Cold Blood

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘I never said anything!’

  ‘Right, but you were thinking about it,’ Lorraine said, checking her hair. The ends were still damp, so she turned the dryer on again and began to curl them over a brush. She watched Rosie and Rooney in the mirror: both looked exhausted, Rosie yawning and Rooney’s eyes drooping as he leaned back on the pillow.

  Nobody spoke, and Rooney nodded off and began to snore. Eventually Lorraine switched off the dryer and went back into the bathroom to dress. When she came out, Rosie was also fast asleep. Lorraine smiled: sometimes the pair of them were like two kids, and she felt worried about the idea of involving them in the scene at Fryer’s bar. She didn’t want anything to happen to them, not now that they’d found one another at last.

  She stared at them, and then sat down and wrote a note. She left it on Rooney’s big heaving chest, packed her bags and carried them out, closing the door quietly behind her. Neither woke. The note said: ‘Don’t stay for Mardi Gras, see you back at my new place. Good luck. L.’

  Lorraine left her cases at the desk and walked out to pay off François. He was still hovering, even after she settled his bill, asking if she needed him to take her to the airport, astonished she wasn’t going to stay on for the Carnival.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks François. You take care now.’ She walked off, and he counted out the dollars. She’d given him a bonus, fifty dollars more than he’d asked for. He grinned, a happy man.

  Lorraine walked out into the French Quarter. It was a muggy evening and the street was crowded as more and more tourists flooded in. Purple, green and gold were everywhere and there was already a carnival feeling in the air, but she didn’t feel in a festive mood.

  The six men were waiting in two patrol cars down a side street. They were smoking, wearing dark glasses, all the car windows open. Lorraine got in beside the obese Officer Harper, and smiled as he introduced her to the men squashed in the back seat.

  ‘Cash up front, Mrs Page.’

  She opened her purse and took out an envelope. ‘Twelve grand, right? Half now, half when we’re through.’

  Harper turned to look at the officers behind him, they shrugged. He got out of his car and waddled to the car behind him, leaned in the window, had a brief conversation and then returned.

  ‘Okay, but you’d better not try to put anything over on us.’

  Lorraine smiled. ‘You think I would really try it on with you guys? Come on, I know you’re taking a big risk.’

  It seemed to do the trick. He nodded, his cheek jowls wobbling.

  ‘So how do we work it?’ she asked quietly.

  Rooney grunted, and his body jerked. He lifted his head. ‘Shit, what time is it?’

  Rosie murmured as he eased himself off the bed. The note fluttered to the floor and he picked it up. The room was in darkness so he turned on the bedside lamp.

  ‘Rosie, wake up, girl. Rosie!’

  She blinked and swallowed, and then sat up with a start.

  ‘She’s gone. Read this.’

  Rosie took a moment to adjust to the light, and then read the note. ‘What should we do?’

  Rooney hesitated, then crossed to the bathroom. ‘Check if there’s a flight out of here. If there isn’t, we’ll stay.’

  ‘We’re going to leave her?’

  ‘Just see if there’s a flight, sweetheart.’

  Rooney splashed cold water over his face and patted it dry with one of the damp towels Lorraine had used. It smelt of shampoo, and he lowered it from his face, staring at himself in the mirror. He felt old and tired, wondering what the hell he was thinking of doing, getting himself engaged at his age. Had he really suggested she move in with him? He sat on the edge of the bath, wishing he’d taken his shoes off before he fell asleep; his feet felt swollen.

  Rosie called out that there was a flight in an hour and a half.

  ‘Gimme a second,’ he shouted back. He didn’t know what to do. Not knowing what the hell Lorraine had arranged with Harper or when they were going to do it, or for that matter why. What did she expect to gain? He sighed.

  Rosie was brushing her hair when he walked out. ‘I gave them your credit card number, that okay?’ She watched him plod across the room, and she turned. ‘Bill? You want to leave or not?’

  ‘I’m thinking about it, Rosie.’

  She’d been thinking about it too, and virtually asked him the same questions he had just asked himself.

  ‘I mean, what does she expect to find at the end of it?’

