Cold Blood

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘It’s nothing, just forget it.’

  Rooney was scratching his ankle, now sure he had been bitten by something too.

  ‘I think the same little bastard just got me. Heat’s like a blanket an’ still only January. What this place must be like in the peak of summer, God only knows.’

  ‘Well, hopefully we won’t be here more’n a few days,’ Lorraine said, a little sharp as she was not getting much response from anyone to her findings. In fact, they seemed to accept it all, as if they knew it already – Robert Caley was still their number one suspect!

  ‘I’m out of here, see you later – we’ll meet up in my room. It makes me feel like Snow White or something, by the way, Rosie – it’s got about five beds.’

  Rosie was getting rattled by all the complaints about their hotel rooms.

  ‘Listen, if you think you can do better, go ahead, but it’s Mardi Gras, there wasn’t much on offer.’

  ‘Don’t get pissed, I was just mentioning it.’

  Rooney sniffed.

  ‘If we get short of cash, we can all bunk in together or maybe make a few bucks rentin’ them out. You want some more coffee?’

  Lorraine drained her cup and nodded. ‘I’ll be right back.’ She set off towards the restroom and Rooney signalled to the waitress to order a fresh pot of coffee.

  ‘Where’s Nick?’

  ‘Getting cleaned up, I don’t know,’ said Rosie, still irritated.

  ‘What’s the matter with everyone this morning?’ Rooney asked, puzzled.

  ‘I was in a perfectly good mood when I came down for breakfast,’ Rosie snapped back.

  ‘Now, don’t get all steamed up about Lorraine, we’ve all mentioned that we got enough beds for a basketball team.’

  Rosie banged the table.

  ‘Well, we can check out, one of you can try to find accommodation that can take all four of us at the same time. I spent enough time trying to get the best deal I could, but not so much as a thank you, it makes me sick.’ Rooney reached over and patted her hand.

  ‘Come on now, no one minds, and you never know, one of us might get lucky.’

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

  ‘Have a few friends call in! Just a joke, sweetheart.’

  ‘Well, I don’t find it funny, it undermines my confidence. You might all have been doing this investigation work a long time, but I haven’t, and you make me feel inadequate.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry, Rosie, but you know, you could take it as a compliment – cops always get at each other, joke around, it’s the way we interact. Treat you any different and you should worry.’

  She flushed and suddenly smiled. ‘That right?’

  ‘Sure. Now, did you want another coffee?’

  Rosie nodded.

  She felt a lot better – in fact, she always did when she was with Rooney. He was restoring her confidence, especially as a woman, in more ways than she had ever hoped possible.

  At the turn of the century the Dulay home, an amalgam of Victorian gothic turrets and towers and an incongruously Mediterranean-looking front portico, might have been thought a vulgar, ostentatious hybrid, but it had cost a king’s ransom to build, and Lloyd liked to let people know that there was nothing shabby genteel about his family: they had had money then, and they had money now.

  Robert Caley drove along the allée of specially trained oaks through Lloyd’s extensive grounds – the formal garden, the wilderness garden, the kitchen garden, the cut-flower garden, the water garden – which the Dulays had laid out on several acres of prime site near the agreeable cool of parks and country clubs between river and lake shores, and which glowed like green velvet even when every other yard of ground in the state was a bleached grey-brown. He rang the door, and a uniformed maid ushered him through several waist-high bronzes of the Dulays’ favourite dogs and horses into the breakfast room. Caley never ceased to marvel both at the crassness of Lloyd’s taste and the boldness of its execution: the modelling of plaster- and woodwork throughout the house was overall heavy, and Lloyd had decided to offset the darkness of the breakfast room’s panelled ceilings by commissioning modern murals around the walls, in which neo-classical nymphs and satyrs peeped through more thick foliage. There was something lascivious in the painting, and Caley wondered whether the young Creole goddess, attired in French maid’s costume and presently pouring coffee at the mahogany table, might perhaps have been the inspiration for one of the voluptuous nudes to which she bore a striking resemblance.

