She got up slowly, licking her lips, and crossed to the fridge. Her hand reached out and she turned to look at him.
‘I’m not stopping you, you know the road you’re gonna take better than me.’
She rested her head against the cold front of the big old-fashioned fridge, and he remained watching her, hands resting above his snake hips, the old Mexican silver-buckled belt askew. He waited. The way she pressed her body against the fridge turned him on, she was virtually kissing it like a lost lover. She pushed herself away and turned to the coffee percolator, her hands clenched at her side.
‘How well did you know Jack Lubrinski?’ Her voice was strained. She turned to him, her face tilted to one side, the scar hidden by a fold of her soft blonde hair.
‘Good cop, great guy.’
She nodded, and as she pushed the hair away from her face he could see the jagged scar down her cheek. She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, but she didn’t seem to be looking at him, more like through him.
‘I miss him.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Suddenly she focused on him, studying his face. He blushed under her scrutiny. ‘You sometimes remind me of him.’
He lit two cigarettes and passed one to her. As he held it out, she touched his hand lightly with one finger, then took the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
‘You see, what happens, Nick, is like corners of my mind open. It comes on unexpectedly, kind of throws me sideways, and I feel this terrible panic. Just when I think I have it all under control, just when I think I’ve got myself together . . .’ She sucked on the cigarette. ‘One spiked drink, one goddamned mouthful, and . . . nothing else matters.’
‘Yes it does, you didn’t open the fridge.’
‘No, I didn’t, but I would have done if I was on my own. That’s what scares me, Nick, that and . . .’
‘And what?’
She shrugged and sipped her coffee.
‘Go on, tell me, and what?’
‘Oh, my kids, I think of them and Michael.’
‘Who’s Michael?’
‘He was my husband.’
‘Ah, well, we’ve all got ghosts, we’ve all got corners, Lorraine. Maybe you shouldn’t hide them away but talk more.’
‘I can’t.’
She suddenly bent her head forward so he couldn’t see her face, and let out a soft moan. He wanted to hold her in his arms, cradle her, kiss her, but he got up and moved further away. He couldn’t deal with the emotions she was wrenching out of him, it had been a long time since he had wanted to love a woman, and that’s what he knew was happening: he was falling in love with her. He changed the subject fast.
‘Right, we should talk over what went down tonight, sugar, because it’s late an’ we got to get moving on this case and out to New Orleans.’
She sniffed. ‘Yes, you’re right, and I’m okay now.’ She sprang to her feet, pulling her skirt down, kicking off the red high-heeled shoes. ‘Gimme the picture, let’s have another look. And this Frankie didn’t know of anyone called Polar?’
‘Nope.’ Nick picked up his jacket off the floor, fished inside the pocket and brought out the envelope. She took it from him and slapped it against her thigh, no shakes now, no vulnerable lady. She was back in shape.
Lorraine leaned on the edge of the Formica-topped kitchen table, studying the photo. He stood next to her, quite close, but couldn’t touch her, not like before; her need for him and a drink he knew had gone.
‘Well, she’s out of her head, that’s for sure, look at her eyes.’
‘Nice body,’ he said softly.
Anna Louise Caley was naked, lying on a table. There were bottles around one shoulder, one glass fallen on its side. The three boys were all around twenty and they looked drunk, their clothes half off, their trousers down, and all their faces in shot. One boy was fucking her, one was kissing her tits and one was jerking off over her, semen glistening over her flat, tanned belly. Anna Louise Caley was smiling, one hand holding a bottle of tequila.
‘Miss Goody-Two-Shoes,’ she said softly.
She was peering at the picture closely. ‘I think one of the little shits was the freckle-faced kid I interviewed at UCLA, I’m sure of it.’
Nick lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘According to Frankie, and he only started working at the club about the time this was taken, he only saw her once or twice, with a blonde girl about the same age. They came together, got smashed and royally screwed. He didn’t know any of the kids porking her but remembered her from the photo we passed him.’
‘He also know who she was? Newspapers had her picture on the front page so how come he didn’t contact the cops?’