  ‘I dunno, Rosie, maybe someone scared enough to say they saw Nick, who knows? I think she’s throwing away good money, but that’s just my opinion.’

  ‘It’s mine too. I liked Nick, of course I did, but it’s a long shot, isn’t it? We don’t even know if he was in Fryer’s bar the night he got killed. Even if she was to find the gris-gris, even if whoever did kill Nick was dumb enough to hang on to it, they wouldn’t have it in the bar, would they?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rosie.’ He hadn’t meant to snap at her, it just came out that way.

  ‘Listen, if you feel guilty about going, we’ll stay.’

  ‘I don’t feel guilty.’

  ‘Fine, then we’ll leave, yes?’

  He sat down, said he needed a drink, and Rosie flung the brush on to the dressing table.

  ‘We can’t hang around, Bill, the flight goes in an hour and a half.’

  ‘I heard you the first time, Rosie.’

  ‘So, I am repeating it.’

  Rooney stood in the lobby as Rosie checked out, looking at Lorraine’s suitcase waiting behind the desk.

  ‘Bill, if you want to wait, you’d better say so, they got people wanting her room. Which means if we do check out and stay on we’ll have nowhere to stay for tonight. It’s Mardi Gras, Bill, the hotels are all filling up.’

  He suddenly made up his mind. ‘You stay with the bags, I’ll go over to Fryer’s bar.’

  ‘But what about the plane?’

  He turned on her angrily. ‘We fucking miss it. Hell, if we have to we’ll hire a private plane, okay? Just wait here.’

  Rooney walked out. Rosie felt near to tears; he’d never been angry at her before, never snapped at her the way he just had. But then she understood why – he was worried about Lorraine. For all his complaints about her, he really cared about her, and if Rosie thought about it, so did she.

  ‘Excuse me, is Mrs Page checking out or not?’

  Rosie glared at the receptionist who was getting more frazzled by the day. It was always the same at Mardi Gras; she hated it.

  ‘Yeah, I’m checking Mrs Page out, but we need to leave the bags here, is that all right?’

  The receptionist sighed; she was knee-deep in people’s luggage as it was. ‘I guess so, but the hotel can’t take any responsibility for them.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll take the goddamned things out with me.’

  Rooney tried in vain to flag a cab down. The pavement was crowded, there were people walking arm-in-arm down the streets. More jugglers and clowns had appeared on the scene, passing out leaflets for all the forthcoming events, people already getting into the spirit. Fireworks were going off in all directions, they whizzed and banged overhead, and lit up the dark sky. A Dixieland band was playing, or rehearsing, stop-starting. It was like he had stepped on to a fairground Ferris wheel and couldn’t get off. He pushed and jostled his way along the street, eyes peeled for a vacant cab, and he couldn’t stop the feeling of panic rising. He didn’t know what he was getting so het up about – his personal life or Lorraine. Or maybe it was just the memory of Nick Bartello, but he had a hideous feeling of something coming down, and his frustration at not being in control of it made it worse. She was somewhere with a bunch of guys, and probably bad ones. She was alone, and he shouldn’t have let her go without back-up. He was her back-up man, her partner now, and he’d never be able to live with himself if something happened to her, because for all her faults and her headstrong ways, he cared about her, more than he ever dared
admit. And one thing he knew, she was one hell of a cop, in the Force or out. Lorraine was in a class all her own. ‘Taxi!’ he yelled.

  Rosie sat outside the hotel on the small terraced area. She was not the only person sitting by a sea of luggage. There were a lot of back-packers and families, some licking ice creams, some becoming irate with their tired-out kids, and the persistent noise of the fireworks was giving her a thudding headache.

  François tooted his horn and waved over. Rosie jumped up and waved back frantically. He grinned, then realized she was gesturing for him to join her.

  ‘Can you get all these bags on board?’

  ‘Sure, you want to go to the airport?’

  ‘Yeah, eventually, but first can you get me over to Fryer Jones’s bar in Ward 9? Lorraine’s there.’

  He jumped out, opened the trunk, and began hurling the bags inside.