  There was only one place-setting at the table, where Georgian silver-covered dishes faced a large, abstract sculpture in coloured perspex which served as épergne: Lloyd fancied himself as a collector of modern art, but his reforming zeal had not yet encompassed the 200 feet of glazed chintz fussily swagged, draped and festooned across the room’s huge picture windows by his grandmother, nor the half-hundredweight of early Anglo-Irish glass hanging from the ceiling, the chandelier’s enormous pendants almost touching the plastic structure beneath. The effect was grotesque.

  ‘Just coffee,’ Caley said, and the maid acknowledged him with only the smallest of nods of her beautiful head with its wide cheekbones, pale coffee-coloured skin, delicate nose and large, slanting, almond eyes.

  The heavy door burst open and Lloyd Dulay strode in. He stood at six feet three and, despite being in his seventies, ramrod-straight, his shock of white hair combed back from his high forehead. He was a formidable man and beside him Caley felt small in comparison.

  ‘Sit down, boy, sorry to change the meeting place but I had a round of golf this morning that hadda continue. I made five birdies, five. Thank you, Imelda, honey.’

  Dulay touched the maid lightly with his big wide hand and she smiled, eyes downcast, almost too demure, too beautiful. Caley knew she was probably Dulay’s mistress, he was famous for keeping them ‘in house’, and perhaps in this case, on display to his guests.

  ‘How’s Elizabeth?’ Dulay enquired as he removed the cover from one of the dishes and forked a large portion of Charentais melon and berries on to his plate.

  ‘She’s fine, Lloyd, be out soon.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so. Carnival wouldn’t be the same without her and we got some fine entertainment this year.’

  Lloyd went on to discuss the floats, the big parties and masked balls that different krewes – the local name for Carnival organizations – planned to hold, the new King of Carnival and the young society girl who would be presented as his Queen. Then, seated in his throne-like carver chair and gesturing expansively, he eulogized about the time his own daughter was presented as a maid of Rex, his voice booming round the vast cavernous room.

  ‘Saffron looked more beautiful than ever that day. I tell you, Robert, that girl could have had her pick of any man falling at her pretty little feet, begging her for a dance. You know, I even offered her, offered, ten million dollars if she got herself married for long enough to give me an heir. That is one of the blights of my life.’

  Caley chewed his lip. He couldn’t recall how many times he’d sat opposite this bully of a man, forced to listen to his loud adulation of his whore of a daughter. He even wondered at times if he wasn’t in some roundabout way hinting that Caley should fuck his daughter – which Robert and almost everyone else had – but if he knew her reputation, Dulay never gave so much as a hint. He just seemed to enjoy the sound of his own rasping voice, and not until he had finished his fruit, sausage patties with a variety of savoury confits and old-fashioned Southern biscuits did he fall silent.

  As though summoned by telepathy, Imelda reappeared and cleared the table, and again Caley saw that big hand stroke his little ‘in house’ woman. He was sure that if he didn’t have a legitimate heir, he most certainly had a number of illegitimate kids. Rumour had it to be around ten or eleven.

  Dulay looked over the cigar box held out for him by Imelda. He chose one, sniffing at it with his big hawk nose, then she clipped the end, brought to the table an antique silve
r perfume bottle remodelled into a lighter, and slipped out. Not until the cigar smoke rested like a halo above Dulay’s head did he focus his beady, ice-blue eyes on Caley.

  ‘The Mayor’s meeting with the Governor and some of the legislative leaders in Baton Rouge sometime this week. Way I see it, he ought to save himself the trip – what we got to worry about is right here in New Orleans. Some people just seem to want to stand in the way of change until it rolls right over them, though it seems like there might be something in all this federal law stuff. Or so my attorney is bleatin’.’

  ‘That’s bullshit, Lloyd, and you know it. They’re just trying it on.’

  ‘Robert, you’re not hearing me. It’s the delay. Don’t you see, the more they delay granting you the go-ahead, the longer it drags out . . . and no matter how much you kick against it and say it’s not you they’re turning up their noses at, nobody’s gonna believe it.’

  Casey sat back. Even in the chill of the air-conditioned room he could feel the sweat break out on his body: he knew that Dulay had brought up the zoning objections purely as a pretext to cover some move of his own.

  ‘So are you pulling out?’ he said nervously.

