Cold Blood

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘I’m all ears, Mr Bartello. Can you match what we got?’

  He smiled that killer smile again. ‘Oh yeah, what you want me to do, give you a round of applause? So far you got shit . . .’

  ‘You’ve not come up with much better,’ she said, and she was warming to that smile. As Rooney and Rosie watched their interaction they could almost see the sparks between them.

  Nick rocked back in his chair and took out a crumpled pack of Kool cigarettes. He flicked one out and flipped open his lighter, then gave Lorraine a hooded look. ‘You got Robert Caley ear-marked as a suspect? Well, you might be close. Way I see it is, with his daughter dead, he’s the main beneficiary, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yep, but he’d have to kill the old movie star to get his hands on her cash.’

  ‘Maybe he is planning it.’

  ‘Maybe he is.’

  ‘You think a guy who has bumped off his own daughter wouldn’t go to those lengths? The top agencies were hired not by Mrs Caley but her husband, so the same reasoning could apply to her. She might want his dough.’ Nick waited for the comeback.

  ‘Has he got any? Old newspaper articles say he was just selling real estate when they married.’

  ‘That was more’n twenty years ago. Now he’s got a lot of real estate, I checked up on that too, so he’s not short of cash. Anythin’ else?’

  Rosie and Rooney were out of it, watching Lorraine and Nick as they concentrated on each other across the table like chess players.

  ‘If you only have Robert Caley as a possible suspect then you are in a very small canoe, Mrs Page, and you got no paddle.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if I had done my own daughter in, I wouldn’t hire half of LA’s top private dicks, myself included . . . But your problem is, if Caley is our guy, he would hire the world an’ its mother but only if he was goddamned sure there was not a shred of evidence to prove his guilt. With me?’

  ‘Not really.’

  He smiled. ‘Oh, I think you are, Mrs Page, I think you have sussed me out by now.’

  He was knocked sideways by her husky laugh. He was beginning to like everything he saw about Lorraine Page. At the same time he would not give her any indication that he did. He reckoned this lady ate Nick Bartellos for lunch.

  Rooney lit a cigarette. ‘So, we together on this or not?’

  Nick looked at Lorraine and cocked his head to one side. ‘Up to the lady.’

  ‘What you got, Nick?’ Lorraine asked bluntly.

  He dug into his pocket and brought out a quarter. ‘Toss you for who goes first.’

  She took the coin. ‘Okay, heads or tails.’

  ‘Your call.’

  ‘Heads.’ She tossed it on to the table and prodded it. ‘I guess it’s me first.’

  Nick watched her get up. He was aware of every line of her body as she seemed to uncoil from the chair. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He liked the way her mouth pursed up, how it hung half open as she let the smoke trail out.

  ‘I think the girl is dead, trail is too quiet, no sightings, et cetera. There again, people have been found after a much longer time on a few cases, but my gut feeling is Anna Louise is long dead.’

  Nick nodded. ‘But Bill said the million dollars still stands, dead or alive, right?’

  Lorraine hesitated. ‘That mean you agree with me?’

  ‘Yeah, I do, and Bill’s of the same opinion.’

  Rooney looked at Lorraine. ‘Yeah, I think she’s a goner.’

  Nick lifted his hand. ‘Chick’s dead, we all agreed?’

  ‘No,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m not sure she is dead, well, not until we’ve got more information. She could have just taken off. Kids of her age do. I mean, I know kids that have taken off and years later resurfaced, maybe Anna Louise is one of them.’

  Lorraine met Nick Bartello’s bright blue eyes and there was mutual understanding; they both believed Anna Louise was dead.

  ‘Yeah, I guess you may be right, Rosie.’ Lorraine kept looking at Nick. ‘You talk to this Juda woman?’

  Nick nodded. ‘There’re a lot like her, all she needs is a fuckin’ crystal ball and a tent. She’s full of bullshit and the money rolls in ’cos we got a town full of desperate people. I’d say she’s been cleaning up with Elizabeth Caley, you know how these movie stars get into this kind of psycho stuff. Her rap about client confidentiality sucks, and it’s bullshit about her being used by the cops for their enquiries, I checked it out. She more’n likely read it in the National Enquirer. From police records she never came up with anything they could use, she just got in the way and got publicity for herself.’

