and Lorraine rammed her foot against it in case it closed.

‘Are you having problems with your air conditioning?’ Lorraine asked, keeping up the conversation and giving Rosie a glare.

‘No, but I noticed it was a lot warmer today.’

‘Yep, could be heading up in the eighties according to the weather report.’ Rosie stepped in and the elevator door shut.

The elevator from the garage opened on to the main corridor by the apartment elevators. The woman turned towards them as Lorraine carried on down the corridor with Rosie tagging behind, neither of them realizing that they were in actual fact heading in the right direction for Mrs Salina’s place.

‘Yes, who is it?’

Lorraine leaned close to the door. ‘My name is Lorraine Page.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Mrs Salina, I really need to talk to you. I am a private investigator looking into the...’

‘I don’t know how you got into the building but you’d better leave immediately or I’ll call security.’

‘You go right ahead and do that, Mrs Salina, but I’m sure Mrs Caley won’t like it.’

There were a few moments of silence. Rosie stood to one side, still more impressed by Lorraine. Then came the sound of a chain being removed, a bolt pulled back, and a higher lock opened before the door inched open.

‘I’m goin’ out in five minutes.’

‘Fine, this won’t take long. Can I come in?’

‘You with the police?’

‘No, this is my card, my name is Lorraine Page of Page Investigations, and this is my assistant, Rosie.’

Mrs Salina snatched the card and then the door inched further open. ‘Five minutes.’

Rosie pursed her lips — she didn’t like the assistant line, since she was a partner in the agency, but she said nothing as they were led along a dark, narrow hall. The main room of the apartment was at the end of a narrow corridor, the walls lined with framed photographs of well-known and not so well-known stars, alongside certificates for psychic readings, palm readings, crystals, tarot cards and more. It seemed Mrs Salina dabbled in every form of psychic phenomenon and had a certificate to prove it. Rosie glanced at everything, wishing she had brought a note-pad. This was really interesting, she thought — no wonder Lorraine liked her job, you got to meet all kinds.

It was not until they followed Juda into the small sitting room that they got a good look at her. She was exotic-looking, olive-skinned, with thick, black crinkly hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. She weighed at least 280 pounds, yet like a lot of very heavy women, she moved lightly and had tiny, delicate hands. Lorraine estimated her age to be about fifty, and her shawls, bangles and thick beaded necklaces were reminiscent of the ‘Flower Power’ days. In contrast, her perfectly made-up face was very much a nineties work of art, with well-placed false eyelashes, lipstick similar in colour to the one Mrs Caley had worn, and even the lips outlined in the same way.

‘Sit down,’ she said as she eased her bulk into a hard-backed armchair. ‘Like I said, I got five minutes. Why do you want to see me?’ She had a New Orleans accent, not heavy but easy to detect by the way her voice drawled and lifted in a musical manner.

She stared hard at Rosie, who tried to blend into the wallpaper, uncomfortably balanced on a stool. She had let Lorraine take the better chair, or rather, Lorraine had taken it automatically: she behaved as though Rosie wasn’t there.

‘Tell me about Elizabeth Caley.’

‘I’m sorry, but unless I have Mrs Caley’s permission I cannot discuss her. My business is just like a priest’s or a doctor’s, my clients’ private consultations with me are exactly that, private.’

‘But, like me, you have been hired to help trace their daughter.’

‘Yes, that is correct.’

‘How much contact have you therefore had with Mrs Caley?’

‘I am afraid I cannot divulge that.’

‘Did you travel to New Orleans?’

‘I did.’ She levered herself up from the chair and crossed to the dresser. She opened a drawer and took out a photograph. ‘She is a very strong presence.’

‘Anna Louise?’

‘Why, yes. This was given to me by Mrs Caley.’ She thrust it in front of Lorraine, and there was the sweet face, the long blonde tresses.

‘She is very beautiful.’

Juda nodded, then passed the photograph to Rosie, who leaned forward to look at it.

‘Yes, she is very pretty,’ Rosie nodded. Juda returned the photograph to the drawer.

‘She most surely is, and I would say she is still in New Orleans.’

‘Alive?’ Lorraine asked sharply.

Juda shut the drawer and remained with her back to Lorraine. Then she turned slowly and, with her eyes closed, pressed herself against the dresser. Rosie studied the big woman: if she had been worried about her own weight, Juda had even more of a problem.

