Линда Ла Плант - Cold Blood

He slapped her face, and she picked up the brush and swiped him across the cheek. He stepped back. ‘My, that was a nice left hook, but then you’re a tough lady, aren’t you? And you have the scars to prove it. A whore, a drunkard... I should have asked for a blood test before I fucked you, shouldn’t I?’

‘You bastard!’ she snapped.

‘Am I? And what are you? At least I know with someone as young as Tilda she’s unlikely to be diseased.’

She kicked him hard in the groin. He gasped and clutched at himself, leaning forward. ‘I can also take care of myself, Mr Caley. You want to say shit to me, you’ll get it back, which is something else maybe a young innocent kid couldn’t do. Now look at the doll.’

He was wincing with pain, still bent forward, as she flipped open the towel to show the voodoo doll.

‘Do you know if Ruby Corbello made this for your daughter?’

“Course I fucking don’t, it’s disgusting!’

‘So are you. I found this in Tilda’s bedroom, hidden in a tennis racquet case.’

He turned back to sit on the bed. ‘Anna Louise wouldn’t do something as sick as that. Her mother, maybe. In fact, if you know who made it I’ll order one for Elizabeth.’

‘You think it’s funny?’

‘No, I don’t, I don’t know what the hell to think, and with this burning fucking pain in my testicles it’s tough thinking about anything right now. What the hell did you kick me in the nuts for?’

Lorraine rewrapped the doll. ‘You’ve got away with stealing from her trust fund. You’re a thief, Robert Caley.’

He laughed. ‘Bullshit, I’ll be able to pay every cent back. I’ve even offered to, but Lloyd Dulay wouldn’t hear of it, and it’s his cash, Lorraine. So who’s stealing from whom?’

‘You stole Tilda Brown’s innocence.’

He threw his head back, laughing. ‘Did I? So what was that you told me about her and Anna Louise getting gang-banged at some club? Lorraine, you are thrashing around trying to find something, anything, to prove that I am... what? What are you trying to prove I am?’

‘A thief.’

He laughed. ‘I admit it. Right, what next? Oh, of course, a child molester, right, that’s the second thing, anything else?’

‘A murderer, maybe.’

He straightened up, still nursing himself between the legs. ‘Who did I murder, Lorraine? Anna Louise, is that what you are trying to prove?’

She folded her arms.

‘I didn’t kill my daughter, I know no reason why she disappeared off the face of the earth unless it was to get away from her fucking mother, like I am doing. I admit I used Anna Louise’s trust fund, but I had every right, I had given the best years of my life to Elizabeth, and to her daughter. I looked out for that child from the day she was born, and I had to be satisfied with that bitch doling out money as if I was a hired hand. It was me that built up her properties, worth fuck-all when I found them, now valued at millions. It was me that covered for her drinking, her drugs, me that saved her life, not once but Christ knows how many times, and I was never shown an ounce of respect. I have been cross-questioned, interviewed, interrogated by cops and people like you, that in the end are all pursuing the investigation for money. But you, you win the prize. You’re so desperate for that one million bucks my crazy wife offered, you will try anything, and I know why. You have only five more days to crack this case. You even fucked me to get more information. You, sweetheart, are the lowest of them all. Now get your stinking piece of evidence and get out of here before I throw you out on your ass, you whore!’

He was so angry he was panting, but she didn’t back down, instead she smiled at him.

‘Takes one to know one, Robert.’ She threw a right upper cut, and he stepped back and let go with a body punch that made her gasp and totter backwards, but she pushed herself off the wall, ready to go at him again. She walked into his fist, catching her right eye. He froze, not wanting to brawl with her, and that was his mistake. Lorraine brought her knee up, crunching him yet again, and then she punched him in the face so hard she felt her knuckles split open on his teeth. He sank to his knees, unable to make a sound.

She picked up her briefcase, shoved the doll inside and snapped it closed. She tossed twenty bucks on to his moaning, huddled figure. ‘That’s for the tea.’

She was shaking her fist — it hurt her more than his punch to her eye. As she opened the door, the telephone rang. She hesitated and picked up the nearest extension to the door.

Rosie was so excited she was gasping. ‘We got lucky. Nicky Gordon picked up a girl outside the staff exit of the hotel, he had just dropped off a regular.’

Lorraine interrupted Rosie, partly because Robert Caley was slowly getting to his feet, and partly because she was eager to know where the luck came in.

‘Where did he take her?’

‘Tilda Brown’s.’

Rooney laid the steak over Lorraine’s eye, which was now really swollen.

‘Hey, if you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.’

Rosie was bandaging her knuckles, which were swollen, the skin split open. ‘You might have a cracked knuckle, Lorraine,’ she said.

‘Bullshit, it’s okay, I’m okay.’ Lorraine struggled up and wove to the mirror, she took one look and felt as if she was going to faint; her right eye was closed and already dark bruising was showing above and below.

‘Well, I look really good, didn’t think it was this bad. Anyway, let’s not waste any more time.’

Rosie flipped open her book. ‘Reason he never reported it, or has never been questioned, is because he thought the girl was staff and she wore a head-scarf and dark glasses. She came out of the staff entrance as he dropped Mimi Lavette, a fifty-year-old chambermaid, off for the late shift. He was doing a U-turn when we think Anna Louise waved him down, gave him the address, and got impatient with him when he had to double-check it. He got all nervous, even talking to me, just for the so-called reward. You were right, he hasn’t got a taxi licence, and judging from the look of the vehicle I’d say that it’s not taxed or insured neither.’

Lorraine pressed the steak to her eye as the telephone rang. Rosie answered, told the caller to hang on, and for a moment Lorraine thought it might be Robert Caley, but it was the cop, Harris Harper. He couldn’t see Rooney until the morning.

Lorraine suggested they leave visiting Fryer’s bar until the following day. Returning to Tilda Brown’s home had to be their first priority.

Rosie remained in the car as Rooney and Lorraine went up the steps and rang the bell which echoed through the dark hallway. Lorraine peered in through the glass as Rooney rang again. A maid turned on the hall lights and opened the door.

‘I need to speak urgently to Mr or Mrs Brown.’

“Fraid they are not at home.’

‘When will they be back?’

‘They is dining with friends.’

Lorraine, Rooney and her driver François sat in the car for over an hour. At last they saw the headlamps of a car heading towards them.

‘Here they come, I hope.’

They watched the car slow down and swerve past them to take a left-hand turn into the drive. Lorraine dug François in the back. ‘Go after them, we don’t want them to refuse us entry.’

Mr and Mrs Brown turned, startled, as Lorraine got out of the car.

‘Mr Brown, I’m so sorry, but I need to speak to you.’

Half an hour later, Mr and Mrs Brown were still adamant that Tilda, on the night of 15 February, had remained in her room watching her own TV. She had not eaten with them but had had a tray sent up at 7.30. They had both gone up to say goodnight at 10.30. She had not left her room, no one had called by and no one had telephoned. All this had been stated over and over many times and Mr and Mrs Brown were tired and becoming irritated.