  Rooney felt he should put his ten cents in. ‘You want to see her again? Mrs Caley doesn’t want you to see her.’ He looked at Nick. ‘She told Lorraine she would withdraw the bonus . . .’

  Lorraine interrupted. ‘We’ve gotta get to New Orleans. Robert Caley offered me a trip in his private jet. I’ll accept, it’ll give me more time to talk to him.’

  Nick smiled. ‘Oh yeah, gonna join the mile-high club, are you?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Nick ran his hands through his unruly mop of hair. ‘No offence, but he’s a looker and . . . Come on, just a joke. Is this all you got so far?’

  ‘If you and Bill here have talked it over, you know we got fuck-all.’

  ‘Yeah, I hear that, but what are you holding out on?’

  Lorraine laughed at him. ‘Who says I’m holding out, Nick?’

  ‘Call it intuition, sweetheart. You got a gut feeling the girl is dead, what else is your gut saying?’

  Lorraine sat down, drawing her chair close to him. ‘There is something going on in that palace the Caleys call home. Elizabeth Caley is scared, maybe of Robert Caley, I dunno.’

  ‘But you intend flying out on his private jet?’

  ‘I intend to try.’

  Nick smiled at her again; it was too intimate and she turned away. He rested his hand on her arm. ‘Don’t get uptight, he’s a great-lookin’ guy. If I was in your shoes, I’d try and get in his pants.’

  ‘For chrissakes, back off me.’

  ‘No, you do what you have to.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped.

  ‘If you can get information, fuck him. Like I said, if I was in your position, and a woman, I’d maybe do the same thing because the three of you haven’t got much, and not a lot of time either. An’ screwing the guy is just a way of cuttin’ corners. However, that said, maybe I have . . .’

  ‘Have what?’ Rooney asked, leaning forward towards him.

  Nick lit a cigarette from the butt of his last and rocked back in his chair. ‘Okay, is that it? All you got to date? So I guess it’s my turn, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Lorraine, annoyed and yet slightly embarrassed by his innuendoes, because it was as if Nick Bartello had read her mind. Robert Caley was attractive to her. But he’d also hit the nail on the head on another matter – she or Page Investigations had little to go on so far. Maybe a few hunches but she never mentioned those. ‘Well, we’re waiting, Mr Bartello,’ she said, cocking her head to one side mockingly. ‘I’m sure you must have so much more. You’ve been on the case a while, so stop fucking around.’

  He took a drag on his cigarette and then slowly removed a crumpled mess of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. He carefully straightened out a couple of pages, taking his time. They looked like pages torn from a small note-book, the edges ragged.

  ‘I’ll check my files, see if there’s anything I can cross-reference,’ Nick grinned, indicating his scruffy bits of paper.

  ‘Why not start with the drugs?’ Rooney prompted. He felt tired and in need of a drink.

  ‘Okay. I picked up a guy called Gerry Fisher ’bout ten years back. Anyway, he turned out to be married to one of the officers on the drug squad, not my team, but I kind of got a hint to go easy, you know the game. I let Fisher off the hook, so he owed me, right? And then I pick the bast
ard up again eighteen months later, still running drugs, and I say, “I’m gonna bust you an’ I don’t care if you’re married to the President.” Fisher was a kind of middle man. He scored from his main dealer and then did back-door deals with a society-type doctor called Hayleden with a lotta high-profile patients who didn’t want straight prescribed drugs. He didn’t know who he was dealing for, he’d just take the orders then deliver to the surgery. In fact, he said he rarely even saw Hayleden. I was gonna do somethin’ about it but then I got a leg full of lead an’ was invalided out. So Fisher—’ He was interrupted.

  ‘What’s this got to do with the case? Get to the point, Nick!’ Rooney banged the table.

  ‘Okay, okay, right. Now, before I was even working on this Caley thing, I was doin’ a search for another movie star’s kid. His family reckoned he was dealin’ because he was loaded all the time and they hired the company to tail him and sort him out, you know, before the law did, put a bit of a squeeze on him. And bingo, I meet up with Fisher who still owes me, right? So he tips me off that this kid is scoring from him an’ dealin’ to college kids.’

  ‘Anna Louise Caley?’ Lorraine asked, suddenly interested.

