Cold Heart

Chapter 10

They had ordered too much food by far, choosing every dish they had wanted to try but never ordered before, so that half-empty cartons of Chinese takeaway littered the kitchen counter and the coffee table. An exhausted Tiger lay flat out, his head almost resting on Burton’s foot. Jake stroked his head just behind his right ear, and the dog growled contentedly, wanting more.

‘You’ve won him over,’ Lorraine said, leaning back. There was about a foot between them on the sofa, but she wanted to be closer, wanted to feel his arms around her again.

‘Good, that makes life easier,’ Jake said, then gestured towards the cartons. ‘Will he eat the rest?’

‘Will he?’ she laughed, but fell silent as he reached for her hand.

‘So?’ he said softly, his fingers laced with hers.

‘So,’ she repeated. The gap was still between them.

‘So,’ he said again, then loosened his hold on her hand to turn towards her. ‘Can I stay?’

Lorraine said nothing, and he began to stroke her arm, circling her slender wrist with his fingers. Then he drew her towards him until she rested against him. ‘Yes, I want you to stay,’ she whispered, nestling against his shoulder. She could smell Chinese takeaway, and sand, and sea, and him, and his chin rested against the top of her head as she slipped one arm around him. He reached down and drew her leg across his lap, gently stroking her calf as he eased off her shoe. It fell onto Tiger, still at their feet, who grunted and got up sleepily to walk a few feet away before he sighed loudly and slumped down, head on his paws, watching them intently with his pale blue eyes.

Lorraine sighed as Burton massaged her leg, his hand slowly moving higher, inching up her thigh. He continued to caress her, running his hand under the high-cut leg of her silk panties to find her with his fingers and feel she was wet for him, her legs parting. He slid from the sofa and began to ease her panties down. She made no effort to stop him, wanting him to do what he was doing and more. She rested her head back against the sofa as he knelt in front of her, opening her wider, and then began to kiss first the inside of one thigh then the other, kissing closer and closer to her until he bent his head and she felt his tongue inside her. Lorraine moaned and lifted her pelvis a fraction, wanting him deeper, and he continued to lick and suck her, pulling her shirt out from the waistband of her skirt so that he could slip his hand over her ribs and under her bra to feel her breasts and her hard, aroused nipples. She came quickly, her body shuddering and her thighs tightening around his head until at last he moved upwards, dragging her underwear off her body, and taking her breasts in his mouth as she moaned with pleasure.

They kissed with passion, he lifted her from the sofa, carried her to the bedroom, kicked open the door, stumbling slightly in the darkness, and laid her on her bed. He stripped off his clothes in front of her, unself-conscious about his nakedness, and he noticed the rows of slender candles at her bedside. He asked where she kept the matches. She watched his lean, muscular body bend forward as he lit each candle in turn. She was about to undress when he turned and knelt on the bed. ‘No. Let me do that.’

He allowed her to do nothing to help him as he took her clothes off, kissing her as he removed each garment, until she lay naked, smiling up at him. He held up his hand and disappeared, returned with her cigarettes and put them on the bedside table before he lay down beside her. He continued to caress her, tracing the scars on her arms with his fingers, and turning her over to see the uneven white tissue of the other scars on her back. He didn’t ask about them, but kissed each one, becoming more and more aroused as he touched her until he eased himself on top and into her with a long, low moan of pleasure.

He made love to her first, a sweetness to his fucking, waiting for her to climax with him, and then they had sex, roughly, but he was an experienced lover, never losing her. There was no fear between them, and no questions asked as they whispered endearments to one another, enjoying the heated sex, their mutual lust. When Jake moved Lorraine to sit astride him, she moaned, arching her body back to bring him deeper inside her, and when she lay beside him he was able to arouse her again, until they lay curled side by side against one another, her back pressing into his chest, their legs entwined. Lorraine was tired, not wanting to speak, and eventually she felt the rhythm of Jake’s breathing change. He was asleep, one arm round her, and she felt cocooned by his presence, lulled by his steady breathing, until her own matched it and she drifted into the perfect sleep of physical exhaustion.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Jake murmured, fully awake as Lorraine stirred, his arm tightening around her.

Tiger had inched his way onto the bed, and Jake turned round as the massive dog pushed him slightly out of the way and rested his head on the pillow.

‘I told you he liked you,’ Lorraine said drowsily, falling back to sleep almost instantly. Jake wasn’t so sure about Tiger’s presence, as the dog’s hot breath on his neck meant that his fangs, too, were close, but he was too tired to argue, and just moved closer to Lorraine. He listened to her soft rhythmic breathing as she had listened to his, and noticed that Tiger’s was now audible too. He had already taken more than his share of the bed, and yet Jake somehow liked the warmth of the big dog beside him, and in fact, he was liking everything about this night — especially the woman cradled in his arms.

