Cold Heart

Chapter 5

Lorraine walked up Beverly Drive, looking for Kendall Nathan’s gallery. Although the location was a notch below the premier sites on Rodeo Drive, the smell of wealth and luxurious living was everywhere in the air. Lorraine passed store after store selling designer clothing, shoes and leather goods.

The neighbourhood was also full of art-related retailing — jewellery and antique stores, and Gallery One was next door to a shop selling antique Oriental kilims. The gallery itself had a plain white store-front, with its name in hammered metal letters, and large, plain plate-glass windows behind which were displayed a sculpture and a couple of star attractions from the latest exhibit.

Lorraine walked a hundred yards down the block and turned up the back alley between Beverly Drive and Canon to have a quiet look at the back of the premises before Kendall Nathan was aware of her presence. The parking area belonging to the gallery had been walled off behind high wooden gates. There was, however, a gap of about half an inch between gate and post, and, squinting through it, Lorraine could make out the paintwork of a parked vehicle: it was cream and black, the same colours as the jeep Jose had seen parked near the house on the day Nathan died. As she stepped back, she noticed a young black guy walking towards her up the alley. He was looking right at her, almost as though he thought he knew her, but he dropped his eyes as soon as she met them and passed her without a word.

Lorraine walked back to the front of the gallery and in at the door, triggering an entry buzzer. She stood in the centre of the large, light, virtually square room. The ceiling had rows of spotlights positioned to show off the paintings, hung strategically around the walls. The canvases were mostly unframed, and one wall displayed the works of only one artist, landscapes in bright acrylics. On another wall were oblong canvases, all of block colours, deep crimson, dark blue, black and walnut, all with an identical white and silver flash of lightning in the right-hand corner.

The only furniture was a desk made of what seemed to be aluminium, with riveted legs, and an uncomfortable-looking chair to match. There was a leather visitors’ book — open — a Mont Blanc pen and a leather-bound blotter, all neatly laid out next to a telephone.

‘Can I help you?’

Lorraine turned, and for a moment her eyes were unable to distinguish anyone: the cross-beams of the spotlights made it difficult to see after coming in from daylight. She couldn’t work out where the voice had come from.

‘Or would you prefer to be left alone?’

Lorraine smiled, her hand shading her eyes. ‘No, not at all. I wanted to speak to Mrs Kendall Nathan.’

‘You already are.’

Kendall Nathan was wearing a simple black almost ankle-length cotton dress with a scoop neckline and long sleeves. Her right wrist was covered in gold bangles, and she wore a gilt chain-link belt, and a large amethyst ring on her third finger. She held out long, thin fingers, which were bony to the touch, but her grip was strong.

‘Lorraine Page.’ They shook hands.

‘Did someone recommend that you...?’

‘No, I’m not here with regard to your paintings.’ She laughed lightly, feeling slightly embarrassed, partly because as Kendall was standing in the shadow she couldn’t see her face clearly. Kendall Nathan walked back into the main gallery and Lorraine went after her.

‘I’m afraid you won’t find much to interest you here in that case,’ Kendall said mockingly, moving lightly round the desk like a dancer. Now Lorraine could see Harry Nathan’s second wife well. She was different from how Lorraine had remembered her at the funeral. There was something simpering in her manner, and the narrowness of her body was accentuated by one of the longest faces Lorraine had ever seen.

Kendall had a wild mop of frizzy, curly hair down to her shoulders, hennaed a reddish colour, which made her olive skin tones slightly yellow. Her eyes were dark, almost black, sly and hooded, and although large, were set too close together on either side of a long, pointed, Aztec-looking nose. Her small mouth was tight and thin-lipped and, even in repose, bore the hint of a snarl.

She smiled. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Page? I’m rather busy.’ Kendall obviously did not recognize Lorraine from the funeral: she had been far too concerned with her own performance to take note of who had attended. She eased into her uncomfortable chair and crossed her legs.