‘I sincerely believe Anna Louise is alive.’

‘Why?’

The false eye-lashes fluttered. ‘Why? Like I said, she has a presence. The little girl is alive, I am sure of it.’

‘Why?’ Lorraine persisted.

The eyes opened. ‘I have just told you, I feel her presence.’

‘Well, that may be so but I am not quite as fortunate as you, Mrs Salina. My job is to find her, I can’t feel any presence, I am not in touch with the... forces, so to speak.’

‘They are forces, Mrs Page, strong ones, and I am telling you that little girl is alive. I take my work very seriously and when I feel her, become her, she is not saying to me she is cold.’ She turned her dark eyes to Rosie again, and Rosie felt a frisson of fear. She looked away, biting her lip: there was something unpleasant about the woman, about the whole apartment.

‘So, what is she saying to you?’

Juda pointedly looked at her watch, and then at Lorraine. ‘Mrs Page, you ain’t paying, Mrs Caley is, and I have told her all that I have been able to receive, that is, Anna Louise is alive.’

‘Well, I’ll pay you, is that what you want?’

Juda stared hard at Lorraine. ‘I have to go out now. If Mrs Caley personally tells me that I can give you what I have received, then you may call again. But right now all I can tell you is that I feel her presence, an aura of light, every time I look at her sweet angel face.’

‘Well, if this presence should indicate where Anna Louise is, then I’ll talk to Mrs Caley and I’ll come back and make you tell me where she is. You see, I deal in facts, not fantasy, and she has been missing nearly a year. Now, that is a very long time to have no word, no letter, no contact. I’m hired to find her.’

‘But I presume you are being paid.’

‘Yeah, but then so are you.’

‘No. The husband has refused to allow me to see my poor dear Elizabeth.’

‘Did you tell him his daughter was alive?’

Juda crossed to the door and stood there. ‘I have had no dealings with Mr Caley but I have known Elizabeth for many years.’

‘She’s a drug addict, isn’t she?’

Juda gave Lorraine a surly look. ‘I said five minutes, now I ask you to leave. I only agreed to see you because you implied Elizabeth had asked you to see me, but I think you are lying, just like all the others who have tried to talk to me. My clients have my total loyalty.’

‘What other people have talked to you?’

Juda again gave that direct, rather eerie stare. ‘Private investigators, and the police. They treat me with no respect, Mrs Page, I can feel it, see it in their faces. They don’t have to say a word, I know what they think of people like me.’ She moved back to the dresser and opened a drawer. ‘Here, take this, but now you gotta go.’

She handed Lorraine a cheap computer-printed document, clipped together. Juda didn’t wait for her even to glance at it before moving impatiently into the hallway. Lorraine handed it to Rosie and indicated by a nod that Rosie should follow her to where Juda stood by the open front door, waiting.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Page. Er, just one thing, will you come real close to me for a moment?’

Lorraine stepped closer and Juda stared up into her face. She lifted her delicate hand and touched the scar running down Lorraine’s cheek. ‘Honey, you should get that fixed, you’d be real lovely. What was your first name?’

‘Lorraine.’

‘Nice to talk with you, Lorraine.’

Rosie was squeezing past her when the woman leaned forward again.

‘Rosie. Your name is Rosie, and your spirit is kind. You take care now, honey.’

The chain was replaced, the bolts banged across. For someone who was about to go out, it was weird to lock themselves in. Was she expecting someone or simply lying? Lorraine suspected the latter; Juda Salina was not about to go out.

Lorraine and Rosie had to wait fifteen minutes in the car park before a resident came down and used the special code to open the security gates. They sat discussing Juda and, as Bill Rooney had done before them, came to the conclusion she was one big fake, able to make a lot of money from people as desperate as Elizabeth Caley. Her computer-printed advertisement was crude, unprofessional, stating how many people had been saved by Juda Salina predictions, and how many times. She also listed a number of police cases she had assisted in. It was all rubbish; saying she felt a presence and that Anna Louise Caley was alive only meant she could keep asking for more money from Mrs Caley.

Rosie read the print-out, and frowned as she turned the pages.

‘I hope she’s right.’

‘About what? Your sweet soul?’

‘No, that the little girl is alive. I hope she is.’

Lorraine was now more convinced the girl was dead but she decided that Rooney should at least check out the so-called police investigations listed in the print-out and Salina’s part in them. She had gained only one thing of interest: Robert Caley did not like Juda Salina. She respected him for that.

