Cold Blood (9 page)

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 was 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 colored 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 th^rtfutler 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-enclosed sunroom. 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 center 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 slice of leiAn 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 ice 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 lounge chairs, each with pale lemon towels, with small tables between, as on 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 that 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 ice 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 onto the chair nearest him. He was dressed casually in light brown slacks and loafers. His arms were bare, his pale blue silk shirtsleeves 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 wristwatch 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 that she was blushing, and busied herself with opening her purse to take out a notebook.

“Yes, but since you checked up on me 1 am sure you must be aware I was not, until recently, in what one could describe as the best of health.”

He lifted his glass to her.

“Well, you certainly look well today. Is your hair naturally blond?”

“Yes, but I have streaks.”

She suddenly laughed, finding their conver-

LYNDA LA P L A N T E 55

sation ridiculous. No man had ever asked her whether or not she was naturally blond.

“My daughter’s hair is as blond, ash-blond, 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 butlerhe 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 OrleansBerenice 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 Renting the use of the past tense. W

“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 this over and over, Mr. Caley, but would you tell me in your own words exactly what occurred the day your daughter disappeared?”

He drained his glass and stood up.

“We had breakfast. My wife was

56

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 Carnivalwe’ve done it for many years. The date of Mardi Gras itself is worked out backward from Easter, so it can fall on any Tuesday from early February onward, 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 because 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 pick up one of the dresses 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

“

LYIMDA LA PLAMTE

“Yes. The maidshe’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, because we generally go to one or the 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 humor, and began to mimic some of the more elderly ladies who had asked us for cocktails. At one point Elizabeth got angry, 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 center of attention 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 weargirls’ talk. I went for a swim, came back around seven. I showered and changed, Elizabeth was already dressing, her hair had beeiAlone. She always used the same hairdresser, again someone she has kno|rn for many years.”

“Oscar Cloutier?”

“Yes. He left at about seven-fifteen. We both went down to the dining room at seventhirty. 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, assuming 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, his daughter’s favorite 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.