  Rooney was sweating. He had got into a near fist-fight with a drag queen who had flagged down the same taxi, but as he or she was a good foot higher than Rooney, he’d walked away. Now he turned as he heard his name shouted out, and he looked this way and that. Then he heard Rosie’s voice and he pushed his way through a crowd of people before he saw her waving to him from across the street in François’s car. His panic rose as he nearly got knocked down by a kid on a bicycle with three other people somehow balanced on it as well.

  ‘What’s happened? You heard from Lorraine?’

  ‘No, get in and shut up,’ she said.

  Rooney sat beside her and she nudged François to get a move on.

  ‘We going to the airport?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Fryer Jones’s bar, all right?’

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. ‘She’s my partner, Rosie.’

  ‘She’s mine too, in case you’ve forgotten.’

  Boom went another firework, and a rocket exploded over their heads. ‘Carnival getting started!’ shouted François gleefully. ‘Man, this place hots up, don’t you just feel it all coming down all around you? This place is crazy, man, it goes wild, real wild.’

  Ruby placed the steaming bowls of crawfish stew on the newspaper that served as a tablecloth. Juda, Edith and Sugar May dug in. They had chilled beers and big chunks of bread, and they ate hungrily as they had been working all day on the float. Baskets and baskets of fresh flower-heads had been delivered, and each one was to be placed around the throne to make a sea of colour for the Queen to step over as she was led to her throne.

  Ruby was barefoot, wearing just an old underslip. Her hair was pinned up off her face as she’d worked up a sweat. They were tired but they would all be up and working the following morning. It took a lot of time and loving care to get the floats ready, and all the hard work only built up the excitement until it was like being drunk with it all.

  Juda dunked her bread and sucked on it; it was good to be back home, good to be free. She had decided not to go back to LA, even if Elizabeth Caley offered her a fortune. She was not leaving home again. She broke off a piece of bread and was just about to dip it into her bowl when she saw the newspaper article.

  ‘Missing Movie Star’s Daughter – Body Found!’

  ‘Move your plate aside, Sugar May.’

  Juda inched the newspaper around to read it. ‘They found her, they just found Anna Louise Caley.’ She pulled the paper from the table and wiped off the crumbs. ‘Oh, my Lord, she was buried in . . . Oh my, oh my.’

  Edith looked at her sister. ‘What’s that, Juda?’

  Juda folded the paper into a roll, staring at Ruby.

  ‘They found poor little Anna Louise Caley buried in a garden, under suspicious circumstances, it says.’

  Ruby continued to eat, sucking her bread loudly.

  ‘Where, Juda?’

  Juda kept on looking at Ruby. ‘In Miss Tilda Brown’s back yard. You know who she is, don’t you, Ruby?’

  Ruby looked up and her eyes were glittering, her voice soft, almost purring. ‘I know who she is, Aunty Juda, she tied a dressing-gown cord round her neck and hanged her little self.’

  Sugar May put her hand over her mouth and giggled, and received a slap across her head with the newspaper. Edith now looked in confusion at Juda, who slowly pushed her chair from the table and stood up. She wasn’t wearing her wig or false eye-lashes, just an old smock dress, her cropped grey hair thinning at the crown.

  Ruby tried to be nonchalant, still dipping her bread into her bowl, but she would not look up, did not want to face her aunt. She was scared of her, even more so when her big body loomed over the table.

  ‘Ruby, remember what I told you, play with the devil and he’ll come for your soul.’

  ‘No he won’t. And whatever I done, Fryer’s taking care of, like he’s taking care of my brothers. Nobody is ever going to know nothing.’

  Edith was still confused, looking from her sister to her daughter. ‘What you two talking about?’

  Juda walked to the door. ‘She knows, Edith, Ruby knows, and Fryer never took care of nobody but himself. That is the way he lives. He sold to the devil a long, long time ago.’

  Edith was really worried now, and she pushed her half-finished supper away, following Juda out.

  ‘What you done?’ Sugar May asked in a whisper.

  Ruby had just taken a mouthful of water, and she turned on Sugar May, hissing, and the water sprayed from her mouth like a jet.

  ‘I just used my powers, Sugar May, I just used my powers.’