He woke with a start to the smell of fresh coffee and the chink of china. The duvet had been carefully tucked around him and he looked at the clock on the bedside table, then relaxed — it was only five. There was plenty of time to take a shower, get dressed and go back to his place to change into fresh clothes. He didn’t look much like a division commander as he joined Lorraine in the kitchen, swathed in a sheet, and she looked up and smiled shyly, indicating the coffee. He liked the fact that she was wearing only a towel, and that her face was devoid of make-up, her cheeks rosy. He went to her and put his arms around her, kissing her neck.

‘Good morning.’

He felt something thump against his bare foot, and looked down to see Tiger wagging his tail. ‘Morning to you.’ He scratched the dog’s ear. ‘Does he always sleep in your bed?’

‘I’m afraid so. I’ve tried to kick him out, but he creeps back in during the night. He’s pretty good — I mean he doesn’t take up too much space, he knows which bit’s his.’

She fetched cups, and cream from the fridge.

Jake washed his hands at the sink, and she was surprised to see him pick up the empty takeaway containers and put them in the trash, then collect the empty cans and all the cartons that were still half full.

‘He had a feast in the night,’ she said, nodding at Tiger. A few noodles were scattered on the carpet, and she picked them up before she tidied the coffee table and carried the dirty ashtray to the bin.

‘You should give that up,’ Jake said, as he ran water into the sink.

‘Yeah, I know.’ She liked standing close to him, liked him being in her tiny kitchen — liked everything about him. She slipped her arm around his waist. ‘You want some toast?’

They sat at either end of the sofa, Lorraine with her legs curled under her, eating thick slices of toast with blueberry jam and drinking a mug of coffee. ‘What time do you have to go to the station?’ she asked.

‘Nine, which means...’ He looked at the clock. ‘I’ll have to leave in an hour or so, unless you want me to go now.’

‘No.’ She leaned towards him, and he reached out with one finger and traced her lips. Their eyes met, and she put down her mug and crawled along the sofa until she was able to rest against him. ‘You feel good,’ she said softly. She eased around to sit between his legs, and he passed her her coffee. As she reached up to take the cup, the sleeve of her robe fell back, revealing the scars on her arm again.

‘You were in the wars at one time,’ he said gently, kissing her.

‘Yeah, I was.’ She felt her stomach tighten, and his hand massaged the nape of her neck. ‘You should know, you read my sheet.’ She began to slide away from him, murmuring she wanted more coffee, but she lit a cigarette, and was angry to see her hand shaking. ‘Suppose you want to know how much I charge, these days.’ It came out tougher than she had meant it to sound.

‘Don’t be so defensive,’ he said lightly, then laughed. ‘Besides, the takeaway cleaned me out of cash.’

‘Yeah, well, I was pretty cheap — price of a drink.’

‘Stop it,’ he said firmly, watching her fall apart in front of him, her hands shaking as she sucked at her cigarette, her whole body tense with anger.

‘You started it,’ she snapped, and he raised his arms.

‘All I said was—’

She stood in front of him, shoving her arm under his nose, showing him the old scars and cigarette burns. ‘You missed these.’

He reached out and gripped her wrists tightly. ‘No, I didn’t. Like I said, I read your sheet, I know all about your self-mutilation, kind of goes with drugs, booze and...’

Lorraine tried to twist free of him, but he got to his feet, refusing to let go of her, then suddenly pinched her cheek, staring into her face. ‘Your mug-shot’s not up to date — where’s the scar on your cheek, Mrs Page?’

Now she wrestled free of him and glared. ‘I told you — plastic surgery. Gimme time and I’ll get round to all the others. Now, why don’t you get out of here and leave me alone?’

‘Why don’t you simmer down?’

She walked towards the bedroom. ‘I’ve got things to do. You know the way out.’

He moved fast enough to reach the bedroom door before her, and dragged her inside, pushing her down on the bed.

‘What’s this? Gonna try some rough stuff on me now, are you? That on my report sheet, is it?’

He slapped her face, and she took it, laughing at him. He stepped back. ‘I’m sorry... sorry.’

‘Don’t be, I’m used to it, I can take it. Come on, you want it again, take it.’

She opened the towel, lying naked in front of him, and he bent forward. For a moment she thought he was going to punch her, but instead he pulled the sheet from under her, so that she rolled sideways, then wrapped her inside it. Her arms were trapped and he held her so that she couldn’t move. ‘Don’t do this, Lorraine...’

‘Give me one good reason.’ She pushed her face close to his, and then the look of hurt in his eyes made her anger evaporate. She couldn’t keep up the act, and she rested against him again, a low sob shaking her body.

