Authors: Lynda La Plante
Was Robert Caley capable of covering up why his own daughter had been abducted, possibly murdered? Or was it Elizabeth Caley covering up not only her drug addiction but something more sinister? If so, why the hiring of private investigators? Unless it was a role she was acting out from one of her old movies?
Lorraine yawned, feeling her eyes droop with tiredness. Either way, she was convinced that the key to the disappearance of Anna Louise Caley was connected to her parents. The question was, which one? They had only two weeks to get that million, and two days were akeady gone.
The faces became blurred; one moment Nick Bartello was calling out to her, then Lubrinski. She was trying to drag the body to safety from a hail of bullets…. She was screaming, the body waweavy, bleeding and moaning. Lubrinski’s face became Nick Bartello’s,Then Lubrinski’s again, and she was weeping, unaware she was crying out loud. It was her own cry that woke her; just before she came to, the man cradled in her arms had become Robert Caley. She sat up shaking, panting for breath, her body drenched in sweat, and it took her a moment to realize where she was. Then she flopped back onto her pillows, closing her eyes, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. She didn’t want the nightmare to return, didn’t want to go back to the memory of Jack Lubrinski dying in her arms. She felt cold, very cold.
Nick Bartello was so like Lubrinski. He too always kept his notes in his back pocket, ripping pages out of her book to scrawl in his thin, unorthodox shorthand.
Rosie had heard the screams. She had sat bolt upright in her bed, listening, then crept to her door. She eased it open and peeked into the living room. She saw Lorraine curled up like a little girl, hands clenched under her chin.
“You all right, partner?”
she whispered.
“Yep, just had a bad dream. Did I wake you?”
“Nope, see you in the morning.”
“Rosie, you always go for the same kind of guy?”
Rosie leaned over the sofa and gently stroked Lorraine’s hair.
“Listen, I been without one for so long, I’d go with anything offered, short or tall, fat or skinny, bald, blond or dark. Maybe not a redhead, never fancied redhaired guys.”
Lorraine turned over and smiled up at Rosie. She had such a lovely, sweet smile, it was sad she so rarely used it.
“I always liked dark-haired guys. You know, maybe that is what I need.”
“What?”
Rosie looked worried.
“
A
“
A man.
Rosie laughed.
“Thank Christ for that, I thought you were gonna say a drink. Mind you, in my experience they’re both as bad for you.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Rosie’s gentle hand stroking her head was calming, and Lorraine was asleep before she knew it. She didn’t even feel Rosie carefully lay her duvet cover over her, didn’t know Rosie waited until she was asleep, watching in fascination as Lorraine’s long, slender hands slowly uncurled from fists. It was moments like these that made it all right between them; only to Rosie did Lorraine show her frightening vulnerability. Whatever bad dreams made her scream in such a terrible way were never referred to. But they were now less frequent, like her sweet smiles.
^
I
CHAPTER
V
I Lorraine arrived at the Caley home at two minutes to eleven, exI actly two minutes before the appointment time, which had been agreed upon through Rosie and Phyllis, but ]\K. Caley was with her beautician and asked if Lorraine would be kind enough to wait. Lorraine was furious, and told Peters, the dour butler, that it was impossible for her to wait because she had other pressing business. Eventually Elizabeth agreed to see her despite the inconvenience, and she was led into the sunroom.
Elizabeth had a thick mask on her face, a terry robe belted at the waist and a towel wrapped around her head. Two young women in white uniforms were hovering around her, one giving her a pedicure, the other a manicure. They were in the small massage room off the gym built on to the rear of the house, with a polished pine floor, weights, bicycles and a punching bag, and leather reclining chairs. Classical music drifted from hidden speakers, and all the blinds were drawn on the arched windows, excluding the morning sunlight.
“Mrs. Page, this is Angela at my feet, and Barbara.”
The two pretty, immaculately groomed girls smiled and continued working.
“Pull up a chair, darling.”
Lorraine drew a wicker basket: chair forward and sat down.
“Thanks tor seeing me, Mrs. Caley.”
Elizabeth was sipping her usual mint tea from a china cup placed on a small side table.
“My dear, I am paying you. If you need to ask me about anything, it would be rather stupid not to see you, would it not?”
She eased up into a sitting position and sipped her tea again.
“You have any news for me?”