  Sugar May scuttled out after her mama, and Ruby sat alone. Then after a moment she reached for her mama’s bowl, and tipped it into her own. She continued eating, delicately dipping her bread into the bowl and sucking it. She felt no guilt, no remorse for what she had done, or what she had begun. After all, she had only given them what they had wanted.

  Elizabeth Caley sat at Lloyd Dulay’s side, looking composed and as beautiful as ever. She wore black, out of respect for her daughter, and everyone there had whispered their condolences. The Dulays were old money, and the whole of New Orleans society had accepted the invitation out of curiosity, wanting to see Anna Louise’s grieving mother with their own eyes. Elizabeth did not let them down. She was composed and distant, as if frozen with grief and shock. She was starring in another movie, and she acted the part to perfection. She knew Robert would ask for a massive settlement, but she didn’t care. She had more money than she knew what to do with. Money had never been a priority for Elizabeth, she had grown up with it, always had it and never considered being without it. She was going to be invited to every Mardi Gras ball and top-level function in New Orleans, as she had since she was a child. She was famous, now even more so because of her tragic daughter. She was sitting next to Lloyd Dulay, the man she had always loved. She was his prize guest of honour, but tonight she didn’t relish it – tonight she no longer cared. She had determined there would be no more secrets, all she was waiting for was the right moment. It came when Lloyd rose to ask everyone to lift their glasses to Elizabeth Seal.

  There was a polite murmur, none expecting her to speak, but she stood up like a queen. She held her glass in her right hand, lifting it a fraction.

  ‘A long time ago, I was given the lead role in a film called The Swamp. I was sixteen years of age and excited at the prospect of becoming a star. I paid no heed to the fact that I was to portray the great voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. I did not consider the culture that Marie Laveau brought to her people, it was just a movie, and I was going to be a star.’

  Elizabeth gave the performance of her life, but it wasn’t scripted, it came from her years of torment, from the nightmare during filming when she had been taken and raped, curses written in blood on her body. She told them all about the doll she found in her trailer, a doll bearing her face, cursing her and any offspring that she might conceive to live in the hell of the living dead, and condemning Elizabeth Seal to spend the rest of her days feeling the weight of the great queen’s coffin lid pressing on her heart. And as those gathered became frightened by h
er driven, emotional declaration, they knelt before her as she at last admitted, ‘I am black and I have hidden behind a white skin. I have been punished and cursed for abusing the great voodoo goddess, Queen Marie Laveau. Every child my womb conceived was also doomed to live under her shadow.’

  It was all so clear to Elizabeth what she should do, exactly what she should say, and the impact her words would have made her feel stronger than she had ever felt in her wretched life. She was going to free herself, she would be free. No need for Juda anymore, no more nightmares, it was all over.

  Elizabeth still held the photograph of her daughter Anna Louise, as the drugs distorted her mind so that she truly believed she was there, dining alongside Lloyd Dulay, and that it was all taking place. He was in fact waiting impatiently downstairs when Missy came running from the bedroom, unable to wake Mrs Caley. She had screamed to him that something bad had happened.

  Lloyd Dulay felt for Elizabeth’s pulse; it was very weak. She opened her eyes only once, and smiled at him, saying that everything was all right now, it was all over. Her black gown was laid out in readiness for the dinner, with matching shoes and sequined purse. By the time the doctor arrived, she was dead. She looked peaceful and calm, a sweet innocent smile on her lips. He sat down in a chair close to the bed.

  ‘Oh, Elizabeth, my little queen.’

  Harper looked at his men. He was sweating as he listened to the radio and then rehooked it back on the dashboard.

  ‘They’re standing out back ready. We go in via the front, let’s keep this as tight as we can, no shooting unless . . . Well, we done it before, so here we go.’

  He looked at Lorraine. ‘Stay back, once we got the place quiet you can come in, but not until I give you the word. Let’s go!’

  Fryer Jones was sitting with Raoul at the far end of the bar, trying to get him straightened out enough to take him home and face his Aunt Juda. His two brothers were out in the yard lying stoned among the beer crates they were supposed to have been stacking. There were only the usual regulars dotted around the bar, it never hotted up until after midnight. Sugar May had crept in, and was hiding out down the back, talking to one of the hookers, thinking she was someone to emulate, when it happened.