Cold Blood

by Lynda La Plante

  He nodded, sighing. ‘Yes, briefly, but then I dismissed it because I truthfully do not think they would sink so low.’

  ‘When millions are at stake you would be surprised how low people are prepared to sink, Mr Caley. So, if you had even considered the possibility, then you must understand why I must also look into it and why I will need to know who all the other parties are, specifically your competitors. Then by a process of elimination—’

  ‘You won’t get anywhere with this so-called elimination.’

  ‘Try me,’ Lorraine challenged.

  ‘Okay, you want to talk to the opposition, yes?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Page, I think you will come up against the same brick wall that every other agent has met with, but far be it from me to dissuade you. In fact, I will do everything I can to assist you, as I have done throughout the enquiries. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .’

  ‘Did the other agents and the LA police question you about these people?’

  He strode towards the huge doors. ‘Of course, and they also at one time suspected me.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, Mrs Page, I don’t think you do. I had expected, after we had talked, that you would have believed I could not have harmed a hair on my daughter’s head, let alone be the type of man who would put his wife through such torment. You have suggested nothing new, nothing that I have not been subjected to before. Now excuse me, Mark will give you all the details you require.’

  He walked out, closing the door behind him. A few moments later, the floral-tied assistant appeared with a thick file and crossed the office to Lorraine.

  ‘Mr Caley has asked me to give you these files, but please understand this is private and confidential information. You may make notes but not remove the file from the office. Mr Caley’s secretary will give you every assistance if you need anything clarified—’ He was interrupted.

  ‘So I remain in here?’ Lorraine took the files.

  ‘Yes, Mr Caley suggests you use his office so that if you require any assistance, or anything xeroxed that we agree to be released, his secretary or I will be on hand to help you. The file contains plans for the proposed casino development and—’ Again he was interrupted as Lorraine moved round Robert Caley’s desk.

  ‘Fine, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t actually catch your name.’

  ‘Mark Riley, I am Mr Caley’s personal assistant.’

  She sat at Caley’s desk, opening the file. ‘Thanks, Mark. If you could just show me what button I press to talk to you or . . .’

  ‘Margaret is on line five, I am on line two.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you very much, Mark.’

  He hesitated at the half-open door. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Did you know Anna Louise, Mark?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Did she come here a lot?’

  ‘No, just occasionally for lunch with Mr Caley.’

  ‘Did you ever see her socially?’

  ‘No. I only met her when she came to see Mr Caley.’

  Lorraine was left alone in the vast, cool office, sitting in Robert Caley’s soft leather chair. She opened the file and then reached for her purse to get her note-book. She found it, but no pen, so she looked down the side of the desk to rows of black steel-fronted drawers discreetly built into each side, to try to find one. There were no handles. She tried pushing at them, trying to fathom out how they opened, but they all seemed to be locked. She frowned and looked over the vast desk top and saw that it had a built-in square directly in front of the chair. She pushed at it but nothing happened. Then she noticed a small black raised button so she pressed it and the inlaid section eased back. The opening housed a blotter, a row of pens and pencils, note-books, memo pads, paper clips, all in neat compartments, and two photograph frames face down. She turned one over and it was of Anna Louise; the other was of Elizabeth Caley.

  Sitting at his desk in his office, Mark Riley watched Lorraine on a small monitor. He turned to a dark-haired woman who was typing on her word processor.

  ‘Mrs Page is having a good snoop round the office.’

  Margaret looked at him. ‘Yes, I noticed, but I’ve secured all the drawers so she can’t poke her nose any further.’

  Mark looked over the diary. There was no record of the new appointment. ‘Who’s he meeting right now?’

  ‘Who do you think?’ Margaret said, half-raising an eyebrow.

  Saffron Dulay was late, she always was, and Robert Caley checked his watch again, missing her entrance. But no one else did – she was hard to miss. Saffron moved gracefully between the tables, led by a maître d’ who bowed and gestured towards Caley’s discreet table in one of the alcoves of the Bel Air garden restaurant. Pausing just a fraction to smile and acknowledge a number of people she knew, Saffron gave only a slight incline of her beautiful head, behaving as if she was royalty, and the maître d’ was treating her as such.