‘Hey, kid’s scared to lose his job, and you don’t think he was the only guy that must have recognized her and kept their mouths shut.’
She frowned. ‘But if this kind of thing is a regular scene, why would he remember somebody who only used the place once or twice? I mean, you said they were screwing in the John.’
‘Well, firstly, a so-called bag of coke worth fifteen thousand dollars is a pretty good incentive, and this action we got here wasn’t done in the John but in a private room, this happened like real late. You know, just the main guys there, the so-called stars that gang-bang, and only a couple of waiters on duty, Frankie being one of them. He said he remembered her because he reckoned he’d get his dick wet, but she passed out . . .’
‘But this bunch of shits aren’t movie stars, one is a college kid.’
‘Maybe rich enough, who the fuck knows?’
Lorraine frowned. ‘Frankie have a picture of her girlfriend?’
‘No, he said she was taken up to the top room and he wouldn’t get up there, they had their own waiter.’
‘Who took this photograph?’
Nick cocked his head to one side. ‘Seems they got hidden cameras in the wall of mirrors in the private room. They take a lot of snaps, so many he wasn’t even worried they’d miss one.’
Lorraine stuffed the photograph back into the envelope. ‘Well, I got something to discuss with Mr and Mrs Caley, but I don’t think they’re gonna like it.’ She started to put on her red shoes and then pulled a face. ‘I’ll go barefoot, you wanna give me a ride home?’
‘Sure.’
In the jeep she stroked Tiger’s head while the dog tried to lick her face. ‘I think we really gelled, Nick, he’s a real character.’
‘Yep, he is.’ Nick slammed his door shut.
‘You know, this new direction kind of excludes Robert Caley. You think the photo might have been used for blackmail?’
Nick rammed the car into gear. ‘Like Frankie said, they got a load of snaps and all they’re used for, I’d say, are sick kicks. But maybe we don’t exclude blackmail.’
As they drew up outside Rosie’s place, Lorraine laughed. ‘Hey! We got one big breakthrough tonight, Nick. I’ll talk to the Caleys in the morning, maybe see if I can get that Tom Heller to spill something, and then . . .’ She punched his arm. ‘New Orleans, here we come . . .’ She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, Nick, one million dollars! I am sure we’ll crack this, we’ll find her, and like Mrs Caley said, dead or alive we still get the pay-off.’ Lorraine rubbed Tiger’s head. ‘G’night, talk tomorrow. Oh, Nick, you won’t give this information to Agnews, will you?’
His smile wiped fast. ‘No, but is it okay if I collect my pay cheque?’
She laughed, and he stayed watching her running barefoot up the stairs, two steps at a time to the first floor. She seemed full of energy, her confidence seemingly restored. She also, Nick noticed, made sure she had the photograph. Lorraine Page was back on the case. He rubbed Tiger’s head.
‘Dangerous lady, that one. Gets to the core, understand?’ Tiger licked his face. ‘No, I guess you don’t.’
Nick finished the bottle of vodka and lay spread-eagled on his crumpled bed. He picked up his guitar, strummed a few bars and began to tune it. He had liked her when she was vulnerable, liked it when he could tak
e charge, sort of care for her. He hadn’t felt that way about anyone in a very long time and he knew he was caring too much, she was touching him deep down.
‘Oh, Lorraine, Lorraine, filled up with pain . . . Oh, Lorraine, let me . . .’
He was a much better guitarist than he ever admitted, but his lyrics stank and he knew it so he just lazily plucked at the strings that kept on saying her name . . . Lorraine.
Lorraine was curled up on her sofa bed, planning exactly how she would deal the ace she held in the brown manila envelope to the Caleys. Nick was far from her mind, so was the craving. The vulnerable Lorraine had crept back into her secret corner, along with Jack Lubrinski, her daughters and ex-husband. In fact, the person she was thinking about when she drifted asleep was Robert Caley, wondering how he would react to the photograph. In a way she was relieved that in her mind he was no longer their main suspect. She was still wondering about his possible involvement in his daughter’s disappearance and, lastly, what it would be like to lie naked next to him, when she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 9
LORRAINE STOOD in front of the case chart pinned up on the wall in the office, ‘Day 4’ underlined. It was only 7.15 in the morning and she’d been there since six. She hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep but she wasn’t feeling tired; on the contrary, she was buzzing.