Lorraine looked down — even the woman’s feet, in leather sandals, were long and thin. Lorraine perched on the edge of the desk. This annoyed Kendall, who recoiled, angling her body away.

‘I’m working for Mrs Nathan.’

The eyes flicked up, then down.

‘Mrs Cindy Nathan,’ Lorraine explained. She had noticed that the woman didn’t like hearing the words ‘Mrs Nathan’ unless they referred to herself. ‘Mrs Nathan, as you are aware, was arrested for the murder of her husband, your ex-husband.’

‘Yes, I knew that,’ Kendall said briskly. ‘Are you a lawyer?’

‘No,’ Lorraine said. ‘I’m a private investigator.’ She took out her card and handed it to the other woman, who looked carefully at it, then set it down on the desk.

‘Well, I’m so sorry, I really can’t help you,’ Kendall said, with a quick, false smile.

‘You haven’t really heard what I’d like to discuss,’ Lorraine pointed out.

Kendall pushed up her sleeve and looked at her Rolex. ‘I have an appointment shortly, Mrs Page. This will have to be brief.’

‘Would you mind telling me where you were on the morning Mr Nathan was shot?’ Lorraine asked. ‘Cindy says you told her you were at home.’

‘I was at home,’ Kendall said, her eyes scanning Lorraine as she wondered what else Cindy had told her.

Was anyone with you?’

‘No — not unless you count my cats. I had nothing whatsoever to do with Harry’s death, though, so if that’s what you’re getting at, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.’

‘Though I understand you do benefit under Harry Nathan’s will,’ Lorraine went on casually. ‘He retained an interest in the gallery, which now passes to you, is that right?’

‘Cindy gets a damn sight more than anyone else,’ Kendall said, and Lorraine could hear the bitterness in her voice. ‘And Sonja Nathan gets something too — you’ll be treating her as a suspect too, of course?’ she sneered.

‘Do you think she should be treated as one?’ Lorraine asked, almost matching Kendall’s sarcastic tone.

‘Why not? East Hampton’s not that great a distance. Maybe she flew in for the day from New York, killed Harry, then flew home.’

Here we go again, Lorraine thought. Wife three says it was wife two, and wife two says it was wife one. Presumably Sonja would say Harry’s mother had killed him. Still, Sonja Nathan had remained something of a shadowy figure so far, and Lorraine was interested to hear more about her. She made a mental note to check out her address in East Hampton.

‘You and Sonja didn’t get along?’

Kendall gave a light, brittle laugh. ‘Well, considering Harry left her for me, we weren’t best friends. But before Harry and I married we were... business associates.’ This was clearly an edited version of events, and Lorraine made another mental note to check out the facts. ‘I know Sonja quite well. She is not a normal person, I would say, an unbalanced woman, and cold at the core. She never got over Harry’s leaving her for me — never. Of everyone around Harry, the two people I would say most capable of murder are Sonja and Harry’s good friend Raymond Vallance.’

‘Really?’ Lorraine said, sceptical as ever of information so readily volunteered, and attempts to throw suspicion on others. ‘So you don’t think Cindy killed him?’

Kendall shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How did you and Harry get along after you were divorced?’

Kendall’s eyes hardened like stones. ‘We had a mutually beneficial relationship. We were business partners in this gallery, and I relied a great deal on Harry’s knowledge and judgement of art.’ She paused, as though flicking channels on a television, to give Lorraine a quick flash of the downcast, heartbroken friend, then clicked smartly back to business. ‘We also collected together privately, and it was agreed between us that what we bought should be jointly owned. We decided to keep it at Harry’s house so that we wouldn’t have to install a lot of security at two locations, but I paid the insurance premiums. Half the collection is therefore mine,’ she declared, as though speaking from the Supreme Court. ‘And that, Mrs Page, is not any kind of an advantage I have derived under Harry’s will. It was my property, whether he was living or dead. In fact it is to my detriment that Harry died when he did, before we had... clarified the arrangements about the collection.’

