Cold Blood (6 page)

“I presume these are photographs of Miss Caley?”

Lorraine asked, quietly indicating one of the ornate silver frames.

Phyllis nodded, and was about to say something when they heard footsteps in the marble hall, the click-click of high heels, and then the doors were opened by the butler.

“Mrs. Elizabeth Caley.”

Phyllis made the introductions and Lorraine rose to her feet, the pillows scattering around her. Rooney creaked out of his chair, but Mrs. Caley fluttered her hand in his direction and he eased himself back down.

Elizabeth Caley gently brushed Lorraine’s outstretched hand, just giving it a light feather touch, then smiled warmly at Rooney, who blushed bright pink. She was, as one would picture a movie star of the late fifties or early sixties, perfectly made upneatly clasped in a tortoiseshell comb, her black hair was glossy and worn swept up from her beautiful, strong face. At a distance she could still be taken for a woman in her thirties, yet she was very much the wrong side of fifty, her many face-lifts giving her skin a tight, fragile falseness. Her creamy, low-cut blouse showed just enough cleavage of probably equally fake breasts. She wore a straight, tight black skirt and pale stockings, which showed that her wondrous legs were still like a young woman’s, and her highheeled sandals accentuated her slender ankles.

Rooney was almost overcome. He could feel his heart thudding as her perfume seemed to wrap itself around him, a heavy magnolia that made one even more aware of her soft white skin. Elizabeth Caley was still a very stunning and sexy woman. She had full red lips, matching long red fingernails, and on her wedding finger a diamond and emerald ring with stones the size of a small bird’s eggs. She was also charming in her manner, almost deferential as she sat poised as if for flight on the edge of a small, hard-backed gilt chair. She gave only the slightest incline of her head to indicate that Phyllis should leave them alone. Phyllis silently closed the doors behind her.

“My daughter.”

Mrs. Caley gestured slowly toward a large color photograph on a glass-topped corner table. Rooney and Lorraine both turned in the direction of the fluttering hand.

Anna Louise Caley was as fair as her mother was dark. Similar wide eyes stared from the photograph, but Elizabeth’s were a dark tawny brown while her daughter’s, judging from the photo, were light blue, and she had a faint smile on her sweet, childish lips, a secretive, shy smile.

“She is very beautiful,”

Lorraine said softly.

“Yes, she is.”

But Rooney couldn’t take his eyes off Mrs. Caley, recalling all her films, one after another, and almost had to pinch himself to realize that he was sitting within a few feet of her.

“I know you have already hired a number of private investigation agents,”

Lorraine began, as Mrs. Caley stared vacantly ahead.

“If we are to reopen the cadf^-“

“It is not closed,”

Mrs. Caley said quietly.

“I’m sorry, of course it isn’t. But if Page Investigations is also to begin making inquiries into your daughter’s whereabouts, then we will have to ask you a lot of questions. It may be very upsetting for you, but perhaps we will be able to uncover”

Mrs. Caley bowed her head.

“A clue?”

“Yes. Often an individual or a company like my own, coming into a case fresh, can uncover something that might have appeared inconsequential to others.”

Mrs. Caley nodded, her eyes studying the sparkling ring on her finger.

“The reason I was interested in meeting you is that Phyllis explained to me that you had been involved in other similar cases.”

Rooney frowned, giving Lorraine a questioning look. She ignored it, wondering just what Rosie had embroidered, and covered fast, keeping her voice low and encouraging.

“Tracing missing persons can be a lengthy and costly process and we cannot give any guarantee of success. But that said, I am very confident that with my previous experience as a lieutenant with the Pasadena police, and with the assistance of my partner, Mr. Rooney, ex-captain, we will promise you

“

“No stone will be left unturned?”

Elizabeth Caley’s wide eyes looked from Lorraine to Rooney and then returnBhto her ring. She laughed softly.

“They have all promised me that, dea’and quite honestly I am not interested in the cost or how long it will take. I want my daughter found because every day is like a nightmare, every phone call a hope, and every night …”

She caught her breath and swallowed, taking a moment to gather her composure. If this was any indication of her acting prowess, her films must have been good.

