Линда Ла Плант - Cold Blood

Elizabeth Caley began to move towards one of the gilt and glass-topped tables displaying one photograph after another of her pretty daughter — as a debutante at one of the Mardi Gras balls, at a special surprise birthday, at a film premiere. Elizabeth seemed almost to be dancing in front of them, then she traced one small gilt frame with her finger, tears brimming and then spilling down her perfectly made-up cheeks.

‘I will not give up, I cannot give up.’

Rooney could have fallen to his knees, a fan for life. Lorraine simply wished that Mrs Caley would stop the dramatics and talk straight so that they could discuss how long they would be given to work on the case. Throughout Mrs Caley’s monologue, she had been calculating how much she could charge to keep three of them on the case, including travel expenses and meals, and as they would obviously have to go to New Orleans, they would have hotel expenses, car hire, etc.

Lorraine coughed to draw Mrs Caley’s attention. ‘Mrs Caley, if you wish Page Investigations to begin work, can we discuss finances for a moment...?’

Mrs Caley spun round on her high heels to face Lorraine. ‘Of course I want you to begin, why do you think I’ve asked you to my home? I want to hire you, I want you to find my daughter, haven’t I made that abundantly clear?’

Lorraine licked her lips. ‘Good, but we must discuss what contracts you have with other private investigation agencies, as they are a little territorial and—’

‘They’ve done nothing! It’s been eleven months, eleven months, una I don’t cure who we’ve hired. Not one of them has found a single clue as to where she is.’ She was giving an Oscar-winning performance, her voice rising as she became more and more emotional. She picked up one of her daughter’s photographs and clasped it to her chest. ‘She is a sweet, innocent girl, she could not just disappear, she must be somewhere. Someone is doing this to me, it’s breaking my heart.’

Lorraine looked at the bedazzled Rooney, wishing he’d help her. She could tell that Mrs Caley was building to a climax and could well collapse on them. Then they’d have to return, maybe even go through this a number of times before they had an agreement on paper. Then, to her consternation, the doors banged open.

‘Elizabeth, Elizubeth!’

Mrs Caley turned towards the door, holding out the photograph of her daughter in a theatrically helpless gesture.

‘She is alive, Robert, I know it, she is alive. I won’t give up, I won’t give up.’

Robert Caley didn’t even glance at Lorraine as he gestured to Phyllis, hovering behind him in the doorway. ‘Phyllis, help Elizabeth to her room, please, straight away.’

‘No, Robert, I won’t go. I need to talk to these people, they will trace Anna Louise.’

Robert Caley was like a movie star himself. His face was etched with deep lines, made more prominent by his suntan, and his thick black hair, with two wings of grey at the temples, gave him an austere quality that matched the steel of his controlled voice and piercing dark blue eyes.

‘Please, Elizabeth, go to your room. It is pointless to upset yourself like this, to put yourself through this over and over again.’

Elizabeth placed the photograph back in its position like a naughty schoolgirl. She pouted petulantly. ‘They are highly qualified, darling. At least give them a chance... give Anna Louise a chance.’

Robert Caley studied the carpet for a moment, and Lorraine detected that he seemed to be desperately trying to control his anger. Then he looked up and stared coldly at her.

‘My wife, as you can see, Mrs Page, is distraught. I think it is better if you leave. At the moment we have more than enough investigation agencies, along with the police, attempting to trace my daughter without needing to hire anyone else. This is a waste of your time.’

Elizabeth Caley confronted her husband, her hands clenched tightly. ‘I want them to begin as of this afternoon, Robert, I insist. Mrs Page has daughters of her own, she knows what it is like for a mother, and she has come very highly recommended...’

‘Really? I think all Mrs Page is interested in is ripping you off, Elizabeth. This has got to stop. I will not have you bringing these people into the house.’

Lorraine stepped forward. ‘Excuse me, Mr Caley.’

He turned that cold, arrogant stare on Lorraine again. ‘No, you excuse me, Mrs Page, because I don’t know what cock-and-bull story you have fed my wife but I do not think you are in any way qualified to assist us in tracing my daughter. We have had enough of journalists, enough of blood-sucking people calling themselves private investigators, people who care only for what they can milk out of us, people who are no better equipped to find Anna Louise than...’

‘Excuse me,’ Lorraine blurted out again.

‘I will not allow my wife to be subjected to yet another—’

Lorraine interrupted him. ‘Yet another what, Mr Caley?’

He took a deep breath, looked away for a moment and then turned back to Lorraine. ‘Sham, Mrs Page, and I think you are perhaps the lowest we have sunk to date. You see, I know all about your agency, if you can call it that, just as I am aware of your record for drunkenness. You were thrown out of the police for shooting a young and, I believe, innocent boy. You are an alcoholic with no experience whatsoever in private investigation work. And as for being a mother! You have had no contact with your daughters since you were divorced. Perhaps the agencies hired to trace my daughter have been incapable of gaining results but they were very swift and very informative regarding you. I would therefore be grateful if you would leave my house and not come back.’

Lorraine felt the thick-pile carpet rising up and choking her. She turned and picked up her purse. Rooney, who had sat like a silent Buddha, now stepped forward, his face flushed red.

‘Mr Caley, I am Bill Rooney, and before you start in on me, if you have also done some background work on me, then you’ll know I recently retired from the police. I have started working with Mrs Page...’

‘Just leave, please.’

‘Oh, I’ll leave, Mr Caley, but not before I set a few things straight. Mrs Page may have been an alcoholic but she isn’t now. And whatever she did, she’s paid hard for it. But what she’s doing now is what she was good at, and I should know because I worked alongside her for long enough. She’s got more street knowledge, more intuition than any of the officers I’ve ever worked with, and she’s better than any hired dick you could find in or outside LA. If your daughter’s alive, she’ll find her, and without ripping you or your wife off, because first and foremost Lorraine Page is a professional. Thanks for the iced water.’

Rooney’s face was even redder as he turned with his hand out for Lorraine. She had never needed it so badly since she’d quit drinking. They would have both walked out there and then had not Elizabeth Caley caught hold of Lorraine’s arm.

‘No, please don’t leave, please...’ She was not acting now, she was for real, and up close her youth had flown, leaving her face etched with pain. ‘Find my baby for me, please. Dear God, I beg you to help me, please.’

Rooney tried to ease Lorraine out of the room, as Mrs Caley turned pleadingly to her husband.

‘Don’t send them away, you can’t send them away. Don’t let me give up hope, don’t do this to me, please.’

Robert Caley deflated, refusing to look at any one of them. He had lost all his anger and now he sounded simply tired out. ‘You’re hired for two weeks, all expenses paid, whatever you need, whatever your charges. If you wish to talk with me, I can be contacted at my office during office hours. Phyllis, please take Elizabeth for a rest and then draw up whatever contract is required.’ He walked away.