Arrangements Kendall Nathan had probably made up the moment her ex-husband was dead, Lorraine thought. ‘I see,’ she said, with a bright, fake smile of her own. ‘Well, let’s leave that one for the lawyers to fight out. I was really wondering about your personal relationship with Harry.’

‘Our relations were cordial,’ Kendall said curtly.

‘Did you see one another socially, as well as in a business capacity?’

‘We had lunch or dinner from time to time. Sometimes we went to art markets or sales. We did not travel together. We did not continue a marital-type relationship, if that’s what you’re trying to suggest.’

‘Oh, no, of course not,’ Lorraine said, with another false smile. ‘But while we’re on that subject, Harry used to record, well, a lot of things that happened at the house, didn’t he?’

‘Cindy mentioned there were telephone recordings,’ Kendall said guardedly.

‘I believe he also recorded some... fairly private activities, while you were married.’

In an instant Kendall knew that Lorraine had seen the tapes, and rose nervously from her desk. She walked a few paces towards the window and looked out into the street. ‘Harry liked to go to the edge — a lot of film people do. I was very young at the time’ — Lorraine stifled a smile: Kendall Nathan had married Harry in her mid-thirties, and must now be at least forty — ‘and I went along with some things which, of course, I wouldn’t have any involvement with now. Harry did make some tapes,’ she admitted. ‘I assume Cindy has told you about them too.’

We’ve discussed them.’ Lorraine was deliberately evasive.

‘Mrs Page, I won’t waste your time or mine,’ Kendall continued, cutting straight to the chase. ‘I realize you’ve seen these tapes and I’m concerned about what is going to happen to them now. You haven’t shown them to any of your associates?’ Her dark eyes bored into Lorraine’s.

‘Of course not,’ Lorraine said, and saw the light of calculation enter Kendall’s eyes.

‘I’d be prepared to compensate you, naturally, if some of those tapes happened to go missing,’ Kendall said, moving back to her desk and apparently studying some notes on her phone pad.

‘I’m sorry, but any evidence relevant to the case will have to be passed on to the police,’ Lorraine responded. ‘The tapes aren’t mine to dispose of, and they may form an important part of Cindy Nathan’s defence.’

‘I see.’ Kendall Nathan gave Lorraine a look that would have cut sheet steel.

‘What are your relations with Cindy like?’ Lorraine said, as much to change the subject as anything else.

Kendall shrugged. ‘Our paths crossed, obviously, but I’d call her just an acquaintance, and one I wouldn’t go out of my way to see.’

‘So you don’t like her?’

‘I didn’t say that. I have no feelings with regard to her.’ That was a lie: Kendall was clearly as burned at being left by Nathan as she claimed Sonja had been.

‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Lorraine said, and smiled. Kendall nodded, already starting to move to the archway. ‘Oh, just one thing,’ Lorraine went on, ‘I know you said you were at home the morning Mr Nathan was shot. What time did you leave?’

‘To come to work, just after ten.’

‘I don’t suppose you made a telephone call to my office that morning?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I asked if you called my agency, Mrs Nathan,’ Lorraine repeated. ‘I received a phone call on the morning of the shooting — in fact it must have been made shortly after the gun was fired.’

‘Why do you ask? Did whoever it was say it was me?’ Kendall came towards Lorraine, her eyes sharp and her voice rising. It suddenly sounded less modulated, almost coarse.

‘No, the caller identified herself as Cindy Nathan, but Cindy says she didn’t make the call.’

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t me. What did this person say?’

‘Oh, that she needed help, just shot her husband. It didn’t sound like Cindy’s voice.’ She smiled at Kendall. ‘To be honest, I didn’t think it sounded like yours — until just now. I thought there might be some similarity, but if you’re sure you didn’t make the call...’