“I have never given up hope, even though it has been implied that after so long …”

Another intake of breath and her delicate hand stroked her milky-white neck.

“Do you have any children, Mrs. Page?”

“Yes, I do, two daughters,”

Lorraine said softly.

“Well, then, you must be able to understand what it means to a mother. Every night I mark in my diary, another day passed, another night ahead without my darling, and I pray, I have prayed so much. And I have wept so much that I don’t think I have any more tears to shed.”

Again came another slow, flowing hand gesture in the direction of her daughter’s photograph.

“I stare at her face, saying over and over, Where are you? Oh, my darling, dearest child, where are you?”

36

Rooney was almost in tears. Lorraine looked suitably moved but was

still of the mind that Mrs. Caley was talking, or acting, as if she: were m

f her movies She thought this all the more when Elizabeth Caley

one of her mcme, § and ^ her emotlon spllhng

ffie Ł%IsounA b’ack aid forth on the whUer-than-wh.te car-

^wTŁS

“Si-We went to New Orleans, we always go for Mard! Gras She didn’t eome down for dinner, but we had arnved only a few hours earlier and we just thought she wasn’t hungry.

Ehzabeth Caley began to move toward one of the gilt-and-glass-topped table dsplaymg one photograph after another of her pretty daughter-as a debutante at one of the Mard, Gras balls, at a special surprise birthday at filmpremiere. Elizabeth seemed almost to be dancing in front of them then she traced one small gilt frame with her finger, tears bnmmmg S3**%SLgf down her perfectly made-up cheeks.

“I will not glve up,

1 TooT-uH have fallen to hi. knees, a fan for life Lorraine simply wishedmat Mrs. Caley would stop the dramat.es and talk straight so that Th v could iscuss how long they would be given to work on he case. Throughout Mrs. Caley’s monologue, she had been calculating how

1 honour , k three of them on the case, including trav—

Intetrs and mSls, and’as they would obviously have to go to New Orleans they would have hotel expenses, car rental, etc

Lorrane coughed to draw Mrs. Caley’s attention.

“Mrs. Caley, ,f you wish Page Investigations to begin work, can we discuss finances for a mome Mrs Caley spun around on her high heels to face Lorraine.

“Of

T t Li to beein why do you think I’ve asked you to my home?

^nt l^yZ^’^o find my daughter, haven’t I made that

abULorrlyeCllicaked her lips.

“Good, but we must discuss what contracts you have with other private investigation agencies, because they are a lit-

1 A

“

tk ^They’ve done nothing! It’s been eleven months, eleven months, and I don’t care who we’ve hired. Not one of them has found a single clue as to where she is”

She was giving an Oscar-winning performance, her voice !ir,P as she became more and more emotional. She picked up one of her daughter’s photographs and clasped it to her chest.

“She is a sweet, innocent girl, she could not just disappear, she must be somewhere. Someone is doing this to me, it’s breaking my heart.”

Lorraine looked at the bedazzled Rooney, wishing he’d help her. She

it

could tell that Mrs. Caley was building to a climax and could well collapse on them. Then they’d have to return, maybe even go through this a number of times befere they had an agreement on paper. Then, to her consternation, the doors banged open.

“Elizabeth, Elizabeth?

Mrs. Caley turned toward the door, holding out the photograph of her daughter in a theatrically helpless gesture.

“She is alive, Robert, I know it, she is alive. I won’t give up, 7 won’t give up.”

Robert Caley didn’t even glance at Lorraine as he gestured to Phyllis, hovering behind him in the doorway.

“Phyllis, help Elizabeth to her room, please, right away.”

“No, Robert, I won’t go. I need to talk to these people, they will trace Anna Louise.”

Robert Caley was like a movie star himself. His face was etched with deep lines, made more prominent by his suntan, and his thick black hair, with two wings of gray at the temples, gave him an austere quality that matched the steel of his controlled voice and piercing dark blue eyes.

“Please, Elizabeth, go to your room. It is pointless to upset yourself like this, to put yourself through this over and over again.”

Elizabeth placed the photograph back in its position like a naughty schoolgirl. She pouted petulantly.

“They are highly qualified, darling. At least give them a chance … give Anna Louise a chance.”

