Линда Ла Плант - Cold Blood

‘Makes interesting reading. I like the way you skim over the missing years, sweetheart. Readin’ this it’s as if you left the Force with glowing recommendations instead of out the back door on your ass.’

‘Yeah, your section reads pretty good too.’ She banged down the mugs.

Rooney laughed as he read about himself and then he let the folder drop. ‘I tell you Ellen passed on?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘Yep, went to collect her urn. I said to the guy, how can I be sure these are my wife’s ashes? I mean, I know it’s the urn I ordered but you could’ve filled it with any crap.’ Rooney shook his head as he continued. ‘“It’s your wife, Mr Rooney sir, you see her name is on it!” Fucking crazy, whole life and it’s packed into one tiny brass jar this size.’ He indicated with his hands and then rubbed his face. ‘She was in the kitchen, cooking. Her radio was on, always had her radio playing, used to drive me nuts. And she fell, I heard her sort of thump to the floor.’

Lorraine poured water into the percolator. He didn’t seem to be talking to her or to care particularly if she was listening.

‘She was lying on the floor, still with a wooden spoon in her hand, and she had this sort of look of surprise on her face. She was dead.’

‘I’m sorry, Bill.’ Lorraine leaned on the cloakroom door.

‘Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I know I’ve not been easy to live with. I’ve not even cleared her clothes out yet, hadda move into the spare bedroom. It’s like any minute she’s gonna call me, tell me food’s on the table. I dunno what to do with myself, Lorraine, I’m goin’ nuts. The house is quiet, I even miss her goddamned radio.’

‘Don’t you still see all the guys down the station?’

‘No. I did for a while but you know the way it is, once you’re outside it, you’re an outsider. Old drinking bars don’t feel right any more, they all talkin’ about this or that case and I gotta be honest, it’s all high-tech nowadays, you know, everything’s computerized, breeds a different kind of cop.’

Lorraine went to his side and patted his big, wide shoulder. He gripped her hand for a moment.

‘I’m not in the way, am I?’

She felt sorry for him so she punched him lightly. ‘Like you said, we’re not exactly rushed off our feet. I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out for all of us.’

Rosie stormed in.

‘What a place, it’s like a palace, I’ve never seen nothin’ like it... gardeners and servants, and the grounds are like some showpiece, ferns and flowers and swimming pools, two pools, and pool houses, and tennis courts and... Hi, Bill, how ya doin’? I was real sorry to hear about your wife.’

Rooney rose to his feet. ‘Thank you.’

‘You ever heard of a movie star called Elizabeth Seal?’

Rooney nodded. ‘Sure, used to have the hots for her.’

Rosie turned, pointing to Lorraine. ‘See? I told you she was famous. Well, that’s where I just come from, Elizabeth Seal’s home, like some kinda palace.’

Lorraine passed coffee to Rooney and indicated a mug to Rosie.

‘I’ll have one,’ Rosie said as she took off her light coat. ‘They even got an English butler, I’m not kiddin’ and a maid. They left me in the hallway a while until Phyllis came down. It’s enormous, the hall, like you could roller-blade around it. They got some cash, reeks of it, got paintings worth millions, I’d say. These old movie stars sure know how to live in style.’

Lorraine poured Rosie a coffee. ‘Did Phyllis say anything about us working for them?’

‘Nah, she just took the envelope, thanked me for coming round and said she’d see me at the meeting day after tomorrow. Never even offered me so much as a glass of water. To be honest she seemed edgy, know what I mean? Kept looking over her shoulder... Maybe we should have sent it by courier.’

‘Elizabeth Seal, I remember her,’ Rooney said, closing his eyes. ‘She’s originally from New Orleans, starred in a movie called Swamp somethin’ or other, while back. She was real sexy...’

Rosie nodded and began to list Elizabeth Seal’s later films. Lorraine sat at her own desk with her coffee. Rooney frowned as he listened to Rosie, then nodded his head.

‘Yeah, yeah, I remember now, she was all over the papers a while back, somethin’ about a girl — kidnapped, wasn’t she?’ Rooney was pinching his nose, trying to recall what he’d read about the case.

‘I said it made all the press, didn’t I?’ Rosie was nodding and beaming.

‘Her daughter, her body was never found?’ Rooney pondered.

‘Right, and they are still trying to find her. But it wasn’t here in Hollywood, it was in New Orleans. She went missing there, didn’t she?’

Rosie pointed. ‘Yes, disappeared into thin air. She went there with her parents during Mardi Gras. She goes out and is never seen again.’

Rooney chewed his lip and then looked at Lorraine. ‘I think a friend of mine, Jim Sharkey, handled the case here... all comin’ back to me.’

‘Lorraine didn’t even know who Elizabeth Seal is,’ Rosie interjected.

The phone rang, making Rooney jump as he was sitting on the edge of the desk closest to it. Rosie answered, feeling very superior by now.

‘Page Investigations.’ She then commenced a waving pantomime to Lorraine, gesturing towards her desk and her phone. ‘Would you hold one moment and I will see if Mrs Page is free to take your call.’ Rosie covered the phone with her hand and took a deep breath. ‘Elizabeth Caley, line one!’

Lorraine checked her appearance. Her tan shoes looked scuffed so she kicked them off and Rosie was ready with polish and a brush. Rooney would drive her to the Caley house, not only saving money on a cab but, as an ex-captain of the Pasadena Homicide Squad, his presence might add extra weight to Page Investigations Agency.

Rooney had jumped at the opportunity of filling up his empty days and had tracked down a few back issues of the papers that had run the story about the missing Caley girl. He had also used his police contacts to try to get further details from the officers that had been overseeing the case. Jim Sharkey, the officer heading the LA side of the investigation, had not been very helpful; Rooney reckoned he’d have to take him out and give him a night on the town to gain any decent information. But Rooney did have something regarding the private investigators that had already been hired — and it was an impressive list. Lorraine adamantly refused to allow him to begin digging up anything from the agencies as she felt it might all be a waste of time. They didn’t have finances to fritter away; they didn’t have finances, period. She gave herself one final check-over. Rosie finished polishing her shoes and then they heard the blast of a car horn from the street as Rooney arrived to collect Lorraine.

He had made an effort: his shirt looked as if it had come straight out of the wrapping paper, with two large creases adorning the front, and his tie had flakes of cigarette ash, but not the usual breakfast stains, Lorraine was relieved to note.

‘Rosie not coming with us?’ he asked as he pushed open the passenger door of his Hyundai.

‘Nope, no need to overplay it. Just you and me.’

‘Fine. I drove by their place last night, impressive. It’s a mile past the Bel Air Hotel. In fact, it’s so impressive I almost hadda double-check it wasn’t a hotel.’

‘Yep,’ Lorraine said. ‘So, how you reckon we play it?’

Rooney drove carefully, wearing his shades as the mid-January sun was so strong it already felt like summer. ‘Let ’em do most of the talking, we sit and listen. We don’t have to do a hard sell, well, not to begin with. Don’t look good. We don’t want to look desperate.’