Cold Blood (35 page)

Harper said as he tucked a napkin under his chin. Rooney stared disbelievingly at what looked like toy lobsters to him.

“Right, now, you follow me. First you grasp the head between thumb and forefinger of one hand like so …”

Harper demonstrated, dangling it in the air, and Rooney dutifully followed suit. Harper was more interested in his lunch than in talking, saying they should eat in and down their beers before they got to business. So it was at least half an hour before he volunteered any information, and not before his five hundred bucks were stuffed inside his wallet.

“So what you need to know, Bill?”

“What you came up with on the disappearance of Anna Louise Caley.”

Harper shrugged his fat shoulders.

“Sweet diddly-squat!”

“That all I get for five hundred fucking bucks?”

Rooney snapped.

Harper gave a furtive look around.

“Depends on what else you want to know …”

“Any dirt on Robert Caley?”

“No, sir. Well-respected man, got his real estate license, hadda wait awhile even though he is married to Elizabeth Seal, but he didn’t give any bribes, just applied as a resident of New Orleans through the right channels.”

“But he’s not exactly a resident, is he?”

“You kiddin’ me? They got palatial residences, three, maybe even four. Rich as Croesus. Mind you, rumor was while back now, more’n twentyfive years, that she, Elizabeth Seal, and a big tycoon by the name of Lloyd Dulay were an item, and he kind of added to the lady’s fortune.”

“He’s one of the partners in Caley’s casino development, isn’t he?”

Rooney asked.

“Yep, a couple of heavy hitters on his side. I’d say it’ll go through eventually. Just a question of time.”

“You ever hear any rumor ‘bout Elizabeth Caley having a drug problem?”

“What, you kiddin’ me? No fucking way.”

Rooney sighed.

“So, can you give me more details on how your investigation was set up? There was a big reward out and quite a few claimants, right?”

“True, but by the time we sifted through their socalled eyewitness reports it was all bullshit, and a number of ‘em had been set up by a few officers trying to get their hands on the reward”

“What do you think happened to her?”

Harper wiped the sweat from his face.

“The girl picked up some

drifter, they got into an argument and he killed her. There was only one arrest, old jazz player by the name of Fryer Jones, somebody said they’d seen him talking to her out in the Quarter.”

Rooney frowned.

“You had an arrest? But that’s not in any report back in LA.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be, would it? LA is LA, this is New Orleans, and things happen a little bit different down here. You might not even find a report on Fryer Jones in our department either.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody likes to get on the wrong side of that old buzzard. He’s very influential, and we got people here with heavy superstitious minds. Fryer’s real clever at twisting minds to suit himself.”

“I don’t follow, how strong was the case against him?”

Harper shrugged.

“Just someone thought they had seen Anna Louise Caley talkin’ to him. Like he’s not far from the hotel, not in the same kind of district, mind you, but his place is no more than a ten-or fifteen-minute walk away. We got nobody else to verify the eyewitness’s report and he was found floatin’ in the river ‘bout five months back, so like I said”

“You think he was murdered because of his report against this Fryer?”

“Quite possibly, but there again he was a junkie so he coulda easily tripped and fallen into the river.”

“So no charges were brought?”

“Nope. Fryer denied seeing Anna Louise Caley and he had ‘bout twenty witnesses that said he never left his bar that night, so we let him go.”

Harper checked his wristwatch.

“I’m on duty.”

W”

“You think he’d talk to me?”

Harper hitched his pants over his belly.

“Up to you, but I wouldn’t go near his bar alone or at night, it’s kinda off limits. We don’t bother him and he don’t bother us, and like I said, he’s a man I keep my distance from because believe it or not, that voodoo crap really fucks with your head, know what I mean?”

Lorraine felt better after she had taken a shower and two aspirin, and not until she was wrapped in her bathrobe did she check the messages that had come in for her. There were four messages to contact Robert Caley and one to call Lloyd Dulay. She stared at Caley’s name, wanting to call him but afraid even to hear his voice, so she called Lloyd Dulay, who was not at home. She was just about to lie down on the bed when there was a rap at her door.

“It’s me and Bill,”

Nick called.

She sighed, not wanting to see them.