‘Sssh,’ he said softly, rocking her in his arms.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry, it’s just... It’s just ...’ She couldn’t continue.

‘Just what?’ he asked, after a long pause.

‘Just that I am scared.’

‘Not of me?’

She shook her head, then bit her lip and nodded. ‘Yeah. I am scared of you, or of what you make me feel.’

‘What’s that?’

She sighed. ‘Oh, please, don’t do this.’

‘Okay. What if I tell you that I am... I’m only interested in this woman I’ve got in my arms right now. I don’t give a fuck about her past, what she did or didn’t do. I’m not dumb enough to think it won’t come up, or that we won’t have to talk about it, but for no other reason than I want to know you, all of you, the good, the bad...’

‘And the ugly,’ Lorraine said, her eyes filled with tears.

‘Sure, yeah, all of it. Anything to do with you I want to know about.’

She didn’t know what to say to him, she just felt like weeping.

‘You’re supposed to say that you want to know everything there is to know about me,’ he said, feeling her begin to relax in his arms.

They made love again, then showered together. Afterwards Lorraine made fresh coffee while Jake scrambled some eggs, and they ate breakfast again side by side on the sofa.

Will you get the autopsy report on Cindy Nathan today?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jake slipped on his jacket. ‘Yes, well, it was supposed to come in today.’ He crossed to her and leaned on the alcove. ‘I think we might have a little talk to Mrs Kendall Nathan this morning too.’

Lorraine nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said, pretending a keen interest. ‘I’d check her out.’ She looked at the clock. ‘I should get dressed.’ There was an awkward pause, while Jake hesitated a moment, then walked to the door. She didn’t want him to go, but if he had no intention of seeing her again, she didn’t want him to stay either. ‘I’ll see you,’ she said, hurrying towards her bedroom.

‘Okay. ‘Bye, Tiger, look after her for me.’ He opened the door, and was half-way through it when he turned round. ‘I’ll be off at about four — you want to take in a movie? ‘

She felt like a kid, knew she was blushing. ‘Yep, I’d like that.’

‘Okay, I’ll call you at your office. Are you going in today?’

‘Yes. I’ve got a few odds and ends to sort out.’

‘You’re not still working on the Nathan case?’

‘Well, not really — there isn’t a case to work on.’

He grinned. ‘You’ll be touting for work.’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, see you later.’ He went out, and she stayed in the bedroom doorway, listening to his footsteps going down the stairs. She crossed to the window and looked out, wanting to see him walking to his car, wanting just to watch him as he unlocked it. He turned, as if he knew she was there, and smiled up at her, stood for a few moments, just looking, before he got in and drove away.

‘Right, Tiger, soon as I’m dressed we go walkies,’ she said, and couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

Lorraine was singing as she walked into the office. Decker was sitting at his desk as she breezed past him with a loud ‘Good morning.’

‘It’s better than you think,’ he said, picking up his notebook.

‘You can say that again, it’s a...’ She was about to say something silly, but instead burst out laughing.

‘My, my, you got out of bed the right side.’

‘I did, I most certainly did.’ She sat in her chair and swung from side to side as he put a memo in front of her. ‘Mr Feinstein... urgent, three messages on the answerphone. I called him back, but he insisted that he could only speak directly to you, and would you call him as soon as you got in.’

‘Maybe they’ve got the autopsy results,’ she said, dialling Feinstein’s number.

‘I doubt it. Two of the calls came in last night, and one at eight this morning.’

Decker went into his section to get coffee for Lorraine, and some bagels with cream cheese, which he had also bought. As he came back with them, Lorraine was tapping her desk with a pen. ‘He won’t discuss it on the phone, wants me to go round to his office. When I asked if it had anything to do with Cindy Nathan’s death, he said it was an entirely different matter.’

‘You want breakfast before you go?’

‘No, thanks, I had scrambled eggs.’ She was already collecting her purse and running a comb through her hair.

‘You’re looking very... relaxed,’ Decker said, cocking his head appraisingly to one side.

‘I am, and I might take off early this afternoon. Can you book me a hairdressing appointment and a manicure?’

‘Got a date?’ he asked jokingly.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.’

‘Ohhh.’ Decker scuttled after her. ‘So I was right!’ Lorraine bit her lip and giggled, more feminine, girlish even, than he had ever seen her.

Lorraine was half out of the door. ‘You just might be,’ she tossed over her shoulder, and then she was gone.

Decker chucked her bagel to Tiger, who caught it and wolfed it down in two gulps. ‘She got laid last night, didn’t she?’ he asked the dog, whose jaws chomped in reply. ‘Well, well, well... I thought he was a pretty hot number myself.’