Juda sat wondering whether or not she should call Mrs Caley. She didn’t like the fact that yet another private investigator was questioning her, and supposedly with Mrs Caley’s permission. In fact, it annoyed her that she had been told by some faceless employee of Robert Caley’s that she was no longer allowed to visit his wife and that there would be no further payments. She had made a lot of money out of their misery, even a trip back home. But this time she was worried.

She went over in her mind everything Lorraine had said. The woman hadn’t asked anything new, so what was it? The scar? She had a feeling that it had been inflicted by a man, but the message had been very hazy. She sighed, feeling tired, unsure whether or not to put herself through it, and without being paid. But even as she fought against doing it, she got up, drew the dark crimson curtains and turned off the overhead lights so the small room was in virtual darkness. She sat down again. An onlooker would have thought she was nodding off to sleep, her eyes drooping like those of someone heavy with exhaustion, unable to keep awake. She moaned softly, as though with sexual gratification, and sank deeper into the chair. Her big bosom rose and fell as she took slow, deep breaths.

‘Yes, oh yes, yes,’ she whispered, and her tiny, delicate hands clung on to the carved arm of her uncomfortable chair. She continued to take deep laboured breaths, her bosom heaving, her head beginning to feel light as she began to go slowly into a trance. The darkness seeped into Juda’s consciousness. Nothing for a while, then it started to happen, just as it had when she had been with Elizabeth Caley. First came the distorted sounds of music, then of a street. She couldn’t grasp the area, it was happening too quickly and she couldn’t control it, but she felt the place was familiar. Exactly as it had played out before, something began to terrify her, and this time she felt it even more strongly. She began to gasp, her hands clawing at the chair; there was a pain in the centre of her chest, as if a weight was pressing down, squeezing the air from her lungs. She began to flap her hands; someone or something was astride her, a man, it was a man and he was taking out a knife. She couldn’t see his face, just knew he was going to slice her throat.

Her own scream cut through the dark void of panic, and she lurched forward, coming to fast, fazed for only a few moments before she realized she was safe in her own apartment. The sweat trickled down her cheeks and she involuntarily patted her neck and chest, frightened by the still awful feeling of choking, of someone squeezing the life out of her. But it wasn’t her, she knew that, it wasn’t Juda Salina being murdered, it was someone with a name beginning with the letter L.

The initial L: did it stand for Lorraine Page? She was tensing up, remembering what she had just put herself through, and for a second time. Juda’d had a similarly jumbled message when she’d gone into the trance at Mrs Caley’s, someone’s name beginning with the letter L. She knew she had frightened Elizabeth Caley but she didn’t know what it had meant. Often she didn’t, the messages for one client could get confused with another’s, but this one had been particularly strong. She’d presumed then that the letter L was for Louise, Anna Louise, because she had had an overpowering feeling of imminent danger, and death. She had lied to Mrs Caley, said the powers had been strong and that her daughter was alive, but she had felt death very close.

Juda tried to recall the exact day she visited Mrs Caley. She found the entry in her diary and turned over the page to the next day. She read the scrawled message from Robert Caley’s secretary that she was not to see his wife again. They were the only notes in the diary for that day. Juda drummed the blank pages with her painted fingernails, made a decision and dialled the Caley residence. Phyllis answered.

‘Phyllis, this is Juda...’

‘You must not call here again, I thought Mr Caley had made that clear to you. He will not allow you to speak to Elizabeth again.’

‘I know. It was you I wanted to talk to...’

Phyllis was almost whispering. ‘If it’s about any further payments I have been instructed by Mr Caley that—’

‘It isn’t, I just need to know something. I’ve had a visit from a woman working for a private investigation agency.’

‘You mean Mrs Page.’

‘Yeah, Lorraine Page, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, she’s been brought in.’

‘What day did you hire her?’

‘Last Tuesday, the same day you last came to see Mrs Caley. You know she was very distressed after you left and... hello?’

Juda was silent.

Phyllis sounded worried. ‘Hello? Are you still there? Is something wrong, has Mrs Page said something?’

‘No, no, I just needed to clear up my diary entries. Thank you, Phyllis, and please tell Elizabeth I am thinking of her and keeping Anna Louise’s presence in my mind, and I’ll wait for her to contact me. Bye now.’