“I was just going to take a shower,”

she lied as she opened the door.

“Go ahead, I’ll join you.”

Nick grinned.

Rooney was not amused. He was hot and sweaty, his feet felt like swollen balloons, and he sat on a straight-backed chair as Nick slumped down on the single bed.

“Well, you can both hang on until we’ve talked a few things through,”

Rooney said with a touch of irritation.

“Right, this cop had some very interesting information.”

“I hope so, you coughed up five hundred dollars for it.”

Nick yawned, his face twisting as he rubbed at his leg.

“Christ, I hate this citymy leg is driving me nuts, it’s the damp.”

Rooney flicked out his notes.

“Can we get down to business?”

The phone rang. Lorraine looked at Nick.

“Can you get it? If it’s Robert Caley, say I’m not here, and if it’s reception, will you tell them to hold all calls?”

“Sure.”

Nick reached over and picked up the bedside phone, pleased by the fact that she didn’t want to see Caley.

“Mrs. Page’s room.”

“I interviewed this cop, right?”

Rooney went on,

“And he told me that the bastards down here had made an arrest.”

Nick gestured to Lorraine.

“She’s right here.”

He covered the phone.

“Who is it?”

she whispered.

“Something to do with Tilda Brown, it’s the cops.”

She pulled a face and took the phone, inching onto the bed beside Nick.

“Lorraine Page speaking.”

She listened, then her body straightened.

“Yes, I did, today, yes. I’m sorry?”

Rooney and Nick were all ears; just by her body language they knew something was up.

“Yes, of course, I’ll come right away. Oh, then I’ll wait outside the hotel.”

Lorraine replaced the receiver.

“Tilda Brown hanged herself sometime this afternoon. They want to interview me, they found my card in the pocket of her robe, they know I was there this morning”

“Shit,”

Nick said softly.

Lorraine was really shaken, pressing her hand to her forehead.

“They’re sending a squad car… . Oh, shit, goddamn it! The stupid, stupid girl.”

Nick reached for her hand.

“Come now, get yourself together. If you want I’ll come with you.”

esa

She eased away from him.

“No, no, stay here, talk over ever}* . we’ve come up with. Oh, God! Why did she go and fucking do this, \n^,

“Come on, you t&n’t blame yourself, Lorraine,”

Rooney interjeq ^’

Lorraine headed for the bathroom and then turned.

“No? I f ‘ grilled her, I even showed her that fucking picture of Anna Louise at), ^ I didn’t have anything to do with it? Who you kidding?”

She slamme >”’ bathroom’s inadequate louvered door. e

Nick looked at Rooney.

“Maybe go to my room, leave her alone. while.”

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Rooney sighed.

“Okay, but I need a beer or something, this h^ wearing me to shreds.”

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“I’ll be right with you.”

Nick waited for the door to close before L up and walked to the bathroom; he didn’t knock, but walked straigl?

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Lorraine was standing shaking, gripping the washstand with both ha , ‘ tears streaming down her face. She didn’t even have the energy to tel]i. ‘ to leave, and he prized her hands loose, then drew her close, holdiik, tightly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Sshhh, don’t fight me, you just let it all out. It’ll make you L whole lot better, believe me, I know.”

She clung to him, and he scooped her up in his arms and carrieij, into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, and as he had so w^ to do earlier, lay beside her, holding her in his arms, and exen kissi% gently as she wept. She needed him, though she didn’t want him as L.

as he wanted her, but even being close to her gave him hope, still when she leaned on her elbow and looked into Mrface.

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when she leaned on her elbow and looked into W-face.

“You’re one of a kind, you know that, Bartell””

“Yeah, it’s been said before.”

She smiled, and he wiped her cheek with his finger.

“That’s m\ . Now, do you want me with you?”

“No, I’ve got to straighten myself out, I’ve made enough mistal^. ready, Nick.”

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She took him by surprise when she cupped his face in her hands , kissed him on the lips, sweetly and platonically, but he was thrown! turmoil nonetheless. He was wise enoughand had enough )Jf controlnot to push things any further, but the kiss had given him ^ hope than ever before.

“You got me, Mrs. Page, you know that, don’t you?”

She drew away from him, already disciplining herself to get mo( and face the police. ‘

“Did you hear what I just said?”