“No, not yet, I’m sorry.”
Barbara finished the last coat of bloodred polish on Mrs. Caley s left hand and stood up.
“I’m all through, Mrs. Caley.”
“Thank you, Barbara.”
“I won’t be a moment, Mrs. Caley, then I’ll take your mask off, said Angela, as she carefully massaged oil into the delicate feet.
Lorraine did not want to ask any questions until the face-pack had been peeled, the skin cleaned with tonic lotion, then massaged and moisturized. It took a long time . Elizabeth kept her eyes closed throughout.
Angela gave a series of small discreet smiles to Lorraine and then whispered,
“She’s asleep.”
Lorraine smiled understandingly back, when what she really would have liked to do was get up and shake Elizabeth Caley awake. But she sat there like a fool as Angela crept .around, packing up her vanity case. When she finished, she gave a silly little wave and crept out, closing the door silently.
Elizabeth remained motio nless, head tilted back on the headrest, seemingly fast asleep. Lorraine stared at her first with irritation, then with a strange fascination: there wasm’t a line on the woman’s face or neck and, completely devoid of makeup,, her skin was still flawless. Her beautiful hands rested on the white robe , and she was absolutely still.
Lorraine was suddenly panJc-strickenwas she dead? She eased cm of her chair and crept closer, sdghing with relief when she could see her breathing, deep, slow, rhythm ic breaths. Elizabeth Caley had a pertec face: cheekbones, nose, chin, Hips-whether they were man-made or no was immaterial. Lorraine looked over the sleeping woman-could she really be ramming that amount of junk into herself? She could see no needle tracks, none on her slender-marble-white arms, and none between he toes. Then she saw a small bruise and needle puncture on the right si of her neck, but only one. If Elizabeth Caley was injecting herselt the she must be very adept, possibly using her groin. But to move aside robe could wake her, and Godl knows what the implications of that wou
be. Lorraine checked her watch and walked out, leaving the sleeping Mrs. Caley to her Beethoven concerto.
Peters was urfSfire, but Lorraine made it clear that as she had been hired by Mr. and Mrs. Caley to trace their daughter, it would be necessary to see Anna Louise’s room.
“Perhaps you should ask Mr. Caley for his permission/’ she said impatiently.
“I’m afraid Mr. Caley is out at lunch.”
“Well, it’s up to you, Peters, you are capable of making a decision, aren’t you?”
It was no simple room but a vast suite consisting of a bedroom, lounge area and a bathroom bigger than Rosie’s entire apartment. It was like a showcase: unreal, unlived in, nothing out of place. The furnishings were soft shell-pinks and whites, and the king-size bed had a row of white stuffed bears so pristine they were obviously for show rather than ever having been used as toys.
Lorraine slowly looked around; no normal, full-blooded young girl could occupy this room and leave no trace of herself. She sat on the bed and let her eyes take in every corner, as if hoping the room itself would talk to her. She asked herself where she would put something if she wanted to hide it. Was there some kind of hidden safe?
She moved through the suite, her feet buried in the soft thick oysterpink pile of the carpet. She looked under the bed and found nothing, she searched behind the curtains, underneath the scatter pillows and the bears: nothing. She went into the bathroom, loBted inside the huge cabinet, the toilet cistern: nothing. She went back mto the vast walk-in closet and looked through the shelves: nothing, not even a faint smell of old perfume on any of the clothes. They seemed, like everything else, unused and unworn. She was just about to return to Mrs. Caley when something caught her eye. All the shoe boxes had the contents stamped on cards sandals, mules, loafers, brown, black, cream, etc.apart from one; it had the same neat card, but without any description at all; it was blank.
Lorraine eased the box out and discovered it was a designer-made shoe box, the cardboard covered in white silk. She took the lid off and smiled to herself. Inside she found little bundles of letters, birthday cards, mementos, a Valentine card. At last she was finding something interesting, something she could get a fix on. She opened the Valentine card: My one and only Valentine. Love, Polar
Most of the other birthday and little gift cards were from Anna Louise’s various aunts and uncles, her mother and father, but five cards in all, acc°mpanying floral deliveries, were from the same Polar guy. Lorraine
sifted through the box, reading the letters. There were poems and a couple of invitations to college functions.