Clearly today was not one of Feinstein’s good days. He was dishevelled, his tie askew, and he was sweating as he paced up and down the sea of carpet. ‘I’ve had another art expert in, just to make sure, and he confirmed it. They are fakes, every single fucking one of them.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lorraine said lamely, glancing behind him at a large painting on the wall. A letter-opener, made from the top ten inches of a narwhal tusk, protruded from the middle of it, stabbed through the canvas.

‘Not as sorry as I am. Have you any idea how much money I’ve lost? My life savings were in those fucking paintings.’ His voice cracked, and he almost broke down. Then a fit of rage seized him as with a sudden sweep of his arm he dashed pens, blotter, designer candy-dispenser and executive toys off his heroically proportioned desk. ‘That shit Harry Nathan, that two-faced bastard! When I think of everything I did for that son-of-a-bitch, I’m telling you, if he was to walk in right now I’d shoot him — I’d kill the bastard.’

‘What does Harry Nathan have to do with all this?’ Lorraine asked, as Feinstein seized the letter opener from the canvas and slashed at it, using all his strength in an effort to rip the thing apart.

‘I bought all my art through the Nathan gallery. These are fakes, right? So somebody, somewhere, has my paintings, and Harry Nathan has my money stashed somewhere, because I’ve been through every fucking bank account he had and the cheque I gave him never showed up in any of them!’

Feinstein began to hurl pages of bank statements across to her. So much for client confidentiality — as soon as he was personally affected, all he cared about was himself. ‘You trace those paintings, you trace his fucking secret accounts — I’m talking about millions, millions.’

Lorraine watched as Feinstein threw more files across the room, and waited until at last he sat down in his throne-like swivel chair. ‘I will need to ask you some particulars, Mr Feinstein, and we will also have to discuss my fees.’

‘I’ll pay you whatever you want — just get me my paintings. My wife will divorce me? He sank his head in his hands.

‘I’ll need to take some notes,’ she said, opening her briefcase and taking out her pad.

Feinstein flicked a switch on his intercom, which had been flashing on and off since Lorraine had arrived. ‘No calls, Pamela — period.’ He flicked the switch off again, and patted his pockets for his cigar case. He found it, chose one, and ripped off the wrapper. ‘Fucking start with Harry Nathan.’ He snapped on a lighter.

‘That might be a little difficult,’ Lorraine said, smiling.

‘You think this is funny, Mrs Page? I’m down two and half million and it’s fucking destroying me.’ He huffed and puffed at his cigar, then bit off the end and spat it across the room. ‘Find out anything you can on Nathan’s bank accounts. I can tell you some aliases I know Harry used — I want them checked out.’

‘So Harry Nathan actually sold you the paintings?’ Lorraine enquired innocently.

Feinstein looked at her, then at the ceiling. ‘Who the fuck did you think sold me them? Sure, Kendall Nathan handled it, arranged delivery and stuff. Check her out — she wouldn’t take a leak without his permission. The two of them pulled this off together and I want the slimy bitch fucking charged. I bought them through the gallery, right? I had them authenticated there, and Kendall — or somebody who worked for her — hung them for me here. So start with her.’

‘Did Kendall benefit significantly under Harry Nathan’s will?’ Lorraine asked, knowing it wasn’t strictly relevant to the art fraud but unable to resist the temptation to take advantage of Feinstein’s temporarily uncontrolled state to try to find out what he had refused to tell her before.

‘Well, she got the other half of the gallery,’ Feinstein answered. ‘Little pay-off for services rendered, by the looks of things.’

‘But what about the art collection at the house?’ Lorraine went on. ‘Does that come to Kendall now that Cindy’s dead?’

Feinstein was off on another tack. ‘The police asked me for a specimen of her handwriting. I could have given them ten fucking specimens of suicide notes if they had wanted them, but they didn’t ask. Cindy was always threatenin’ to kill herself. She used to write letters to practically anyone she knew about how fucking miserable she was with Harry. What the fuck she thought I was going to do about it is beyond me.’

Lorraine felt another pang of grief for the tormented girl, calling out for help to everyone around her, only to meet with indifference and rejection. But it was interesting that she had apparently written letters mentioning suicide to quite a number of people. Lorraine couldn’t see Feinstein killing her himself, but the idea of him perhaps selling a letter that might help in getting rid of Cindy didn’t seem beyond the bounds of credibility. Or if Cindy had written to Harry’s lawyer for advice on her emotional problems with him, it was not impossible that she had written to one or both of his ex-wives...

‘Does Cindy’s death benefit Kendall?’ she asked again, casually.

‘No way. That’s not the way it works.’ Feinstein had got more of a grip on himself now, had become the lawyer again. ‘Anything Cindy owned when she died will form part of her own estate.’