‘I have never met you or spoken to you before in my life,’ Kendall said, a considerably less polished Mid-Western accent now noticeable in her voice. ‘I never called you, but I’ll give you some advice. Don’t believe a word that dumb bitch tells you. She’s a liar. And don’t get sucked in by the big baby blue eyes and the tears. She can turn them on at will. I know, believe me, I know.’ She paused and made an effort to regain her poise. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.’

Lorraine started to walk to the door, then stopped. ‘Can I just ask you what kind of car you drive? ‘

Kendall looked penetratingly at Lorraine. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just to eliminate things, you know.’

‘I drive a 1996 Mitsubishi jeep. It’s convenient for carrying paintings. It’s two-tone and has about twenty-five thousand on the clock. Is there anything else?’

Lorraine opened the gallery door. ‘No, not at the present. I appreciate your talking to me, and I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Would you mind if I came back if I need to talk to you again?’

Kendall looked at her calculatingly. ‘No, I don’t suppose so, but call first.’ She went back to her desk, opened a drawer and took out a business card. ‘I’ll give you my home number as well.’ She used her Mont Blanc, bending over the desk.

‘Mrs Nathan?’ A young man walked in through a small rear door, not seeing Lorraine. ‘I’ve unloaded all the canvases — you still want me?’

Lorraine looked into the rear of the shop. She could not see him clearly, but she was almost certain it was the same black youth who had walked past her out back.

‘Give me a couple minutes,’ Kendall snapped, but the man remained where he was. ‘I’ve got a workshop outside in my yard — I make up the frames and things like that. You have to have a rapid turnover in a gallery to keep the public interested.’

Again Kendall turned and this time told the man to get out. He disappeared. ‘He doesn’t have the right attitude for customers.’

‘Do you sell mostly to passing trade?’ Lorraine asked.

A few come in, but it’s mostly by appointment.’

‘How does that work?’ Lorraine asked pleasantly.

Kendall’s condescending manner earlier was now firmly re-established. ‘We have a client list and I send out an invitation every time I have a new artist I want to promote. I also work with a few designers — you know, wall hangings and textiles and so on.’ She smiled with sly eyes, showing a chipped tooth. Lorraine’s mind was racing: why was the woman suddenly being so friendly? Had it been the reference to the phone call? Oddly enough, Lorraine preferred her cool and snide. This smiling, over-helpful act made her suspicious.

‘I won’t hold you up any longer,’ she said. ‘Thanks again.’

The meter was almost up. Lorraine bleeped the car open, got in and sat a moment. Kendall had said she hadn’t made the call, but had been at home with no alibi when it was made. She was clearly jealous of Cindy Nathan, and had continued to have a close relationship with her ex-husband. To some extent she benefited from his death, and, most importantly, she had made no secret about driving a two-tone Mitsubishi jeep, as described by Nathan’s housekeepers. She also employed a young black guy. Maybe Cindy hadn’t made up the man she said she had seen at the house. Kendall also knew about the phone tapes, and had admitted that she wanted to recover the videos. Someone had broken into Lorraine’s office and poured acid over the phone tapes and, according to Cindy, only two other people had known that they were there. Harry Nathan’s ex-wives.

Lorraine slipped on her safety-belt and started the engine. She glanced behind her, indicated and pulled out into the street. As she drove, she squinted at the petrol gauge and saw that the tank was nearly empty. She pulled in at the old Union 76 gas station on Little Santa Monica, a remarkable piece of classic sixties construction, like the wingspan of a great bird. She asked the attendant to fill up the car and check the oil, while she went in to buy a pack of cigarettes. She went to the ladies’ and returned to find that the station attendant had raised the bonnet of her Mercedes.

‘How much?’ she said.

The man turned towards her. ‘How much you worth?’ He crooked his finger and motioned her closer. ‘I only noticed because the top of my pen dropped into the engine when I was unscrewing the oil cap. Have a look at this. Your brake cable’s been sliced almost through. Dunno how long it’d have been before...’ He made a screeching noise and walloped the side of the car. ‘You got no brakes, lady, an’ this’ll have to go up on the ramp because it ain’t safe to drive the length of the street.’