  ‘No, wait a second. I do the business, put the hand on the kid’s collar, et cetera and we cop a nice fee for the agency. Next thing Fisher’s scared shitless, thinks it’s gonna be an arrest, but the family don’t want that, just a rap over their asshole kid’s knuckles. So Fisher bargains with me, telling me that he’ll give more info on a lotta high-profile people if I don’t hand him over to the law. I tell Fisher to fuck off and, to cut a long story short . . .’

  They all moaned but Nick held up his hand. ‘Hey, hey, wait, I’m getting there. I get pulled on the Caley investigation, so I use Fisher, ask him if the kid was dealin’ to Anna Louise. He said he’d never heard of her and didn’t recognize the photo, so I say she is Elizabeth Caley’s daughter, used to be Elizabeth Seal, the movie star.’

  Nick squinted at his bits of paper. ‘Now it starts gettin’ good. Fisher ain’t dealin’ to Anna Louise Caley but her mama! Goes like this, one night Fisher gets an emergency call from Doc Hayleden who’s skiing in Aspen or some place, and he asks Fisher to deliver some quality goods to his surgery ASAP, says a nurse will pay him.’ He listed on his fingers. ‘Items required, cocaine, amphetamines, some crack and a load of downers – sleeping tabs, temazepam – like it’s obvious somebody is havin’ a party. So he takes the goods to the surgery, gets paid the usual way, then he goes back to his car. He thinks to himself, why not cut out the middle man? Fisher waits, and about half an hour later, a thin woman drives up. He sees her go into the surgery then come out and fast, and get back into her car. He follows, ’cos he knows the surgery is closed, so this chick hadda be the buyer, right? And she leads him straight to the Caley residence. She parks by the security gates and he takes his chance. He goes up to the car and she freaks and says she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, she was simply collecting a prescription, and if he doesn’t get away from her car she’ll call the police. She drives in . . . he reckons maybe he got it wrong but he gets a few more emergency calls and sees the same woman collecting, so he susses he was right to start with. He stops her again, and this time she is more than freaked but he calms her down and tells her he’s not the law, just—’

  ‘You talking about Phyllis Collins?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘Yep, only now she is scared that he’s gonna turn her and her movie star in, so she agrees from then on they will deal direct. Phyllis would call him, place the order, meet up in cafés or wherever. So the Doc loses his cut, Fisher is raking it in because he starts doin’ the same thing to a few more of the Doc’s customers. Then Phyllis tells him no more deals, Mrs Caley’s gone into rehab, nice earner down the drain. But somebody in that house still has a real bad habit, according to Fisher several thousand dollars a week habit.’

  ‘My God, Elizabeth Caley?’ Rooney murmured.

  Nick shrugged. ‘Next, an’ this may or may not be connected, my friend Fisher—’

  ‘Can I see him?’ Lorraine asked.

  ‘Be tough. He was found dead three weeks ago, he’s still on the slab, they’ve got a backlog. Probably back on heroin, had a needle in his hand.’

  ‘Shit,’ Lorraine said as she poured herself more coffee.

  Nick turned to the next crumpled page. ‘So, we know the secretary scored for her ladyship. I’d say that’s a good area we can work on, or work on Phyllis because she must know a lot more than she’s admitting to. You said you reckoned Mrs Caley’s still using, so maybe she got another dealer or is dealing with the Doc again. At the same time, we don’t want to rock the boat as Mrs Caley is the one offering the one million bonus.’

  ‘Did this guy Fisher ever mention meeting or dealing with Robert Caley?’ Rooney asked.

  ‘Nope.’ Nick stubbed out his cigarette.

  ‘Is that it?’ Lorraine asked.

  Nick shrugged. ‘Phyllis should be pushed a bit . . . we could have a possible drug connection. Maybe Fisher’s dealers got pissed, or the Doc, so that’s all got to be checked out. Next, and this is good . . .’

  Nick studied his notes, chewing his lower lip as he flicked a glance at Lorraine. ‘Right, Robert Caley. He may be cute-looking, sweetheart, but to me he’s our suspect number one, and if not him, his associates.’

  ‘Because of the will?’ Rooney asked.

  ‘That’s a good opener. We don’t know if he’s intending to bump off his drug-addled wife in a few months’ time, but with no daughter, and if Elizabeth Caley dies, he gets the lot. And believe you me, it’s a fucking fortune. We’re talkin’ in the region of fifty million. That mansion they live in is worth twelve million alone and they’ve got big property in New Orleans.’