‘Will that go to her parents? They’re out in Milwaukee somewhere, aren’t they?’

‘They may well be, but as far as Cindy was concerned they could stay and rot there. I have the last will and testament of Mrs Cindy Nancy Robyn Nathan right here in the office, and her family are not mentioned at all.’

Feinstein leaned back in his chair, sensing Lorraine’s acute interest in what he was saying. He permitted himself a leisurely pause and a further pull on his cigar. ‘She left everything to the House of Nirvana Spiritual Center, some fucking bunch of freaks.’ God, Lorraine thought, that was unexpected. ‘Fortunately,’ Feinstein said, with a self-satisfied smile, ‘the tax-saving clause prevents them getting more than her pantyhose. They won’t get a cent of Harry’s estate.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lorraine said. ‘Cindy didn’t tell me anything about the Nathans’ tax affairs.’

‘It’s a pretty standard thing on a large estate that will attract a lot of taxes, particularly when the beneficiaries are all relatively young and in good shape. All of Harry Nathan’s beneficiaries had to survive him by sixty days before the various gifts to them took effect. Otherwise, in the situation we have here, for example, we would be paying tax once on the estate when it passed to Cindy, then again virtually immediately when it passed to her heirs.’

The intercom buzzed again, and Feinstein screamed into it, ‘Pamela, I said no calls — I MEAN NO CALLS.’

‘Since Cindy didn’t live for sixty days, it doesn’t go to her heirs,’ Lorraine said. ‘So who gets it?’

‘The residuary legatee,’ Feinstein said.

‘Who is?’ Lorraine said, wanting to slap him. Lawyers: what a fucking pompous self-important bunch of creeps, she thought. Feinstein got up, turned aside to relight the thick cigar, then turned back to her as he drew on it, surrounding himself in a swirl of blue smoke.

‘Sonja Nathan.’

‘Sonja?’ Lorraine said. ‘She’ll do a bit better now than the couple of keepsakes Cindy said she was going to get.’

‘That would indeed have been pretty much the position if Cindy hadn’t died,’ Feinstein went on, in professorial mode. ‘Nathan’s big assets were the house, his holding in Maximedia, his art collection and his half of the art gallery. There were no substantial cash assets at all — or, at least, not in any accounts I knew about.’ His eyes narrowed with rage at this reminder of Harry Nathan’s perfidy. ‘The will disposed of all of those to Cindy and Kendall, and Sonja would have got anything else not specifically mentioned. He had a substantial film library, for example, at his office, which would have gone to her.’

Lorraine’s mind was racing: she had largely discounted the possibility of Sonja Nathan’s involvement in her husband’s death, but this certainly gave her a motive. True, she had had to kill two people to collect under Harry’s will, but if she had been prepared to kill once, why not twice? She had certainly been expert in covering her tracks — maybe used a professional hitman — as Lorraine had found nothing to connect Sonja with either of the two deaths. However, none of that was Feinstein’s business, and she tried to disguise what she was thinking by changing the subject to more mundane matters.

‘By the way, I promised Jose and Juana I would mention this matter of the savings Nathan took off them and their back salary. It looks like they should contact Sonja,’ she said, but the phone on the desk blinked again, and this time Feinstein, still on his feet, marched to the door and yanked it open.

‘Pamela, what the fuck are you doing out there?’ he shouted.

Lorraine heard whispers passing between Feinstein and his secretary before the attorney walked out, leaving the door ajar. He returned almost immediately. ‘She’s dead.’

Lorraine stood up.

‘Kendall Nathan’s dead.’

Burton looked up from reading the file on Lorraine Page to see Jim Sharkey outside the office door.

‘Is it the autopsy on Cindy Nathan?’ Burton asked.

Sharkey came in with some photographs and put them down on the lieutenant’s desk. ‘These are morgue shots. Hard to tell who it is, but it’s Kendall Nathan. Last night. Initial view is she was trying to torch the gallery and it backfired. Her hair caught light and...’

‘Dear God,’ Burton said, looking at the charred form. If Kendall had killed Cindy as, he had to admit, Lorraine had largely convinced him was likely, and possibly Nathan too, she had certainly got her just deserts.

‘Yeah, pretty horrific way to die. Place went up like a bonfire — lot of white spirit, plus all the canvases, the wooden frames... No one could do anything.’ Sharkey went on to tell Burton that there was an eyewitness, the owner of a shop that shared a back alley with the gallery workshop, who had seen Kendall enter the building and had raised the alarm when he saw the smoke.

Burton’s phone rang, and he picked it up; the receptionist told him that a Mrs Page was on the line. He asked the girl to take a message as he was in a meeting. He replaced the phone. ‘What about Cindy Nathan?’ he asked again.