She turned and looked at him in the way he adored, her head ons

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side and her hair falling across to hide her scar.

“Maybe, Nick, I ain’t worth having!”

He laughed as he sauntered to the door, and walked out without looking back.

“I’ll be the judge of that!”

By the time Lorraine was dressed, two little white message envelopes had been posted under her door. She picked them up as she left for the waiting patrol car.

“I was here this morning with a group,”

Rosie said to the young man who had taken over the later shift at the Voodoo Museum; he seemed graceless in comparison to the smiling young woman who had been at the desk earlier.

“If it’s lost property we ain’t found nothing today,”

he said, without even looking up from his newspaper.

“It isn’t. I want to make inquiries about a video,”

Rosie persisted, passing over the Page Investigations Agency card.

“This isn’t a video store, ma’am.”

He didn’t even glance at the card.

“I know that, but it’s a particular video, an old film called The Swamp, starring Elizabeth Seal as Marie Laveau, and none of the video stores have it. I know the film was made, I’ve seen the portrait of Miss Seal as”

The paper snapped shut.

“I think you must be mistaken. Elizabeth Seal is white, Marie Laveau was colored. If you want another guided tour …”

His eyes bore into Rosie, frightening her, but she didn’t back off.

“They use makeup, you know, and …”

“And you didn’t hear me right, ma’am, you got the wrong information. And if you don’t want a tour, then you should leave.”

“Thank you, I’ll have another tour.”

He sullenly took her money for another tour ticket and ignored her as she moved past him and said she would wait for a guide inside. She stood in the dim, scented room for some minutes, but no one joined her. She waited on, her heart beating. Then came the soft drumbeat, and she wondered if the young man had turned on a tape.

Rosie stepped into the hallway and looked at the portraits of the queens, but it was Marie Laveau’s image she saw constantly in her mind’s eye, the glowing face, the eerie, pitch-dark eyes. She physically jumped when she heard someone behind her, not the young guide but a tall, austere-looking black man with iron-gray hair. He wore a smart gray suit

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and a white shirt with a stiff collar and tie. He held Lorraine’s card in one large, finely made hand.

“Are you Mrs.’ Lorraine Page?”

His voice was quiet and deep.

“No, I am her assistant, well, partner, my name is”

“Please come through,”

he said, gesturing to the room at the back.

Rosie was so scared she was hyperventilating. She was sure it was much darker than it had been, and the drumbeat was becoming unnerv-

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“What precisely are you investigating?”

Rosie shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“Well, that is really a private matter, but we have been hired by Mr. and Mrs. Robert Caley.”

“What for, precisely?”

the man asked, keeping his eyes fixed on her face.

“Er, they had a daughter, her name was Anna Louise Caley and she disappeared eleven months ago from here. Well, not exactly here here

1 but from her hotel in New Orleans.”

“Mmm, yes, I recall reading about it,”

his deep voice rumbled.

“So what has this film to do with … Caley, you said?”

“Yes, it’s just that Mrs. Caley used to be Elizabeth Seal.”

“Ah, yes, so she was, the film star, a very beautiful woman.”

Rosie felt more confident and stepped closer.

“Her first film was called The Swamp and there is a painting in her home, almost Identical to the portrait of

“

“Queen Marie Laveau.”

^

“Yes. And we, that is Mrs. Page and I, and CBtain Rooney who is also part of the agency, well, we would like to see the film.”

“Why?”

Rosie licked her lips.

“Er, I don’t know, to be honest, it’s just that we are trying to piece together backgrounds, that sort of thing, and it was such a coincidence, me being here and seeing the painting, that’s all really.”

“Mmm, that’s all. But you see, it isn’t quite as simple as that.”

“I’m sorry?”

He leaned forward, the candlelight illuminating his handsome features.

“Let me try to explain something to you. Queen Marie is a very special part of our heritage. We are proud of her, we worship her, she brought hope and faith when there was none. We took great exception to this film you referred to. It was a betrayal of our faith, a typical Hollywood cornmercial vehicle that was a distortion of the facts. This film is dismissed, disowned, and no one in New Orleans, in the state of Louisiana, will acknowledge its existence.”