Marked up under her name were the names Robert Caley, Elizabeth Caley, Tom Heller, the freckle-faced student from UCLA, Noël, the Rasta hairdresser; four people she wanted to interview again.
Listed under New Orleans were Caley’s business partners in the casino development, Tilda Brown, Anna Louise’s girlfriend, and all the Caley staff. Uppermost on Nick and Rooney’s list was to make contact with the New Orleans officers involved in the investigation to get an update and any background on Juda Salina.
Lorraine watched as Noël blow-dried her hair.
‘You want the same style, right?’
‘Yeah, just like before. By the way, did you ever do Anna Louise Caley’s hair?’
He cocked his head to one side, holding the dryer aside a moment. ‘Yep.’
‘You ever go to the Viper Room?’
He continued working, his attention on her hair. ‘Nah, I got better things to do with my time.’
‘Anna Louise Caley used to go.’
He looked at her reflection in the mirror, seemingly intent on her hair.
‘Really? Didn’t think she was the type.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, she was always kind of cute, bit shy. Obsessed with her hair though.’
‘Was she always on her own?’
He turned off the dryer and leaned against the mirror shelf. ‘What’s this? Why all the questions?’
Lorraine leaned forward, looking at her reflection. ‘Because I have been hired to trace her and all I get told is that she was a real cute, nice little rich girl. But I don’t think she was, in fact, I know there was another side to Miss Caley.’
‘You think I know about it?’
‘Maybe. I’m a private investigator, Noël, not a cop, so there’s no need to get edgy. I want to show you something.’ Lorraine drew out the photograph. ‘Take a look at this.’
Noël glanced at the photograph, then whistled between his teeth, holding it closer. He muttered something to himself and then passed it back to Lorraine. She slipped it back into the envelope.
Noël continued to blow-dry her hair. Twice his eyes met hers but he said nothing.
‘You know any of the guys in the photo?’
He nodded. ‘You see the cat at the end, right at the end of the salon, finishing a tint? He’s the one giving it to her. His name is Cal, Cal Thompson, real little prick, if you’ll excuse the pun.’
Lorraine looked along the row of salon chairs. Cal had his back to her so she couldn’t get a good look at his face.
She walked down the salon to the end chair. She stood behind the young man who was washing out his tint bowl and brushes.
‘Excuse me, it’s Cal, isn’t it?’
Cal Thompson turned. He was good-looking, tanned like everyone in LA, one of those young men full of confidence in his own looks.
‘Hi, could I talk to you for a moment?’
He frowned, looked towards the main reception, back to Lorraine.
‘In private.’
He hesitated. ‘I’m busy right now, if you want to make an appointment . . .’
Lorraine took out the photograph. ‘You want this plastered over the National Enquirer? I’d find a few minutes if I were you, Cal.’
Cal drew a curtain across the doorway. Lorraine sat down and took out her cigarettes.
‘You a reporter?’
‘Nope. Sit down a second, Cal.’
He sat down, still holding on to his cool, pushing the ashtray towards Lorraine. ‘What do you want?’
‘Information. I’m a private investigator. Look at the picture, Cal. Gang-rape is an offence, right? She was just a kid, so just answer a few questions, then I’m out of here.’
‘Listen, man, she’s no fucking minor. Look at her face, she was loving it.’
‘I’d say she was stoned out of her mind. You do know who she is, don’t you?’
He sighed, turning away. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know who she is.’
Lorraine waited; he was losing his cool now. ‘So you know she’s been missing?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, but it’s got nothing to do with me. I mean, that was just a one-off, know what I mean? We were high and . . . that’s all there is to it.’