Sharkey shrugged. It was still only nine thirty and nothing had come in as yet. Burton rocked back in his chair, and told Sharkey to see what he could do to hurry things up, while his eyes moved back involuntarily to the grotesque photographs of Kendall Nathan’s corpse. Well, he figured, there was no more potent motive force to set off a chain of destruction than the cocktail of greed, hatred and lust that had seemed to surround Harry Nathan. Either Cindy or Kendall had killed Nathan, Kendall had killed Cindy, and now Kendall, too, was dead. The nest of vipers had consumed itself, and he was glad to close the Nathan case for good. The evidence could go back to the family now, he thought, recalling the hours of sickening videotapes he had made sure that no one but himself saw, and made a mental note to call Feinstein to find out who was now the legal owner of Harry Nathan’s estate.

Decker jumped as Lorraine banged into the office. ‘Do I have a lot to tell you, darling,’ she said, tossing a rustling deli bag full of wrapped packages onto his desk. ‘Did you eat?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I was waiting for you. God, I’m hungry. What did Feinstein want?’ He went into the kitchen for plates.

When he came back, she said, ‘Cindy was right about the art scam. Feinstein bought over two million dollars’ worth of paintings from Harry Nathan and Kendall and they’ve turned out to be fakes. He wants us to try to trace either the original paintings or the proceeds of sale.’ Lorraine opened a tub of artichoke salad and scooped some into her mouth before continuing. ‘Cindy also wrote stuff about killing herself to Feinstein and a whole bunch of other people — which fits in with what I thought about the note. I had Kendall pretty much down for having killed her, but — you won’t believe this — Kendall Nathan died too last night.’

‘Ding dong, the witch is dead,’ Decker said ironically, arranging bread, bresaola and salad on a serving platter. ‘What happened to her?’

‘The gallery caught fire and she went up in smoke. That’s all Feinstein’s assistant knew.’ Lorraine tore off another hunk of bread, assembled herself a rapid sandwich and began to eat.

‘I’m sure Lieutenant Burton will be able to let you have a few more details,’ Decker said, with mock innocence, and Lorraine flushed scarlet. ‘Remember to ask him when he’s scrambling eggs for you — I mean, next time he calls.’

‘Did he call?’ Lorraine asked, giving up the pretence that her association with Burton was purely professional.

‘Nope, not yet. You want me to call him?’

Lorraine nodded, then changed her mind. ‘No, I’ll call him later. Anyway, two things. Feinstein figures that he bought the real thing from Nathan’s gallery, as he got it properly authenticated there, but what was packed and delivered were fakes. Cindy told me she thought Kendall and Harry were pulling something like that, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t believe her.’ Lorraine shook her head. ‘Poor kid. Nobody took her seriously her whole life.’

‘It’s not your fault she died,’ Decker said gently. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it.’

‘Yeah, I know — part of the job,’ Lorraine said with a wintry smile. ‘But she told me she’d found out that some of the art at the house was fake too. Some Chinese porcelain she thought was antique was apparently knocked out by some company called Classic Reproductions. Check them out for a start.’ She finished her sandwich as Decker made notes of what she had said.

‘I also think we need to trace a guy who worked for Kendall Nathan, a sort of gofer who brought the paintings round and hung them for Feinstein,’ she continued. ‘He’s a young kid — Feinstein couldn’t recall his name, but I remember seeing someone when I was at the gallery so chase him up too.’

‘Will do,’ Decker said, making another note.

‘These are pretty spectacular pieces that have gone missing, so we contact galleries in the US and in Europe and all the big art auction houses. They’re all signed works by well-known modern painters, and all had price tags from three hundred thousand dollars to over two million. Poor old Feinstein really got stung.’

‘I’ll make some enquiries in London,’ Decker said, writing furiously. ‘I think they have a register of hot art works you can have searched.’ He was going to enjoy doing the legwork on this case, he reckoned, schmoozing through galleries, and looking up art-world friends.

Lorraine dug into her briefcase and brought out some loose pages. ‘These are the names of the people Kendall employed. Feinstein paid the wages so the list should be legit — just three people. He said they were hired to remodel frames, do repairs and so on, but they might also have been painting the fakes, so check them out. There’s also a list of regular buyers — get each of them to give you the name of their art adviser. It may mean a lot of people have been stung.’

Decker nodded, excited.

‘Clever bastards,’ Lorraine mused, leaning forward. ‘You can see by the list — all movie people. They rarely sold to a dealer or old money, because they’d recognize a fake so fast. Most of the people they sold to were just rich trash and wouldn’t know if they’d bought a Lichtenstein or a fried egg. They hung up what they’d bought, put up the gold plaque to say what it was, while the original stayed with Nathan’s gallery. He and Kendall were pulling the scam together.’

