Cold Blood (24 page)

“This is the chick that’s missin’, right? An’ I’m not gonna get involved with any cops, that’s got nothin’ to do with the action”

“I’m not a cop, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna hit on her family for Tony, she owed him. I don’t give a shit about anythin’ else.”

“I don’t think anyone knows who she is, they got a lotta this kind of material, know what I mean?”

“I’m trying to, I just want to do the deal an’ get out of here.”

Nick eased out the bag as a taster and Frankie flicked a furtive glance in both directions. He drew his jacket forward and exposed a newspaper with a brown manila envelope tucked inside.

Nick gave Lorraine a wink as he got back into the Jeep, starting it up straightaway. ^

“Let’s put some distance between me and my mtw pal Frankie.”

He swerved into the traffic with a screech of his balding tires and they headed down the strip. He eased the manila envelope out of his denim jacket.

“Oh, my God,”

Lorraine said, as she took out the photograph.

“You said it, blew me away. Part of a private collection they got up in the office. You were right, I was wrong.”

Nick lived in a house similar to Rosie’s, but even more dilapidated. His apartment was a chaotic mess, the bed unmade and dirty dishes stacked in the sink.

“Guess the place needs a woman’s touch. Problem is, although I get a lot of chicks up here, none of them stay long enough to vacuum.”

He wasn’t apologizing, he obviously didn’t care. Out of the corner of her eye Lorraine saw him open the fridge and take out a bottle of iced vodka. He took a small thick glass, filled it once, knocked it back and refilled it twice, each time downing the contents in one go and letting out a satisfied

“Ahhhh.”

Everything in her wanted to join him in the neat ice-cold vodka. Her body was shaking.

“Nick …”

she said softly.

“Yep? Coffee’s on, won’t be long.”

He came and stood over her as she sat on a chair and gently patted her head. It was a sweet, affectionate gesture, and she had to swallow hard because she felt herself wanting to weep.

“How you doing?”

“OkayIt was hardly audible and he squatted down in front of her, resting on his old beat-up cowboy boots.

“You want to talk?”

Her voice was husky.

“I want a drink, it’s all I can think about.”

“

‘Sokay, I can go over to the fridge and pour you one right now, but that would be dumb.”

She bent her head.

“Just gimme a drink, Nick.”

He stood up, hands on his hips.

“You want one, you get it! You get up off your ass and the bottle is there in the freezer compartment, go on.”

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 coffeepot, 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 blond 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, it was more like looking 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, whaPfiappens, 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 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 farther 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 subjecAst.

“Right, we should talk over what went down Wnight, 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 highheeled 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, nol like before; he knew her need for him and a drink 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

154 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 the 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,”

Lorraine 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 blond girl about the same age. They came together, got smashed and royally screwed. He didn’t know any of the kids fucking 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 socalled 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 socalled 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.” k

In the Jeep she stroked Tiger’s head while the dog tried to lick her face.

“I think we really bonded, Nick, he’s a real character.”

“Yep, he is.”

Nftfk 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 torn 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 bonus.”

Lorraine rubbed Tiger’s head and then grabbed her high heels.

“G’night, talk tomorrow. Oh, Nick, you won’t give this information to Agnew, will you?”

His smile wiped fast.

“No, but is it okay if I collect my paycheck?”

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. HeŤrubbed Tiger’s head.

“Dangerous lady, that one. Gets to the core, understand?”

Tiger licked his face.

“No, I guess you don’t.”

If

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 take 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 and 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 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 to sleep 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.

4*

CHAPTER

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Lorraine stood in front of the case chart pinned up on the wall V in the office,

“Day 4”

underlined. It was only seven-fifteen in the morning, and she’d been there since six. Bre hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep but she wasn’t feeling tire<^ on the contrary, she was buzzing.

Marked under her name were the names Robert Caley, Elizabeth Caley, torn Heller (the freckle-faced student from UCLA), Noel (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 Noel 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?” 1

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, Noel, 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.”

Noel 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.