‘How long do you think they’ve been like this?’

He pulled a face, sticking out his bulldog jaw. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know, it’s a clean cut — like, it’s not wear and tear, and you would have known about that, honey, believe me. So, maybe recent. You got any enemies? I’d give the cops a call if I was you — this is fuckin’ dangerous.’

Lorraine straightened up. ‘Can you fix them?’

‘Sure.’

She sat on a low wall beside the garage as the man set to work. She lit a cigarette, her hand shaking. How long had they been cut? When were they cut? Most importantly, who the hell had done it? Kendall Nathan? The woman had had no chance to get at the car, had been with her continuously. The black man? But Kendall had had no opportunity to tell him to do anything. Lorraine found herself smoking cigarettes down to the filter and lighting the next from the butt.

What had she unwittingly uncovered? There had to be a reason for someone to be prepared to kill her, or at the very least to want her to have a life-threatening accident.

The car wasn’t going to be ready for some considerable time, so she called a cab and went to the office, where she filled in Decker about her car.

‘Did you call the police?’

Lorraine shut her eyes, then hit the desk. She’d forgotten to meet Jim Sharkey. ‘Shit, I gotta go. I arranged to meet the cop on the Nathan case. I’ll get a cab.’

Jim Sharkey looked at his watch. He’d had two cappuccinos and had had breakfast again in lieu of lunch. Now he was getting sick of sitting outside on a hard chair on the patio waiting for Lorraine — the Silver Spoon was one of the few places left in LA where smoking was still allowed, but plush surroundings weren’t their strong suit. He was just about to walk out when a cab pulled up, Lorraine got out and walked towards the diner. She was a great looker, Mrs Lorraine Page, he thought, as she eased her body between the tables — nice easy strides, tight figure, long legs... He was getting hard as his eyes travelled up from her crotch to her bosom — not as big as he went for, but they looked a nice handful, firm.

‘Hi, sorry I’m late.’

He shook her hand, half lifting his butt from the seat as she slid into the chair opposite. ‘You want a cup of coffee?’

‘Diet Coke — hot out there today.’

Sharkey signalled to the waiter and ordered two Cokes, then looked back at Lorraine. She removed her dark glasses and tossed her head back. He noticed how well cut and silky her hair was — nice, like a shampoo ad. ‘Looking in good shape,’ he said.

‘Thanks. Wish I could say the same for you.’

He laughed. ‘How’s old Bill?’

‘He’s on honeymoon.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, I don’t know if you remember Rosie, used to work with me. Sort of curly hair, cute face. They married after his wife died.’

The waiter brought their Cokes, and Sharkey dipped his straw in. ‘Dunno why I asked for this, I hate the stuff, but I’m not drinking.’

‘Makes two of us.’

Sharkey looked at her face. He could see no signs of the dissipation, the rough ride she’d been on with the drink and drugs, just a few lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Lorraine was aware that he was scrutinizing her, but chose to ignore it, looking instead at the other tables under the awning, with their Formica tops and plain, functional crockery. If the place was basic, at least everything looked well-maintained and clean.

Sharkey took her matches and lit her cigarette. ‘We got a new lieutenant, name of Burton, heading up the detective division — he’s a real son-of-a-bitch.’

Lorraine exhaled, turning her head away so the smoke didn’t blow in Sharkey’s face.

‘Burton, Jake Burton — you know him?’

‘Nope, but then I’ve been out of the force a long time.’

Sharkey nodded — he knew all about it, but he said nothing.

‘You want to start, or shall I?’ she asked.

He shifted in his seat. ‘Look, I came here because I wanted to get things straight. With this guy Burton looking over our shoulders, the days when we could trade off are gone, understand me? He’s got fuckin’ eyes in the back of his head.’

‘Does he know you’re meeting with me?’