Juda replaced the phone before Phyllis could ask anything else. She could tell herself it was coincidence but she knew it wasn’t. She sensed much more strongly than she would ever admit that Anna Louise Caley had been dead a long time — she knew that. What she hadn’t been able to make sense of until now was that on Tuesday night the message she’d received was so strong it had made her physically sick. A connection to the letter L had come up and burned in her brain, surrounded by fire and imminent danger. Now she was sure the L was for Lorraine Page, and there was a lot more than imminent danger... she was sure the woman was going to die, and in the same way as she had seen so clearly in her second trance state — Lorraine was going to get her throat cut.

Lorraine had borrowed Rosie’s heated Carmen rollers to style her hair. She wore a cream silk blouse, a tight, straight skirt with a slit down one side, and high-heeled shoes. She eased a dark blue linen jacket round her shoulders and stepped back to admire the effect.

Rosie stood in the kitchen, spooning up a vast bowl of cereal. ‘I dunno how you manage to get bargain of the month at every yard sale, nothin’ ever fits me. Very smart.’

‘Thank you, I need to feel good to take on Elizabeth Caley.’

‘Mm,’ Rosie muttered, milk dribbling down her chin. ‘You gonna take up his offer? Be nice to travel in style, private jet.’

Lorraine checked her purse and slim briefcase. ‘I’m not ready to leave LA yet, so we’ll see. In the meantime, there’s a list of things for you to be doing: arrange tickets, hotels and start packing. Call me if you need me on the mobile, maybe early afternoon, and see what Rooney and this hop-along guy come up with.’

‘Okay.’ Rosie looked down the neatly written list.

Shortly after Lorraine drove off down the road, Rooney screeched to a halt outside the apartment. He tooted the car horn; he’d started giving Rosie a ride into the office if he was passing. She thudded down the wooden steps and crossed over to his car as he opened the passenger door.

‘You just missed Veronica Lake, she’s gone to the Caleys’. But we have a list of orders and she wanted to know how you got on with Nick Bartello.’

Rooney pushed his shades up his shiny nose. ‘I got one bitch of a hangover, but any money he’s got an even worse one.’

Rosie looked at him more closely. ‘Jesus, where in hell did you get those shades?’

‘Found ’em in a drawer, I think they were my wife’s, why?’

Rosie grinned. ‘Well, I just didn’t reckon you’d be the kind of guy to wear pink-framed shades but they suit you, match your colouring, sorta flushed.’

Rooney drove on, his gut pressed against the steering-wheel. ‘Well, when I’m through with ’em you can have them. They’ll match whatever colour you describe your hair.’

‘Aw, shut up, you, it’s the perm. I’m a natural redhead and if you want I can prove it.’

‘God forbid, I couldn’t take that even without a hangover!’

Lorraine and the butler had another formal bowing session before he led her towards the drawing room.

‘I won’t be kept waiting again, will I?’ she asked.

He actually half-smiled. ‘Mrs Caley is expecting you, Mrs Page.’

At that moment Phyllis appeared and gestured for Lorraine to follow her up the wide staircase.

‘Please bring Mrs Caley’s breakfast, and for you, Mrs Page?’

‘Oh, I’d like a coffee, black with honey if you have it, thank you.’

He gave a curt nod and departed towards the kitchen corridor, as Lorraine continued up the stairs.

‘What’s his name again?’

‘Peters, Reginald Peters.’ Phyllis tapped on the double doors on the first landing.

‘Come in.’

Phyllis stepped back and ushered Lorraine into Elizabeth Caley’s drawing room, almost bumping into her as she stopped dead in her tracks. The drawing room was a profusion of perfumed flowers in vast displays on almost every available surface, and even though the shutters were drawn over the open windows, the pale lemon walls, drapes and carpet seemed to blend into each other as if the room was ablaze with sunlight. White muslin curtains billowed from brass curtain rods in contrast to the stillness of the designer-draped silk curtains with their golden fringes and tiebacks.

Elizabeth Caley was reclining on a white shot-silk chaise-longue, wearing a flowing kimono of dark green and yellow printed flowers. Her thick, pitch-black hair was braided in a long plait down her back and a tight white bandanna was wrapped round her head. She was creaming her delicate hands and smiled warmly at Lorraine.

‘Come in, darling. Please excuse me for not shaking hands but I have just had a manicure and the girl never uses enough moisturizer. Sit down.’