‘And a very lucrative one,’ Decker remarked.

Lorraine nodded. She frowned, and leaned back in her chair. ‘You know... everything Cindy Nathan said is starting to make sense. I mean about the high-tech security at Nathan’s — I’d say he kept the originals on his own walls.’ Lorraine leafed through the pile of pages of information from Feinstein. ‘There’s also sculpture, ceramics, and some statues that were worth over a million dollars.’

Decker waited, pen poised, as Lorraine thumbed through the pages. ‘According to Cindy, Nathan hadn’t paid the insurance for the contents at the house for quite a while. Why do you think that was?’

‘It’s certainly a weird thing to do,’ Decker said meditatively. ‘Particularly since he wasn’t lax about security.’

‘That’s what I thought. He was paranoid about it, monitored every phone call, every visitor,’ Lorraine said. ‘Supposing what he was worried about wasn’t the paintings being ripped off out of the house, but certain people getting into it — like the people who thought they had the same painting hanging in the guest bath at home? I bet he was careful never to sell to anyone too close to his own social circle.’

‘That’s certainly one explanation,’ Decker said. ‘But what about Kendall getting in and trashing the stuff?’

‘I’ve been trying to figure that one out since the housekeepers told me about it. The only thing I can think is that she discovered then that those paintings weren’t the ones she and Nathan had bought.’

‘What do you mean — he’d sold them again?’ Decker interjected.

Wouldn’t surprise me. I reckon Nathan got two sets of fakes painted. Then he switched the originals again to cut Kendall out.’

‘He was doing a double whammy?’

‘Right. And Kendall found out when she went to the house the night Cindy Nathan killed herself.’

‘But why the hell would she set light to the gallery?’ Decker asked. ‘That was her own stock — she must have known that was genuine, at least.’

‘She’s going to have lost a fucking fortune on the scam — I’d say she torched it for the insurance. Which is why Feinstein wants me to look for secret banks accounts. If Nathan sold half of those paintings he’s got to have millions stashed somewhere.’

‘I’ll start calling round and see if any of them have turned up.’ Decker dangled the last piece of bresaola above his mouth and finished it with an elegant snap.

‘Let me tell you the second thing first,’ Lorraine said. ‘Feinstein told me the exact terms of Harry Nathan’s will.’ And she explained how Sonja Nathan now stood to inherit not only Cindy’s share of Harry Nathan’s estate, but also Kendall’s.

‘Just so long as she lives another...’ Decker glanced at the calendar ‘...four days. East Hampton next stop, right?’

‘Yes, get me another flight. I doubt if Sonja has anything to do with it as she’s been out of the picture a long time...’ She smiled at the pun. ‘But I’d like to talk to her, and besides, Mr Feinstein is paying us top dollar, so we can afford it. All fraud cases take a long time to check out too, so we don’t take on anything else — well, not for a while.’

Decker rubbed two fingers together. ‘Do I get a rise?’

Lorraine shooed him with her hand. ‘Oh, get out of here. But if you come up with something, yes, we’ll split if fifty-fifty because I’ll need you to do a lot of legwork.’

‘Thank you.’ He bowed out, eager to make a start.

Lorraine glanced at her phone, then checked the time. It was after two, and Jake had not returned her call. Suddenly, she felt the depression descend. It was odd, she thought, she’d got a new and interesting investigation, but a date for the movies was more important.

She spent the rest of the afternoon sifting through Feinstein’s papers. When it got to four o’clock and Jake still hadn’t called, she rang and cancelled her hair appointment. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t pick up the phone to Jake himself, and hard as she tried to concentrate on work, she kept thinking about him until she had convinced herself he would never call again.

It was almost six when Decker returned. ‘So far none of the well-known galleries have seen any of the paintings listed, and none have been sold recently at auction. Next I’ll try England, the art-loss register, and then the rest of Europe — and you’ve missed your hairdresser.’

Lorraine attempted nonchalance. ‘This is more important. Now get out, leave me alone.’

‘He didn’t call, huh?’ he said, hovering at the door.

‘No, Deck, he didn’t call. So I’ll take Tiger out, and if you need me, I’ll be at home. Okay?’

‘Okay... but if you need me, I’m around.’

‘Thanks.’ She turned away from him. ‘I really liked him, Deck, but I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut. I just had to tell him about my past — well, some of it...’

Decker leaned on her desk. ‘Listen, if he’s put off you because of that he’s not worth the effort, period. It’s what you are now that counts, and I’m telling you, you’re lovely.’ He watched her fetch Tiger’s lead and leave the office, while he stayed on to make his overseas calls to a list of major galleries that might have sold art works worth over a quarter of a million dollars. The paintings listed didn’t seem to appear on anyone’s records, and the case intrigued him more and more.