  ‘Hell, no, I am right behind you. But you are gonna have to give me some proof that it’s not just me in deep in this.’

  ‘Rght now, Lloyd, the only person in deep is me. It’s my own money that’s bought those leases. So far you haven’t put in so much as a cent.’

  Dulay stared hard at him and his eyes seemed to shrink. ‘No, Robert, you got my name attached and here that means something, understand me? My name carries a lot of weight in these parts.’

  ‘I know, I know . . . sorry, but right now, Lloyd, I’m being squeezed, you got to know that.’

  ‘Sure I do, nobody likes their balls held in a vice, but at the same time you’re gonna be the man who makes the most, so unless you want to carve up your interest . . .’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Maybe not now, not today, but perhaps you should give it some thought. If you’re gonna go belly up then nobody’s gonna back your development, even if the land you got is worth something.’

  ‘More than something, Lloyd.’

  ‘Right, right, but can you keep afloat?’

  ‘Depends on how long. What’s friend Siphers doing in Baton Rouge?’

  Lloyd shrugged. ‘They have to go through some sort of little pantomime of discussing the Doubloons proposal – crease the pages before they toss it out.’

  ‘You’re sure the Governor is going to toss it out?’

  Lloyd pushed back his chair. ‘Sure. This is your show, Robert. You’re the one who made the commitment and got ground broken people said couldn’t be broke. A bunch of guys trying to jump on your bandwagon will just find they fall off on their ass.’

  ‘So when do you think we might get a yea or nay?’

  ‘Oh, any day now, Robert, and you’ll be the first to know. As you know, the Governor is a personal friend,’ Dulay said silkily.

  There was something in his manner just a shade too smooth to trust, but Caley was too tired to press the old man further and stood up, forcing himself to smile.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it, Lloyd.’

  ‘You count on it,’ Dulay said, and gestured towards the door. The meeting was over. He paused as they walked out into the huge entrance hall with its bronze menagerie. ‘They found your little girl yet?’

  Caley shook his head. ‘No, but Elizabeth has hired a new agency, they’ll maybe get some results, they seem very capable.’

  Lloyd glared. ‘Capable? Holy Jesus, Robert, she’s your daughter! You just hired capable . . . I’d leave no stone unturned if it was my little girl, I’d hire the best this country has.’

  ‘We did,’ Caley said flatly.

  Dulay held out his arm and it felt like a dead weight on Caley’s shoulders. ‘You sure you can keep going? Money-wise?’

  Caley nodded, and the big man hugged him close. ‘I feel for you and my lovely Elizabeth, she must be going through hell.’

  ‘She is.’ Now all Caley wanted was to get out, but the big man’s arm held him like a vice.

  ‘You call on me, Robert, I mean it. You’re like family to me and that sweet child keeps me awake at night. What do these agencies think might have happened?’

  Caley stepped aside. ‘That she could have been abducted, you know, kidnapped by the opposition, maybe to stop me from opening up.’

  ‘Bullshit, they’re too big to play that kind of game. Jesus, I know every man on the Doubloons board, lot of old friends, some I was in knickerbockers with, and I can tell you every man is a gentleman.’

  ‘Why didn’t you kick in with them?’ Caley asked quietly.

  Dulay shrugged and walked into the marbled hallway. ‘I wasn’t asked . . . and I like to be asked. I’m not a man that barges in on anybody’s deal, they gotta come to me. With my kind of capital I don’t get into anything without being shown a little respect.’ He towered above Caley. ‘You’ve always shown me respect, Robert, and for that reason alone I’m with you on this deal. You’re a man that’s climbed up from nothing and I admire you. I also care about that wife of yours, we go back long ways, and I look forward to seeing her soon as she arrives. My house is yours, you know that, Robert.’

  Caley looked back at the huge house, riding like an ocean liner above the smooth lawns, and Dulay’s empty words rang in his ears. ‘My house is yours, you know that, Robert.’ What a joke! Dulay was squeezing for a much bigger chunk, it was obvious, squeezing and waiting like a shark to step in and offer to bail him out for a percentage that Caley could see – sixty:forty: and the sixty wouldn’t be his but Dulay’s.