‘No, no way. Shit, I think I’ll have a beer.’ He signalled for a waiter and ordered a lager, Mexican light.

‘Well, if he doesn’t know you’re here who’s gonna tell him? And maybe I’ve got something. We could just toss a few things round.’

Sharkey sucked his teeth. ‘You were hired by Cindy Nathan, right?’

Lorraine sat back as the waiter brought the beer. Sharkey waved away the glass, preferring to drink it from the bottle.

Will you start, or shall I?’ she said again softly.

He sighed, and shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Well, I might as well. I mean, we’ve got her sewn up — the gun was hers, her fingerprints were on it, and when she was brought into the station she virtually admitted it. We got enough witnesses to sink the fucking Titanic who say she threatened to shoot him, plus, as far as we can make out, she’s the main beneficiary of his estate — he’s got quite an art collection.’ Sharkey took a swig of beer and set the bottle down on the table. ‘Though from what I can make out, there’s not all that much in the way of liquid assets. Way I hear it, this so-called production company cum studio may go bust, which would soak up the cash from the collection.’ Sharkey cocked his head to one side. ‘But maybe she didn’t know that.’

‘Ah, but you do,’ Lorraine said.

‘Yeah, we checked him out. He’s got a share in a gallery run by an ex-wife, but lately he’d been living from hand to mouth.’

‘Blackmailing anyone he could,’ Lorraine added, watching Sharkey. He didn’t react.

‘Yeah, we figured that one. He was a real sleazeball, but we don’t have a suspect in that area.’

‘You sure about that?’

Sharkey took another gulp of beer. ‘Not sure of anything but the little lady. She pulled the trigger, maybe not for his money — maybe she knew he didn’t have any — but she shot him. We’ve got a few statements from Mr Nathan’s ever-loving friends that he knocked her around and that she cheated on him. These Hollywood types screw anything that moves, and Nathan certainly did his share — you see any of his movies?’ Lorraine shook her head. ‘Soft porn, and apparently he always road-tested his leading ladies — mind you, so would I if I had the chance.’

Lorraine’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She wondered how much she should tell him, and how much he was holding back.

‘You know she was pregnant?’

He nodded. ‘We also know the child may not have been his — she was screwing Raymond Vallance. He was interviewed, shitting himself, not about the shooting — he’s got an alibi, apparently—’ Lorraine registered that piece of information with interest ‘—but about it getting out, you know, harming his career. Someone should tell him he’s been on the skids for the past ten years. The only way he’s ever going to see his name in the papers again is to be up on a fucking charge.’

Lorraine gave another chilly smile. ‘You know Harry Nathan made a lot of tapes? His phone calls, and people coming to the house, plus a few... adult material movies with Vallance and his ex-wives.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Sharkey lied. This was news to him. ‘We’re checking it out.’

Well, some of the recordings have come my way, and I’ll be sending them over — don’t want to lose my PI licence for obstructing the course of justice.’ She paused a moment. ‘What I’m thinking is maybe someone didn’t like the idea of being filmed,’ she went on. ‘Maybe didn’t like it so much they pulled the trigger — and Cindy Nathan didn’t.’

Sharkey sighed, then leaned forward. ‘Look, he was garbage, but he’d been garbage for a long time. Sure he hit on everyone for money — he was a con man, he conned anyone and anything he could, it was a way of life. Once he stopped directing, he sure as hell couldn’t produce a movie. He used them to score the chicks, maybe made a few bucks at the same time but he had a big lifestyle, so he hit on his friends, even his housekeepers — their wages haven’t been paid for months. But nothing we’ve dug up, and no one we’ve interviewed, has changed my department’s opinion. We think his wife, in a fit of jealous rage — and she could apparently throw quite a performance in that area — had had enough. She took her own gun, a weapon he had given to her and shown her how to use, and she waited until he was in the pool and popped him. Like I said, she’s virtually admitted it.’

‘What about his ex-wife?’