‘All? There’s three guys here fucking a young kid stoned out of her mind and you say that’s all? Can you name the others?’
‘No.’
‘So what happened after this?’
Cal shrugged. ‘I put my dick away, had a few more drinks and went home. She’d already left with her friend.’
‘Who was the friend?’
‘I dunno. She was here once at the salon.’
‘Tilda Brown?’
‘I dunno, I get a lot of clients, some walk in off the street so it might not be in the appointment book. Look, I obviously know Anna Louise, but then so did everybody else. She had the reputation of being open to offers, she’d been there a few times before, turning the same tricks. She liked it.’
‘Was she always stoned?’
‘I dunno, I think it was booze rather than drugs but everybody’s taking stuff down there, it’s on offer, know what I mean?’
‘I’m trying to, Cal. Did you ever see her with anyone specific? Heard the name Polar mentioned at all?’
‘No, like I only saw her that time at the club and a few times in the salon. She’s not even my client.’
‘You saw her leave the Viper Room on the night this photo was taken?’
‘Yeah, and her friend. We hung out for a while longer.’
‘We?’
‘Couple of friends. It was real late anyway, the place was getting quiet so it hadda be around four or five in the morning.’
Lorraine slipped the photograph into the envelope. ‘Do you recall when this was taken?’
‘Yeah, because it was my girlfriend’s birthday. We had a bust-up in the Viper, I hung on in there. February thirteenth last year. Look, I’m being dead straight with you, I’m married now and I don’t get into that kind of stuff anymore.’
Lorraine stubbed out her cigarette. ‘You recall how she got home? You said you saw her leaving, did she drive or was she driven, or did she get a taxi?’
‘Man, she was too out of it to drive. I think maybe somebody collected her, but I dunno, I honestly don’t remember. I did nothin’ wrong, I mean, she was loving it.’
Lorraine walked to the curtained doorway. ‘Thanks. And Cal, I hope you have been straight with me because I don’t want to have to come back.’
‘Hi, you remember me?’
Tom Heller was drenched in sweat after a tennis game, tying a white cotton sweater round his shoulders. He stared at Lorraine a moment,
then took out a pristine white towel from his kit-bag and wiped the sweat from his face, rubbing his hair. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’
She opened her purse as he stowed his racquets into their cases. ‘Lorraine Page, Page Investigations.’
He zipped up the bag. ‘Oh, right, yeah.’
‘Anna Louise Caley, you said you had dated her.’
He slung his bag’s shoulder strap on to his shoulder. ‘Right. Look, I should go get a shower.’
‘You also said it was a platonic relationship, just picnics, beach parties . . .’ He started to move away. ‘Wait one second.’ Her voice made him pull up fast. ‘You lied, you knew her very well, didn’t you?’
‘No more than anyone else.’
She slapped the photo into his chest. ‘No more than anyone else? You mean everybody fucked her like this? Take a good look, because that is no beach party or teenage barbecue, now is it? It’s a gang-bang and you, sunshine, are jerking off over her belly. It is you, isn’t it?’
He stared at the photograph and then let out a long sigh. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘Let’s sit on a bench and talk. This time you’d better be honest with me or a copy of that is sent to your parents, to the principal of this place . . . you understand me?’
Mario was polishing the Caleys’ limo. He turned as Lorraine walked up to him.
She smiled. ‘Doing a nice job, Mario, remember me? Lorraine Page.’
Mario nodded and continued polishing.
‘Tell me, on the night of February thirteenth last year, did you collect Anna Louise from the Viper Room?’
‘What?’
Lorraine leaned on the side of the car. ‘The family left for New Orleans two days later, on the fifteenth, same day Anna Louise went missing, so I’d say you’ve got a pretty good memory of events close to that date ’cos you were questioned by the cops, right?’
He nodded again, still polishing.
‘So, February thirteenth last year, did you—’
‘Yes, ma’am, I picked up Miss Caley and her friend, drove them back here.’
‘Stoned out of their heads?’
‘I dunno, ma’am, I just collected them. They was waitin’ on the pavement.’
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