Burton was still in his office, wading through investigation reports and trial files. The autopsy report on Cindy Nathan wasn’t passed to him until after five. The cause of death was suffocation by hanging, but she had also tested positive for alcohol and drugs. It was impossible to tell whether she had hanged herself voluntarily or whether someone else had done it.

By the time Burton called Lorraine’s office, the answerphone was picking up calls. Her mobile was switched off and when he tried to call her at home he got another recording. He decided not to leave a message but to go round to the apartment on the off-chance she was there, and he continued to work, clearing his desk. Just as he was finishing, the file on Lorraine caught his eye again. He drew it towards him and leafed through it, rereading everything he had read that morning, then pushed it away. There was something that connected with the Nathan case, something that he had read or been told, that hung like a warning, but he just couldn’t put the pieces together. All he knew was that it had a direct connection to Lorraine.

Lorraine sat on her sofa. She’d made herself an elaborate salad of goat’s cheese and marinated vegetables, but seemed to have no appetite. She’d walked Tiger, fed him, done everything to occupy herself, even played her answerphone messages twice in case she had somehow rewound the first time and missed his call. But there was no call, and no amount of staring at the machine would make a message appear. He hadn’t called, he wasn’t going to call, and she had been dumb to think he ever would call. She thought back to what he had said as he had left that morning: she wasn’t kidding herself, he had asked her if she wanted to see a movie — he must just have decided to skip it. She could easily call him tomorrow, it hadn’t been a firm date, just a casual suggestion, but by the time it got to nine o’clock, she felt worse than depressed, telling herself that no decent guy would want to start anything with her — she wasn’t worth it. She should never have thought he would want to see her again, so she took the phone off the hook, to stop herself staring at it.

It was almost nine thirty when Tiger began to bark frantically. Lorraine, wrapped in a bathrobe, yelled at him to shut up, sure he had only heard the neighbours below, but then the entry phone buzzed. ‘I tried to call you at the office, and here...’ Jake’s voice said.

‘Oh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been really busy.’

‘Is it okay if I come in?’

She pressed the button to release the street door. ‘Sure.’

He seemed embarrassed when she opened the door to the apartment, and paid more attention to Tiger than to her, while she wished she’d kept the appointment with the hairdresser and hadn’t taken off her make-up.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yeah, I got a hamburger at the station, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.’

Lorraine busied herself with the percolator, while Jake continued to mess around with Tiger. Then, suddenly, he was close and his arms slipped around her. ‘I missed you,’ he said quietly, and she turned towards him, putting out a hand to touch his face, feeling that he needed a shave.

‘You did?’ she said softly.

‘Yeah, all day.’

She heard a voice inside her head telling her to say it, admit that she had missed him too, but she broke away to fetch the cups and take the cream from the fridge. ‘I’d given up on you,’ she said flippantly, setting out a tray.

‘I’m sorry.’ He ruffled his hair.

‘Well, you say something about a movie, and then when you didn’t return my call...’ She reached for the cookies, and realized as she turned to him that she was holding the jar tightly. ‘I did call you. Some secretary said you were in a meeting.’

‘I was. I’m sorry — it was crazy all day. But when I called you back, there was just the answerphone.’

‘Hell, you don’t have to explain anything, I’m not interrogating you. It was just...’ She couldn’t keep up the pretence. Her voice sounded strangled. ‘I didn’t think you wanted to see me again, not after, you know...’

He took the jar away from her, and held her close. She clung to him, feeling his heart beating. ‘You are wrenching feelings from me that I never thought I would have again, and I’m scared, so scared...’

He kissed the top of her head and the nape of her neck, then opened the palm of her hand and kissed that too, holding it to his lips. He wanted to say there and then that he loved her, but somehow the words just wouldn’t come. Instead he heard himself asking her if it would be all right if he had a shower.

‘Only if you stay the night,’ she said, wanting to say something more loving, but she was as tongue-tied as he was.

It was not until he was beside her, lying on her bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist and a cup of coffee in his hand that they began to relax with each other. Neither said that they felt totally at ease with one another, that they loved the way their bodies fitted together when Lorraine slipped into Jake’s arms and curled up beside him. They didn’t need words, and she was unprepared for what he said when he spoke.

‘Will you marry me?’

She didn’t think twice, but agreed without hesitation. Then they were stunned by the enormity of what they had just agreed, and there was a pause before they laughed. Lorraine covered her face with her hands.

‘Oh, my God, I should at least have hesitated a moment.’ She rolled away from him, in disbelief at what had just happened.

‘No,’ he said, drawing her closer, as if she belonged with him.

‘But it might take a bit of getting used to,’ she whispered.