She found nothing of interest until she had almost emptied the boxthen she saw the condoms, held together with an elastic band. Anna Louise sure as hell had a neater-than-neat complex. Next came out several matchbooks, also tied together, not from any elegant restaurants but from the Viper Room, On the Rox and the Snake Pitall notorious nightclubs. But not until she drew out the pornographic magazines did she sit back, because they were not cheap material bought over the counter but heavy hard-core porn.
She nicked through them and found a folded note Scotch-taped to one of the centerfolds. Written on the note in tiny neat capital letters were the words:
I LOVE YOU, I WANT TO FUCK YOU, I WANT YOU TO WANT ME, I WANT TO TAKE IT UP THE ASS, I WANT YOU TO LICK MY PUSSY UNTIL I COME AND I WANT YOUR DICK IN MY MOUTH. SMACK ME HARD, PLEASE,
PLEASE HURT ME AND KISS ME BETTER.
Lorraine slipped it into her pocket; it was the only thing she took out of the room. She had determined that the childish print was Anna Louise’s by checking it against one of her poems before slotting the
“shoe box”
back into place.
Peters was standing at the bottom of the stairs as she slowly made her way down.
“It is a very beautiful room.”
“Yes, it is. Mrs. Caley is still sleeping, and I really do not think 1 should wake her.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow morning, say about nine.”
“Mrs. Caley does not rise until ten-thirty.”
She hesitated.
“I’ll be here at eleven. Good afternoon.”
Lorraine called Nick from the car.
“Hi, how ya doing?”
“You fancy going clubbing?”
“What?”
“You know the club the Viper Room?”
Nick laughed.
“You’re a bit old, sweetheart, and far be it from me to say, not famous enough. You won’t get past the door.”
“Wanna bet? Pick me up from Rosie’s about eleven-thirty.”
Nick hesitated.
“Shit, Lorraine, I ain’t no dancer, I got one and a half fuckin’ legs. What’s this about? You come across another chick screwing Robert Caley?” “Nope, I just got an insight into our sweet angel Anna Louise. Some guy called Polar was givin’ it to her up the ass. See you later. And, Nick, have a bath, rrflybe a shave, huh?”
Lorraine replaced the cell phone, well pleased. She figured she had now come up with something that no one else had even hinted at knowing. She was buzzing, and fully intended driving straight back to her apartment, and then on to an AA meeting before meeting Nick at the Viper Room. She had no intention of going to see Juda Salina again, but she pulled over as she drove along Doheny Drive, checked the time, and sat thinking for a moment. She couldn’t understand why she felt so drawn to following up Juda Salina, but she didmaybe because Anna Louise had visited her, maybe because she knew intuitively that the woman knew a lot more about the missing girl than she was admitting. If she had the mystic connection she claimed with Anna Louise, maybe she might have some insight into who the character calling himself Polar was… . And as Lorraine was virtually on her doorstep, why not?
Lorraine pressed the intercom from the main apartment entrance. This time she was not about to play games trying to get in or out without permission. A bored voice asked who was calling.
“My name is Lorraine Page, I need to speak with Mrs. Salina.”
“She’s sleepin’ right now.”
“Then wake her up, this is important.”
“What you say your name was?”
The main door to the apartments opeftd and she stepped inside, heading directly down to the apartment alo* the narrow corridor.
Juda slapped Raoul across the face, hard, and he pressed himself against the wall.
“I dunno who she was, and you gotta a lot of freaks comin’ in, all jumpy and sayin’ it’s important. I thought she was a client.”
She pushed at him again.
“I said you check out my appointment book, you don’t let nobody in here unless I say so. Now you’ve gone and let this bitch inwell, I’m not seeing her.”
“I said you was sleepin’ and she said to wake you.”
“Fine, now you tell her I’m sick and not getting up for her or nobody else, you got it?”
The doorbell rang and Juda swayed down to her bedroom, slamming the door shut. Raoul inched open the door, leaving it on the chain.
“Hi, it’s Lorraine Page.”
“She can’t see you, she’s sick.”
“Who are you?” “Raoul, Ah’m her … Ah is her driver.”
“Okay, Raoul, go tell Mrs. Salina that unless she gives me ten minutes, I’m gonna go to the guy who runs these apartments and I’m gonna tell him that your aunt is runnin7 a business out of this exclusive apartment block. Now you go and make sure she understands that I am not moving away from this door.”