Cold Blood (8 page)

“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 hershe 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 outfits. 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 mu^fhave 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 sweatshirt slung around his shoulders. torn 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 timesnothing serious, beach parties, we ware just buddies really.”

“Did you have sex with her?”

He blushed.

“No.”

fr

“Do you know if she was sexually permisSve in any way?”

“Nowell, no more than anyone else.”

“How many boys do you know had a sexual relationship with Anna Louise?”

He blushed again.

“I don’t knowlike I said, we dated a few times but no more than that.”

“What about the coach? This guy Nathan, did he have something 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 torn, 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 lunchtime when Lorraine called the office on her cell phone.

“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 coachwhat 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 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 racket-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 that were very desirable, but within minutes Lorraine had figured out 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

fl

ift

“,’ Louise could have played professional standardshe was very coordinated, strong, but she had a major fault; if she made a mistake she couldn’t forget it. She hgfllfrne very angry at herself and it usually fouled up the rest of her game. The more anger she felt, the worse she played.”

He cocked his handsome head to one side.

“You see, I really did know her only as her ‘ coach. I can tell you about her game but nothing about her personal life.”

f

“What about her father?”

Lorraine asked.

i;, 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 ‘“I, whenever they played she lost it. And she could have beaten him.”

^

“Did she come on to you?”

Lorraine asked as they walked toward the

‘& court. She found his fake capped-tooth smile unattractive but realized that M!’, for a young kid it could be devastating.

“Come on to me? My dear, that is, sadly, the main part of why peoHr!’ piewen> women, girls or whateverkeep hiring me. I have to look and ť’ act the stud.”

“Were you?”

She tried one more time.

“Was I what? A stud? Oh, please …”

Nathan’s tanned neck stretched, I’ his perfect features wreathed in smiles. ,B|i

“So she was, say, infatuated?”

He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth.

“Mayb^ but I assure you it was not in my interest to encourage her in any way. Like I said, the CaHpft leys paid me well to coach their daughter and I would have been foolish

9ftij to foul up a good weekly income.”

If—

m

“Weekly?”

i

“Yep, although sometimes I’d get to their place and she didn’t feel like jRi playing, but I was always paid.”

Nathan turned as a petite blond woman |K,> with a frilled white tennis skirt waved to him from across a court.

“I gotta

9R[ go, but if you need to speak to me again, anytime. Do you play?”

R, Lorraine looked at the blonde attempting to knock a ball over the net. HI

“About as good a game as maybe she has!”

He laughedshe rather liked

9E’ him.

“Thanks for your time, I appreciate your seeing me.”

I She hadn’t got much from Nathan, again nothing that had not already

jH| been recorded by the police files. She watched him in action with his

“stuHr dent”

and realized on closer inspection she was well into her late forties. H{‘ Poor woman, she thought, she must have the same infatuation with Jeff as ^R his students, staring at his rippling muscles as he began to drag his ball bas^n ket to the center of the court opposite the blonde.

^B

“Let’s just warm up with a few easy ones, shall we, Mrs. Fairley? See ^H how you’ve progressed.”

^^K Lorraine made her way back to the parking lot and she heard Mrs.

Fairley squeal a lot of

“Ooops”

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 pissed when she missed a fucking volley.

Lorraine called Rosie at the office from her cell phone.

“Any developments?”

“No, not 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, Agnew. 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 ‘cause Lubrinski moved over to my team.”

“Who’s he?”

Rooney frowned.

“She never mention him to you?”

“No.”

RosjŁ”Łrossed to the coffeemaker 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 I cried for. Not because he was one hell of an officer, he was that, but he was also a great 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 cross fire, took three bullets. He bled to death in the ambulance. She’d made a sort of tourniquet to try and stop the bleeding, used her panty hose … 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

Rosie raised her eyebrows.

“Well, she’s ne%r mentioned any of this to me. What happened afterward?”

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 drug 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 down a note on Lorraine’s note pad.

“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 check the guy out.”

He picked up his jacket.

“Rosie, maybe you shouldn’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 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 at the office as arranged. His manner was abrupt, cold. A man, Rosie determined, very used to handing out orders.

Rosie called Lorraine on her cell phone 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 because 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 was truthful, that she didn’t really know ex-lieutenant Lorraine Page, the woman she shared her home with.