  Caley immediately rose to his feet as Saffron joined him, bending her head towards him for a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Robert,’ she said huskily, ‘I’m sorry, I know I am late, please don’t get up.’

  He did, pulling her chair out for her as she sat down with the passing swans at her back. He knew she liked to get a good view of the place and invariably knew anyone that was anyone. Saffron was rich, the only daughter of a brewing king, sole heiress to billions. She wore her wealth in that covert, simple way that only the truly rich can. Almost six feet tall, the sheer simplicity of her white négligée-type dress enhanced her height, while her glowing golden tan was set off by slim gold sandals and a million dollars’ worth of solitaire diamonds in her ears. As she eased her slender body on to the cushioned seat, she removed her only accessory – her gold-rimmed shades.

  ‘Hi, how you doing?’

  Saffron was the wrong side of forty but one would be hard-pushed to estimate her age; her confidence in herself, boosted by her millions and her obvious physical perfection, gave the appearance of youth. Four marriages and endless lovers had not managed to dent her innocent girlish act, one she had perfected better than any hopeful starlet half her age.

  ‘You got any news about that little girl o’ yours?’ she asked in her Southern drawl.

  ‘No.’

  She reached over and touched Caley’s hand lightly. ‘It must be s’ah hard.’

  ‘Yeah, it is.’

  Her eyes flicked round the tables, then back to Caley. ‘You always choose this place.’

  ‘Yep, I can smoke, outdoors.’ He signalled to a waiter. ‘I’ve already ordered you your usual – I take it your tastes haven’t changed.’

  She laughed, her eyes still darting around the restaurant, and all he could think about was Lorraine Page. She was as blonde, almost as tall, but so flawed, so real a woman in comparison with Saffron. He no longer wanted to fuck Saffron, that had been over a long time ago. He had never disliked her before, now he did. Perhaps Lorraine attracted him because she was so direct. He would like to screw Lorraine, and just thinking about it made him smile.

  ‘You got one hell of a smile, Robert Caley,’ Saffron said softly.

  ‘Why, thank you . . .’

  She cupped her chin in her hands. ‘What you want, darlin’? You runnin’ short of funds again?’

  The waiter brought her an elaborately decorated cocktail and another whiskey sour for him. It irritated him that she knew instinctively why he had asked to see her, that he had to play out the game. She sipped a tiny drop from the glass and then placed it on the table; she wouldn’t touch it again, she never did.

  ‘Ah’ll never understand why you don’t get that movie star wife of yours to finance you.’

  ‘I don’t want money from my wife.’

  ‘No, but you sure as hell need it, an’ you’ll take it from elsewhere.’ She leaned back, only now giving him her undivided attention. Being rich, she knew how to handle anyone about to put the touch on her, she
was an old hand at it.

  ‘I don’t want a cent from you, darlin’, but I do need you to easy-talk your daddy. No need to go into details, you know we’re into this development deal together, but he’s hinted he might pull out and I know you can talk him round, so—’

  ‘Ah already talked to him, darlin’, soon as Ah put down the phone from you he called me. In fact, we must have been playin’ telephone games – he calls you, you call me, then he calls me . . . He may be more than seventy years old, but, man, he is a wily old bastard. Said he wants me to go to some function back home, you know, always keepin’ tabs on me and it drives me crazy. Since Mama died, he is trying to get me to go live back home, find a nice steady man and produce a grandchild.’

  ‘It’s understandable, you’re his only daughter. So did he mention my project at all?’

  ‘Why don’t we drive around a while to discuss this?’ She smiled sweetly, not waiting for him to reply, then tossed her napkin aside. Caley half-rose from his seat, watched her get up, then finished his drink, knowing she would be table-hopping for a good fifteen minutes. He paid the check, and knew he was now about to pay even more. As he threaded his way through the tables, he checked his watch; he had only forty-five minutes before his next meeting.