Lorraine looked around. There were scatter-cushions in profusion on every lemon shot-silk-covered chair and before she could decide which one to sit on Phyllis made the choice for her, drawing forward a spindle-legged armchair.

‘Thank you, Phyllis dear. Is Peters bringing refreshments?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, then you may leave us.’

Phyllis crept out, and Lorraine sat down, unzipping her briefcase and taking out her note-book.

‘Have you done something different to your hair?’

Lorraine smiled. ‘No, just washed it.’

‘You do it yourself?’

‘Yes. Thank you for seeing me.’

Peters entered, wheeling in a gilt trolley which held coffee, croissants, tea and iced water. He eased the trolley to beside Mrs Caley, passed her a white, stiffly laundered napkin and poured a greenish-looking tea. The china was fine porcelain. He poured black coffee and indicated a silver dish with honey for Lorraine.

Mrs Caley eased herself to a sitting position and wafted her hand. ‘Thank you, thank you, I’ll ring if we need anything else.’

‘Very good, Mrs Caley.’ He performed his backward half-bow out of the room and closed the doors silently behind him.

‘Would you care for a croissant?’

‘No, thank you.’

Lorraine spooned in the honey, careful not to let any drops fall on the white tray cloth. Elizabeth Caley picked up silver tongs and placed a warmed croissant on a plate, then some jam from a silver pot. Lorraine noticed that her smooth hands with their long, talon-like red nails were shaking, and she had to use both hands to sip from her delicate tea cup.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t see you yesterday but I am sure Phyllis made my apologies.’

‘She did.’

‘I don’t know what I would do without Phyllis. That is a very pretty blouse.’

‘Thank you.’ Lorraine balanced her cup and saucer on the arm of her chair, as she eased her note-book on to her lap. ‘I am sorry if I ask you questions that must have been put to you many times, but it is important. I will try not to take up too much of your time, as it must be distressing to...’

Elizabeth Caley nodded. She resembled Merle Oberon, with the same high forehead, enhanced now by the bandanna, and flawless skin. Her make-up, like everything else about her, was immaculate, her lips lightly outlined in a dark fuchsia. Whether or not her beauty had by now been assisted by surgery was immaterial, even at this close proximity her face appeared unlined. In comparison, Lorraine felt jaded, as any woman would. Elizabeth Caley had a fragility and femininity that in this day and age was ridiculed by feminists because, perfect creature as she was, she belonged to a different era. She would not dream of opening a door for herself — this was a woman used to having men break their necks to get to the door first.

‘Could you just tell me about February fifteenth, the day you left for New Orleans?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, I know you and Anna Louise were together before your husband returned from his office and—’

‘Oh, I see, yes, well, I had to oversee all the packing, we had some engagements, cocktail parties, dinners... Peters usually packs for Robert but I am very particular, I always have special tissue paper; it avoids creases, you know, if you lay tissue sheets between each garment.’

‘Did you pack for your daughter?’

‘Good heavens, no. Anna Louise is dreadful, and you know how young girls dress these days, jeans and T-shirts, and more jeans and T-shirts, sneakers. I think whoever invented those awful things should be shot. She just hurls things into cases, in fact, we had a little tiff about it because I asked Phyllis to make sure she had some of her nice things because we had a few formal engagements. Anyway, Phyllis oversaw her packing, I think, and then we had brunch on the terrace and waited for Robert. We then went to the airport and...’ She frowned. ‘Oh, yes, on the plane she saw something in Vogue or Elk magazine, a little black cocktail dress, and I was surprised because she really liked it. So we called home to ask Phyllis to collect it and arrange to have it delivered for when she returned.’

She frowned again, one long fingernail tapping the centre of her forehead. ‘Anna Louise was in high spirits, really looking forward to the trip and seeing her friends, especially Tilda Brown, an adorable girl. She often stayed here, we are all very fond of Tilda.’

‘Tilda Brown was scheduled to travel with you to New Orleans but—’

‘Oh, yes, yes, yes. She said she wanted to go earlier so Phyllis arranged it. I’ve no idea why, but you know young girls, silly waste of money, I suppose. Anyway, we left, drove to the airport and...’

Lorraine listened as Elizabeth Caley repeated, as her husband had done, almost word for word her original statement given to the police, from the moment that they arrived at the hotel until the dinner.

‘Can you think of anything, no matter how trivial it may seem, that you have not mentioned to anyone else?’