Robert Caley studied the carpet for a moment, and Lorraine detected that he seemed to be desperately trying to ftntrol his arjger. Then he looked up and stared coldly at her.

“My wife, as you can see, Mrs. Page, is distraught. I think it would be better if you leave. At the moment we have more than enough investigation agencies, along with the police, attempting to trace my daughter without needing to hire anyone else. This is a waste of your time.”

Elizabeth Caley confronted her husband, her hands clenched tightly.

“I want them to begin as of this afternoon, Robert, I insist. Mrs. Page has daughters of her own, she knows what it is like for a mother, and she has come very highly recommended”

“Really? I think all Mrs. Page is interested in is ripping you off, Elizabeth. This has got to stop. I will not have you bringing these people into the house.”

Lorraine stepped forward.

“Excuse me, Mr. Caley.”

He turned that cold, arrogant stare on Lorraine again.

“No, you excuse me, Mrs. Page, because I don’t know what cock-and-bull story you have fed my wife, but I do not think you are in any way qualified to assist us in tracing my daughter. We have had enough of journalists, enough of bloodsucking people calling themselves private investigators, people who care only for what they can milk out of us, people who are no better equipped to find Anna Louise than”

“Excuse me,”

Lorraine blurted out again.

“I will not allow my wife to be subjected to yet another”

Lorraine interrupted him.

“Yet another what, Mr. Caley?”

He took a deep breath, looked away for a moment and then turned back to Lorraine.

“Sham, Mrs. Page, and I think you are perhaps the lowest we have sunk to date. You see, I know all about your agency, if you can call it that, just as I am aware of your record for drunkenness. You were thrown out of the police for shooting a young and, I believe, innocent boy. You are an alcoholic with no experience whatsoever in private investigation work. And as for being a mother! You have had no contact with your daughters since you were divorced. Perhaps the agencies hired to trace my daughter have been incapable of gaining results, but they were very swift and very informative regarding you. I would therefore be grateful if you would leave my house and not come back.”

Lorraine felt the thick-pile carpet rising up and choking her. She turned and picked up her purse. Rooney, who had sat like a silent Buddha, now stepped forward, his face flushed red.

“Mr. Caley, I am Bill Rooney, and before you start in on me, if you have also done some background work on me, then you’ll know I recently retired from the police. I have started working with Mrs. Page

“

“Just leave, please.”

“Oh, I’ll leave, Mr. Caley, but not before I set a few things straight. Mrs. Page may have been an alcoholic but she isn’t now. And whatever she did, she’s paid hard for it. But what she’s doing now is what she was good at, and I should know because I worked alongside her for long enough. She’s got more street knowledge, more intuition than any of the officers I’ve ever worked with, and she’s better than any hired dick you could find in or outside LA. If your daughter’s alive, she’ll find her, and without ripping you or your wife off, because first and foremost Lorraine Page is a professional. Thanks for the ice water.”

Rooney’s face was even redder as he turned with his hand out for Lorraine. She had never needed it so badly since she quit drinking. They would have both walked out there and then had not Elizabeth Caley caught hold of Lorraine’s arm.

“No, please don’t leave, please… .”

She was not acting now, she was for real, and up close her youth had flown, leaving her face etched with pain.

“Find my baby for me, please. Dear God, I beg you to help me, please.”

Rooney taŁ9 to ease Lorraine out of the room as Mrs. Caley turned pleading to her husband.

“Don’t send them away, you can’t send them away. Don’t let me give up hope, don’t do this to me, please.”

Robert Caley deflated, refusing to look at any one of them. He had lost all his anger, and now he sounded simply tired out.

“You’re hired for two weeks, all expenses paid, whatever you need, whatever your charges. If you wish to talk with me, I can be contacted at my office during office hours. Phyllis, please take Elizabeth for a rest and then draw up whatever contract is required.”

He walked away.

Elizabeth Caley sighed, leaning against the door.

“I’m too tired to talk now, you’ll have to come back. Tomorrow maybe, Phyllis will organize everything.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Caley,”

Lorraine said.

Elizabeth beckoned to her. Not in any way out of control now, she was almost steely.

“I want a private word with you. Will you assist me to my room?”