  The chauffeur headed back to the hotel. Caley closed his eyes, thinking of Lorraine and the previous night. No wonder he felt worn out. But he wanted to see her again, needed to see her, because at the moment he knew Dulay was shifting the ground under him, and it felt like he was going to go down.

  Nick rejoined the black iron courtyard table washed, shaved and wearing clean clothes. Rooney was making notes on the back of an envelope. ‘I’m going to have a chat to this cab driver’s brother.’

  ‘Really? Can you fill me in, I mean, what cab driver and who’s his brother?’

  Rosie leaned forward. ‘We used him last night, Nick, drove past Caley’s proposed site for his casino, and this guy was full of it. He said his cousin, not his brother, was a cop, said they’re all corrupt.’

  Lorraine was sitting with her eyes closed, face tilted to the sun.

  ‘Okay, I think I’m gonna go back to the bar I wound up in last night. This old trombone player sort of warned me off.’

  ‘Off what exactly?’ Lorraine asked without moving.

  ‘Anna Louise Caley.’

  Lorraine turned to face him. ‘Go on.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘That’s it, he just said to get the hell out, and thinking it over he’s got to have a good reason and a better one than . . .’ He leaned forward, frowning. ‘. . . “Murky waters” – he said something like that, roots go deep . . . I dunno, just got a feeling he knows something. And you, what you gonna do?’

  Lorraine yawned. ‘Well, maybe start interviewing Caley’s business associates and, er . . . what’s her name? Anna Louise’s friend. I think that’ll more than take up my day.’ She checked her watch. ‘So what say we all meet back here about six tonight?’

  Rosie looked at Bill who was still scrutinizing his notes. ‘Anybody want me to do anything? If you don’t, I’m gonna go to the Voodoo Museum.’

  Rooney tucked the envelope into his pocket and got up. ‘I’ll hire a car, drop you off there if you like, Rosie.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. See you all later.’

  Lorraine held up her hand. ‘Just a second, before you scoot off, Rosie, will you get me appointments to meet all Caley’s business partners and Tilda Brown?’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll do it straight away. You arrange the car, Bill, and I’ll meet you in the l
obby.’

  Lorraine watched them go off, easing between the tables.

  ‘They’re getting very friendly, aren’t they?’

  Nick rocked in his chair. ‘Yeah, hadda terrible meal out with them. Rooney gettin’ all coy and a bashful Rosie are hard to take.’

  ‘You serious?’ Lorraine said, laughing.

  ‘Yeah.’ Nick watched her, wanting her. He instinctively knew she’d had a lot more than just a dinner on the plane with Caley.

  ‘What did you get from the staff at Caley’s hotel?’ he asked.

  ‘Not much. Only one thing that’s not on any report was that the maid did not turn down Anna’s bed at around eight to half past because there was a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Which could mean she’d already left, or . . .’

  ‘Nice suite, was it?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’ She wanted to take off his shades, see his eyes, because he had that irritating smile.

  ‘You fuck him?’

  Lorraine picked up her purse and her note-pad. ‘What you think I am, Nick?’

  ‘I’d sure take a chance like that, but then chance’d be a fine thing, right?’

  ‘You said it.’

  She edged past his chair and he caught her hand. ‘No offence.’

  ‘None taken, Nick, but back off about me and Caley, it’s starting to get on my nerves.’

  Nick got up and walked with her. ‘Just being cautious, sweetheart, he is our main suspect, right? Even more so now with that little legacy you found.’ He took off his shades. ‘You know, maybe Caley had been dipping into the trust fund. It must be like a red-hot carrot, one hundred million bucks is fucking hot.’

  Lorraine felt dizzy. ‘Yeah, I thought of that, and I was wondering if there was any way we could find out.’

  Nick slipped his arm around her shoulder as they went into the lobby. ‘You could ask him.’

  Lorraine sighed. ‘Yeah, but then he’d know I went through his papers. I don’t want to frighten him off if we’re right . . .’

  ‘That is some mosquito bite you got, you should get calamine lotion on it.’ She turned angrily towards him and he pulled her close. ‘Don’t bullshit me, I know what it is. I don’t care if you fucked him or not, just so long as you don’t start to . . .’