‘My dear, I have gone over and over those hours, as if seeing them on a screen, trying to find some clue, but there is nothing, nothing at all that I can recall. And that is what makes it so horrible, because I cannot think of a single thing that would be of help. She was happy, cheerful and looking forward to Carnival...’

‘Had she ever gone off alone before?’

‘Of course, but never without letting us know where she was going to, or who she was seeing. She is an intelligent girl, aware of the dangers of being out alone in the evenings, especially in the old French Quarter. I had even discussed with her the importance of always making sure we knew where she was. Obviously any young girl from Los Angeles is made very aware of the dangers of going off with strange men or accepting a ride, or drugs...’

‘Did she ever use drugs?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Did Anna Louise to your knowledge ever use drugs, smoke cannabis, for example?’

‘No, most definitely not, she doesn’t even smoke cigarettes. And very rarely drinks, perhaps a glass of champagne, nothing more. She is, you see, very health-conscious, very athletic really. She loves sports and obviously any over-indulgence in drugs or alcohol would be adverse to her. I am not making her to be a goody-two-shoes, she is not perfect. She can throw tantrums and get angry, just like any other girl of her age.’

‘Tantrums?’

‘Well, I don’t know if that is the correct description. She is very spoilt, I know, more by Robert than myself, and she can twist him round her little finger, always has done since she was a baby. He dotes on her but he can also be very firm.’

‘Is your daughter the main beneficiary of your will?’

‘Why do you ask?’

Lorraine chose her words carefully. ‘Well, there is no evidence that your daughter has been kidnapped, no ransom note, no contact. I am simply trying to find if there is a motive...’

For a fleeting moment Lorraine saw Mrs Caley hesitate.

‘Yes, she does benefit from my will.’

‘Your daughter is the main beneficiary?’

‘Yes, but she is also the main beneficiary of my husband’s will. Did you ask him the same question?’

Lorraine kept her eyes down as if concentrating on her notes. ‘Yes.’

‘Ah, I see. Yes, well, if anything happened Anna Louise would automatically be the sole beneficiary. And if, God forbid, anything did happen to Anna, then Robert is obviously the next of kin, and vice versa.’

Lorraine looked up, concerned, because Elizabeth Caley was shaking and now it was not just her hands, her whole body visibly trembled.

‘Are you all right?’

‘What has happened to my daughter?’

‘I don’t know, Mrs Caley, but I will do everything I can to find out.’

‘Do you think she is dead?’

‘Until I have more details I really can’t answer that question.’

Elizabeth slowly rose to her feet, holding on to the edge of the chaise-longue. Lorraine watched as she used the furniture to cross the room, grasping the back of a chair for a moment, then the edge of a cabinet. ‘Excuse me, just a... Please help yourself to more coffee.’

Lorraine stood up, ready to assist her, but Elizabeth supported herself against the door leading into her bedroom and before Lorraine could help her had walked out, the door banging shut behind her.

Lorraine poured herself a cup of fresh coffee and then noticed a dark wet stain on the chaise-longue where Elizabeth Caley had been reclining. Was she incontinent? She tried to recall the moment when she had noticed Mrs Caley shaking or trembling — was it when she asked about who was to be the main beneficiary?

Phyllis entered, nodded curtly at Lorraine and uttered a quiet ‘Excuse me’ before she slipped into the bedroom.

Lorraine waited about ten minutes. Phyllis came out of the bedroom and gave a brittle smile. ‘I’ll just get some fresh tea. Would you care for more coffee?’

‘No, thank you, I’m fine. Is Mrs Caley all right?’

‘Yes, she just gets tired very easily so I hope you won’t keep her much longer.’

Phyllis quickly slipped one of the scatter-cushions over the stained chaise-longue and then began wheeling out the trolley. As she got to the doors, a shrill, high-pitched voice from the bedroom called out her name. ‘Phyllis... Phyllis!’

Lorraine watched as the woman scuttled back to the bedroom and disappeared from view. She could hear her whispered voice but was unable to make out what she was saying. Then Peters walked in and before Lorraine could say a word he had wheeled the trolley out. She saw the intercom on the telephone flashing and again heard Phyllis’s low voice. This time she crept closer to the bedroom door.

‘I think you should. I can ask her to leave. Fine, yes, I’ll tell her.’

Lorraine only just made it back to her chair when Phyllis walked in from the bedroom. ‘Peters took out the trolley.’