  The driver could not see or be seen through the dark-tinted glass partition. Saffron’s limo had a wide couch section, a television and drinks cabinet, plus a fax machine, telephone and a computer deck. Caley sat opposite her; she was lying across a deep cushioned seat, unwrapping a peppermint.

  ‘You want a sweetie?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘No calories.’

  He opened the drinks cabinet, filled a crystal tumbler with ice cubes and topped it up with water. He looked at Saffron, holding up the glass, but she shook her head.

  ‘I have to be back at my office by six.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll drive nice and slow . . . just the way Ah like it.’

  She eased one shoulder strap down, then the next, and wriggled out of her white dress. She wore no underwear and was totally unselfconscious as she carefully folded her dress and spread her long tanned legs wide. She wore only her thin-strapped gold sandals. Caley watched her as he sipped the water and then drained the glass, leaving just the ice cubes. He jangled the glass for a moment, and she giggled.

  ‘Well, well, it’s been a while since Ah was cubed up, and you know how Ah like it . . .’

  He didn’t even loosen his tie or remove his jacket; he didn’t need to. Saffron didn’t want to be held in his arms and wouldn’t want to have her discreet make-up disturbed by frantic kisses. She knew exactly what she wanted, and so did he. She began to massage herself, cupping her neat breasts in her tapering fingers until the nipples hardened. He knelt between her legs. With his right hand he stroked her nipples with an ice cube, making her moan softly, as his left hand began slowly to caress her thighs, inching up gradually between her legs until his thumb rubbed her, knowing the exact spot to arouse her, and she spread her legs wider and wider, eyes closed.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, Ah like that, Ah like that.’

  Slowly he let the ice cube slither down from her breasts, making her shiver, and her body arched as he adeptly inserted the melting ice cube high up into her vagina. He quickly reached for the rest of the cubes still in his glass and pressed in one after another until he could feel the cold ice with his thumb.

  ‘Oh, God, yesss, yess . . .’ She bent forwards, drawing his head down as he began to suck and lick her clitoris. She came quickly, letting out a scream, but still held his face between her legs with her hands. ‘Ah wanna come three times, make me scream three times, baby, do it, do it.’

  Nick breezed into the office eating a hamburger, and Rosie wrinkled her nose.

  ‘That’s full of cholesterol, not good for you, Nick.’

  ‘I know, but I like it.’

  He sat in Lorraine’s chair and swivelled round, stuffing the remains of the burger into his mouth as Rooney walked in.

  ‘Caught you, you’ve had a hamburger, I can smell it,’ Rooney said accusingly to Rosie.

  ‘I have not,’ Rosie replied self-righteously, ‘but he has.’ She pointed to Nick, who was wiping his mouth on his shirt cuff.

  ‘What the hell is this place? A health clinic?’

  Rooney sat on the edge of the desk, grinning at Rosie.

  ‘Just a private joke. What you got – anything or nothing?’

  Nick dug in his pockets, bringing out his scraps of notes.

  ‘I got a line into Elizabeth Caley’s doctor, pal of mine is sniffing around for me, and . . .’ They waited as he thumbed his way through his crumpled papers.

  ‘Fisher’s girlfriend is rapping to a pal of mine on the drug squad, and . . .’ Nick continued.

  ‘And?’ prompted Rooney. Nick ruffled his already untidy curls.

  ‘We got to move fast, word is they’re going to arrest Doc Hayleden for dealin’, so I’d kind of like to get to him before the bust, may be nice if her ladyship came with me, you know, see how a real pro works!’

  Rosie said she’d call Lorraine on the mobile, and was about to dial when Nick held up his hand.

  ‘What is it with her? She got a problem with me?’

  Rooney shrugged, looking across at Rosie.

  ‘No, why do you ask?’

  Nick cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, I’m working my butt off, but I don’t want to get screwed.’

  ‘By Lorraine?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Yeah, I know she’s edgy about me being on this gig, so . . . I’m asking you straight: I’m in, aren’t I?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Rosie replied, and Rooney jabbed a finger into Nick’s chest.