  ‘But this is just supposition, right?’ said Lorraine.

  ‘Yeah, but so is everything until we get results, and when I said earlier that our Mr Caley is not short of cash, it’s not exactly true. You know what business Robert Caley is into?’

  ‘Real estate,’ said Rooney impatiently.

  ‘Yeah, right, businesses both here and in Louisiana, and he’s making a lotta dough.’ Nick paused for effect. ‘Well, he was.’

  Rooney and Lorraine glanced at each other. This area they had not as yet checked into, so they waited as Nick prodded his crumpled notes.

  ‘Robert Caley and his partners are trying to open a casino in New Orleans, right? Gambling is big business, it coins in the dough, and they’ve also sold it to the city on the basis that it will jack up the economy and give everybody out of work a job. But somehow, they’re being fucked over – suddenly, there’s zoning objections, architecture objections, bad for family life objections, and Robert Caley still hasn’t got a casino licence, while another local consortium has had time to crawl out from under a rock and say it ought to go to them. The reason I put my money on Mr Caley as numéro uno suspect is that he’s losing credibility and every delay makes it more likely that his partners will pull out. If he doesn’t get the green light for this casino soon, he’s gonna go down millions, because he bought the proposed site.’

  Nick beamed at them; he knew he’d opened up one hell of a can of worms. He continued, ‘So we got quite a few possible motives, one is the missing daughter could have been kidnapped and connected to a drug dealer, two, she was snatched as a threat to Caley to pull out of the casino deal, maybe just removed as a warning. Caley is mixing with very heavy hitters and as far as I can make out, it’s the wife bringing in all the private dicks, not Caley . . .’

  ‘He didn’t want us hired but he sort of implied it was because he reckoned we were no-hopers,’ said Rooney, draining his coffee cup.

  ‘Lemme wind down, Bill. My number three theory is Caley needs money for the casino, and bad. You know what the politics is like down there – if Caley had a big enough sweetener to slip into the right civic-minded vest pocket, his problems would all just melt out of his way. So he knocks off his daughter, next comes t
he wife, and we got one very rich and happy guy with a licence to print money for the rest of his life.’ Nick folded his scruffy notes and stuck them back into his pocket. ‘Well, that’s what I got. May I make a suggestion? I think Lorraine or even Rosie should see what we can pump out of Phyllis Collins, I’ll do the Doc’s drugs scene and, Bill, you see if you can dig up more on the Caley casino property deal.’

  ‘Sounds okay to me,’ Rooney said, easing his sweaty tie up to the equally sweaty collar of his shirt.

  Nick lit another cigarette and crossed to the front door. ‘Thanks for the coffee, Rosie, and so, partners, I’ll be seeing you . . .’ He hesitated and looked at Lorraine. ‘Seeing that Mr Smoothy has offered you a ride in his private jet, take it, because I don’t know about you but I reckon he’s our prime target.’

  Rooney pushed back his chair. ‘Yeah, I’m outta here too. I’ll see what I can get from my old department. We all call in, right?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Rosie said, smiling.

  ‘To what?’ Lorraine asked, irritably.

  ‘New Orleans, I’ve never been there. And with expenses we can book into a real nice hotel. And I can interview Phyllis Collins, she’ll be at the meeting tomorrow.’

  ‘See you,’ Rooney said, already at the door.

  ‘Bye, y’all,’ Nick called.

  Lorraine looked up. ‘Just one thing, Mr Bartello. This is my case, I run the show, so after today you don’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘Hey, that’s cool.’

  Lorraine caught the glance between Nick and Rooney as they left. It really infuriated her and she was angry at herself for coming out with such a crass statement. She should have played her hand better by far. She carried the dirty dishes across to the sink.

  ‘Maybe I’ll talk to Phyllis, Rosie.’ Rosie ran water into the sink and couldn’t hide her disappointment. Lorraine put her arm around her shoulders.

  ‘You can see her as well at the meeting, two heads are better than one Rosie, okay?’

  CHAPTER 6

  LORRAINE GOT on the freeway: Rosie had already contacted Phyllis Collins and she had agreed to see Lorraine, but not at the house. Phyllis eventually suggested they have coffee in the Plaza on Rodeo Drive as she had to be there to collect something for Mrs Caley from the Georgette Klinger shop.