‘I think, Mrs Page, you had better leave because—’

‘Get out, Phyllis.’ Elizabeth Caley now wore a different kimono and was tying the silk sash tightly around her waist. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Page when she can go, not you. Go on, get out. And I want some fresh tea and she wants whatever she was having.’

‘No, I’m fine, thank you. And if it is inconvenient for me to stay—’

‘It isn’t. Go on, Phyllis, go away.’

Phyllis sighed and walked out.

‘She can be so bloody interfering.’ Elizabeth crossed to a glass-topped table crammed with photographs and ornaments. She opened a cigarette box and took out a long, thin cigarette. She flicked an onyx lighter, shaking it.

Lorraine took out her own and was just about to light Mrs Caley’s cigarette when the onyx lighter caught. She sucked in the smoke and tossed the lighter down on to a chair.

The beauty had gone, her perfectly made-up face like some kind of mask. ‘I don’t want you interfering? Her voice was shrill, and her hands, with the claw-like nails, tightened the kimono sash. Like a cheap whore, she let the cigarette dangle from her fuchsia-coloured lips. ‘Mrs Page, you do what I paid you for. And I will withdraw my offer of a bonus if you see Mrs Juda Salina again. She knows nothing about my daughter.’ Elizabeth held up a sheet of her private notepaper. Scrawled in her own handwriting was her agreement to pay the bonus. ‘As I said, one million if you find my daughter. But if you talk with Juda Salina, I will not pay you a cent. Do you understand what I am saying? You won’t get one more payment.’

Elizabeth Caley’s voice had changed. The elongated vowels were creeping in, as if she was reverting to her Louisiana accent. It fascinated Lorraine, and she knew that whatever Elizabeth Caley had taken in her bedroom was either cocaine, speed or some kind of stimulant because she was hyper — smoking, pacing, clutching continually at the belt of her kimono. ‘I need to trust you.’

Lorraine folded the note. ‘You can, Mrs Caley, you can trust me.’

‘Okay, okay, that’s fine, that’s good. Yes, that’s good, I need to trust, I need to, understand me? You understand me?’

‘Yes, I understand.’ She didn’t, she still didn’t know what was going on, but just as she might have found out, the doors opened and Robert Caley walked in. He ignored Lorraine and went straight to his wife, seeming to wrap her in his arms.

‘Come on, come and lie down now, sweetheart. Say goodbye to Mrs Page.’ He kept his arms around her, steering her towards the bedroom. ‘I think you had better leave, Mrs Page.’

Lorraine was getting into her car when Robert Caley hurried out of the house. ‘Mrs Page.’ He had a vivid scratch mark down his right cheek.

‘Yes,’ she said innocently.

‘A moment please, er, perhaps I was not as, er... honest as I should have been when we spoke yesterday.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I told you my wife could not speak to you, that she was indisposed, as a good PR agent would say. Well, you just saw what my wife’s indisposition is...’

Lorraine didn’t let him off the hook but looked at him with as much innocence as she could muster. ‘I’m sorry?’

He turned away, rubbing his head. ‘My daughter’s disappearance has obviously affected my wife deeply. I don’t know what she has said to you but I think you should be aware that she can be very irrational and... Elizabeth has had, over the past few years, a drug-related problem mainly due to an old injury... During the filming of Santa Maria a gallery collapsed on her and she suffered extensive injuries. The studio doctors made sure she would be on the set the following day by prescribing heavy pain-killers and... er... well, she still suffers a great deal of pain, and over the years...’

Lorraine waited, watching him trying in every way to explain or excuse his wife’s behaviour.

‘She is, I suppose, a sick woman, and with Anna Louise’s disappearance... what I am trying to explain to you is that my wife has a dependency on these so-called pain-killers. It is controlled, obviously, but now she is not using these drugs for any physical pain, just mental...’

‘I understand.’

‘Good, because I would hate you to misconstrue anything or, God forbid, report this to the press.’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Good, thank you. It’s just that I have been able to control her dependency with the help of her doctors but sometimes if I am not here she...’

If he was lying he was good, because he seemed genuinely disturbed and caring.

‘I do understand, Mr Caley. This must be a very distressing time, not just for your wife, and obviously anything that is said to me, or anything I see, will remain strictly between us.’

He turned away. ‘Just try and find out, Mrs Page, if my daughter is dead or alive, because not knowing is destroying me, and killing my wife.’