‘Kendall Nathan?’ he asked, and drained the last of the beer. ‘She’s been questioned, and she doesn’t have a motive.’

Lorraine reached for another cigarette. ‘She inherits half of the gallery, where I visited her today — and somebody sliced through my brake cable right afterwards.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ He didn’t seem interested.

‘Yeah. She also knew about the tapes in my office, and someone broke in and poured acid over them.’

He stared at her, waiting for more.

‘I don’t think Cindy killed him. I think somebody’s fitting her up for it — maybe one of the people he was blackmailing, I dunno, and...’ Should she tell him about the second bullet? The parked jeep? He wasn’t giving her much in return.

‘And?’ he urged her.

‘That’s about it.’

‘You reported the damage to your car?’ He was checking his watch. ‘If someone slashed my brake cable, I’d be worried. Did you report it?’ he asked again.

‘No, no, I didn’t.’ Lorraine frowned.

‘Are you going to?’

‘No. Guess I’ll just be careful where I park.’

‘You got any idea who it might have been?’

‘No, absolutely none,’ Lorraine said, and Sharkey checked his watch again. ‘I gotta go. Sorry I couldn’t be more help. If you come up with anything, you know my mobile number.’

‘I’ll pay the cheque,’ she said, opening her purse. She took out three hundred-dollar bills and folded them. ‘You settle up for me, will you?’

‘Sure,’ he said, as he raked the bills across the table. ‘You string out your PI job, sweetheart. I would if I was in your shoes — you’ve got a while before the trial. Get what you can, and if anything else happens, I’d report it. You lived quite a life, didn’t you? So I’d think about who might want to fuck with your car.’

Lorraine stood up. ‘Thanks for the advice.’

He watched her walk out, pause at the edge of the terrace and slip on a pair of dark glasses. He wondered how much she was getting paid by Cindy Nathan, and how he’d slip in the video and phone recordings to the new lieutenant. They hadn’t had a sniff of that but he’d look into it now.

It was just after three when Lorraine collected her car and drove back to the garage under the office, making sure to ask the valet to park her car close to his booth. She felt hot and tired, and the meeting with Sharkey had given her nothing new. She couldn’t stop thinking about who had wanted to harm her. She wasn’t frightened, exactly, just uneasy, and by the time she got into her office she was in a foul mood.

‘Cops have Cindy Nathan down for it, don’t even appear to be looking elsewhere,’ she told Decker. He was elbow-deep in all the data they had got together so far on Cindy’s case. She walked towards her own office, ignoring the thump of Tiger’s tail. ‘Book me a flight tomorrow for East Hampton, New York State. I want to see Sonja Nathan.’ She kicked her door shut and sat down at her desk, where her mood become blacker.

Five minutes later, Decker tapped on the door. ‘I’ve got you a flight at eight a.m. with American Airlines. Manhattan International limos will collect you and drive you to East Hampton, and you’re booked into the Maidstone Arms. I have no idea what Sonja Nathan’s address is — do you want me to call Cindy and check? Be a pity to go all that way and find out she may not be there.’

Lorraine muttered something, and Decker moved closer. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Ask Cindy Nathan for the phone number, and leave me alone — I’ve got a headache.’

‘Fine, and when you are, so to speak, in the air, do you want me to look after Tiger? I’m not supposed to have pets in the house, but for one night I don’t see that’ll be a problem.’

‘Yeah, thank you,’ Lorraine answered gruffly.

He shut the door quietly.

Lieutenant Jake Burton, new head of the detective division in the Beverly Hills Police Department, stood with his back to the room, noticing that the room still smelt of paint. His office had been freshly decorated, and was now as immaculate as the man himself. Burton stood six feet two with a tight, muscular body, and blond hair cut close to his head in an expensive salon style that flattered his chiselled face. His slight tan made his light blue eyes appear even bluer, and his teeth even more brilliantly white. His nickname in the Army had been ‘Rake’, but now that he was in the police force, and had moved up the ranks with ruthless determination, he didn’t like nicknames any more. He knew that his subordinates thought he was a cold bastard, and in some ways he was, but he had been shipped in to clean up rumours of officers taking bribes and kickbacks, and it was a job he intended to do to the best of his ability.