  ‘Listen, we cut this four ways and that’s it.’

  Nick grinned. ‘Okay, just needed it confirmed . . . is she screwing anyone? Not metaphorically. Just wondered.’

  Rooney laughed. ‘You don’t stand a chance, Nick. Does he, Rosie?’

  She hunched her shoulders. ‘I dunno, but do you want me to contact her or not? She’s over at Caley’s office.’

  Nick grinned again. ‘You call her, but don’t you say nothin’ – about anything personal.’

  Lorraine remained at Caley’s office desk, making notes, monitored by Mark and Margaret, but she called for no assistance from either of them. She sat at the big desk, ploughing methodically through the thick file, knowing it had been checked over by all the other investigators, but she could not afford to skim just in case she missed something. By six o’clock she had half-filled her notebook, and she sat back in the big leather chair.

  Robert Caley’s finances were stretched to the limit. It appeared that all his money was tied up in properties, which still made him a rich man but one with no ready cash-flow. As he had told her, he had banked everything on the casino deal, and if it did not come off, he would still have to pay off the outstanding monies due on the land. If his partners pulled out, he would lose millions and would be forced to sell properties fast and thus at a loss in order to pay his debts. Lorraine had no access to information about Elizabeth Caley’s fortune and as far as she could ascertain, the Caleys did not have any form of joint finances or joint accounts.

  Mark looked at the monitor and saw Lorraine stand up and stretch her arms above her head, yawning. He watched her close the file and begin to pack away her things.

  ‘I think she’s through,’ he said to Margaret. She was talking to Robert Caley’s chauffeur, who had just got back to the office.

  Margaret pursed her lips. ‘I hope he’s not going to be late, Mario left him at the Bel Air. That bitch Saffron Dulay, dunno why he even sees her.’

  Mark shrugged as he pointed to the video screen. ‘It’s called being fucking rich, Margaret! Mrs Page is leaving. Can you blast the air conditioning on in there? She’s been smoking . . .’

  Mark hovered as Lorraine walked out of the office carrying the file. ‘You all finished?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Is Mr Caley here?’
/>
  ‘No, I’m sorry, he’s at a meeting and then he has another one at six o’clock. Do you need to speak to him?’

  ‘Er, well, not really, just thank him for me, would you?’ She passed him the file. ‘And, oh, just one thing. Mrs Caley, she has nothing to do with the business here, am I correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see, and she has not financed any of the real estate companies?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ he said tartly.

  ‘They have no joint interests?’

  ‘None that I am aware of.’ He carried the file to a cabinet. Lorraine followed, standing just behind him.

  ‘She is very wealthy then, in her own right?’

  ‘Yes, I believe so, but I work for Mr Caley. I have never been privy to Mrs Caley’s private finances.’

  ‘But you must have some idea of what she’s worth. I mean, is it a few million, one million or a sort of clutch of millions?’ she smiled jokingly but he would not give an inch.

  ‘I really have no idea, perhaps you should discuss it with Mrs Caley herself He turned as Margaret approached with Mario. ‘Mario, will you walk Mrs Page to the elevator? I’ll inform security she’s leaving. This is Mr Caley’s chauffeur, Mario, Mrs Page.’

  Mario nodded and headed for the door, holding it open for her. They went down in the elevator together.

  ‘I thought Mr Caley was still out.’

  ‘He is, ma’am.’

  ‘Are you employed by both Mr and Mrs Caley?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, eight years now.’

  He gestured for her to go to the security desk and she unpinned her badge, handing it over. He then opened the main doors of the building for her.

  She hesitated. ‘Did you know Anna Louise?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I sometimes drove her and Mrs Caley.’

  ‘Did you drive her to any specific place? Particularly just before her disappearance, anywhere unusual?’

  ‘No, ma’am, I only used to drive them on shopping trips, sometimes to a social event, but Miss Caley had her own car. She was a really cute girl, always polite, always treated me with respect.’

  ‘And Mrs Caley?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ He looked away.