Burton was originally from Texas, but he had travelled widely and his roots were now detectable only as a faint burr in his voice. It was in the army that he’d qualified as an attorney — he was prepared to thank Uncle Sam for that, but not for shipping him out to Vietnam with one of the last units dispatched. He had been there only two months before the conflict ended, but those two months lived on in his mind, and had marked him deeply. He never talked about it, or referred to himself as a veteran simply because he didn’t think of himself as a one, having spent so little time in Vietnam and taken so little part in the war. It had been a nightmare experience which he buried deep inside, and on his return, he had left the army and enrolled in police academy. He was then only twenty-three, but older than most other recruits, and used that to his advantage. Before he had even graduated from the academy, he was earmarked as an officer to watch. He had been married for a short while and his wife, a secretary, had claimed in her divorce petition that, in fact, he was married to his job. He still was in many ways, although he was hitting the mid-forties. He had some private life now but it was mostly fraternizing with other officers, playing squash or tennis, for Burton was as obsessive about his physical fitness as he was about his job.

He had done such good work in Santa Barbara, cleaning up the department and weeding out officers who were found to be taking bribes, that he had become known for his ability and, above all, for his unimpeachable integrity. Jake Burton was as straight as they made ’em, and when the opportunity arose to move to LA, to a job with enhanced status, he had readily accepted it.

He had, at the time, been involved with a divorcée and the time had seemed right to move on from her too. Recently, he had been dating a girl from the legal department, a well-groomed, pretty brunette with intelligent brown eyes, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to make a commitment.

At the knock on his door Burton’s attention snapped back to the present. ‘Come in,’ he said sharply, straightening the row of brand new, sharpened pencils on his pristine desk.

‘You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?’

Burton nodded and opened a file of reports on the Cindy Nathan case. ‘Sit down.’ He gestured to a hard-backed chair in front of his desk. ‘What’s this about tapes?’

Sharkey cleared his throat. ‘I got a tip-off. Apparently Nathan recorded everything but bowel movements.’

‘And this is the first we’ve heard of it?’

Sharkey nodded. ‘He filmed everyone coming in and out of the house on security cameras, and also some porno stuff with the wives, but I doubt if the tapes will tell us anything we don’t already know. I mean, everybody in LA knew Cindy Nathan was a fucking whore.’

‘Really?’ Burton said coldly. ‘You had access to these tapes?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So did this informant — whoever tipped you off — have access to them?’

‘Cindy Nathan sent them to her.’

Burton turned the pages of the report, then tapped it with his index finger.

‘Why would Cindy Nathan send the tapes to this informant?’

Sharkey squirmed in his seat. ‘Well, she’s a private dick, hired by Mrs Nathan.’

‘Really?’ Burton said softly. ‘So how did this interaction come about?’

‘Well, she called me...’

‘Yes. And?’ Burton waited for a reply, tapping his desk with one of the needle-sharp pencils. He neither liked nor trusted Sharkey.

‘She wanted information — you know, do a trade.’

Burton waited, his eyes on Sharkey. A trade in what, exactly, Detective?’

‘Well, you know, what I’d got — et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Did you tell her anything relevant to the investigation?’

‘Hell, no, nothing like that.’

‘Did she pay you?’

‘Of course not. Didn’t give her nothing.’ Sharkey grinned.

‘I sincerely hope not. So what is the lady’s name?’

‘She used to be a cop.’

‘So did most PIs. What’s her name, Detective?’

Sharkey sucked in his breath. ‘Lorraine Page.’

Burton opened the file again, and appeared to be devoting his full attention to it as he said quietly, ‘So, tell me about this lady, this Lorraine Page.’