Cold Heart (13 page)

Lorraine was surprised that Cindy had admitted the affair so readily - it made things look even blacker against her. Vallance had a key to the house, and he could easily have been responsible for the damage, particularly since there was no sign of forced entry, but Cindy seemed determined to cast suspicion elsewhere, first by the sudden mention of an unknown black youth - and now she was back to Nathan’s ex-wife.

‘What’s gonna happen to me, Lorraine?’ she wept. ‘I know it looks like I had more reason than anyone to kill him, but I swear I didn’t do it. It’s Kendall Nathan who’s pulling all the strings here, I just know it. She has no alibi for the time Harry was shot, and if the art thing’s true, she’s got a motive as well.’

‘I’ll go to the gallery just as soon as I can and see if I can talk to her,’ Lorraine said soothingly, reaching out to give Cindy’s hand a squeeze. ‘Did the hospital have anyone photograph your bruises, by the way?’

Cindy nodded.

‘Well, when you next see your lawyers, at least mention it to them, and also that Nathan had been violent to you on many previous occasions. I take it you haven’t told the police any of this?’

‘No, nothin’. A cop, a real bastard, asked me a lot of questions, but I told him nothin’.’

‘You don’t recall his name, by any chance?’

‘Yeah, Sharkey.’

So he was still on the case. Lorraine walked to the door. ‘I’ll be in touch. You try to get some rest, and call me when you’re discharged. Do you know how long you’ll be here?’

‘Depends on the doctor - could be out later today.’

Just as Lorraine opened the door, Cindy spoke again. ‘I did love him at the beginning. I was only eighteen, he was so nice and he made me all these promises, about being in one of his movies. But they were as fucking sick as he was - he was just making porn.’ She pulled herself up on her elbows to look Lorraine in the eye. ‘You think I killed him now, don’t you?’

Lorraine met the girl’s gaze before she replied, ‘No, Cindy, I don’t believe I do. Take care now.’

She went out and closed the door quietly after her. She had made no mention of the bullet she had found, or Jose’s revelation about the parked jeep that could have been Kendall’s. She didn’t want to raise Cindy’s hopes, because unless Lorraine could clear her name, Cindy Nathan would have to stand trial for the murder of her husband.

As soon as Lorraine got back to the office she asked Decker to check out Jose’s story about the jeep. ‘Find out if anyone else saw it there. Talk to any residents close to where he said it was parked.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah, can you get me any newspaper coverage of fine art auctions or galleries selling top quality paintings?’

‘Sure.’

‘Maybe come on as a buyer. Don’t act up the investigator.’

‘As if I would,’ he said, with a camp flick of the wrist.

Lorraine grinned at him. ‘Get out of here - go on.’

‘On my way,’ and he left with a prancing swagger.

Lorraine began to thumb through notes of her last interview with Cindy, in which she had underlined the name of Detective Sharkey.

Jim Sharkey, the officer she had worked with on her first case in Pasadena. She was sure she’d be able to get some inside info on the police inquiry - if she paid for it. She called the police department, asked for Sharkey. It was a while before he came to the phone.

‘Sharkey,’ he said abruptly.

‘Lorraine Page,’ she replied politely.

‘Yeah, they said.’

She could tell he was smoking as she could hear him inhale, then hiss the smoke out from his lungs. ‘Can we meet? ‘

‘Not right now, I’m busy.’

‘So am I - but I think we should meet. I may have some information for you in regard to the Nathan inquiry,’ she said, still keeping her voice over-polite, almost coaxing. ‘What about lunch? I’d prefer to discuss it away from the station.’

‘Like I said, I’m busy.’ His voice sounded tense and irritated. ‘Mrs Page, if you have anything relevant to my present investigation, then you should come in and talk to my lieutenant.’

‘I’d prefer to discuss it with you. Surely you don’t want me to spell it out.’

‘Spell what out, Mrs Page?’

‘Oh, come on. Stop playing games with me. You know I’m working for Cindy Nathan, I know you’re on the case. Now, if you don’t want to meet, then you can go fuck yourself. If, on the other hand, you want to have a cup of coffee with me, I’ll be at the Silver Spoon, corner of Santa Monica and Havenhurst, about two.’ She put the phone down. Detective Jim Sharkey had been given a lot of backhanders by Rooney, and now he was coming on all pompous and squeaky clean. It infuriated her, as she knew just how much money Rooney had palmed the man in return for access to police files for the last murder case she had worked on.

The phone rang and, still angry, she snatched it up to hear the bleeps of a payphone. ‘Mrs Page?’ It was Sharkey again.

‘Speaking.’

‘Don’t ring the fuckin’ office – I got the Captain at my fucking elbow listening in on every word you said.’

‘All I said was I wanted a meet.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna give you my mobile number. You want me in future you call that, not the station, and I’ll see you at two at the Silver Spoon.’ He dictated the number and hung up. Lorraine checked the time. Still only eleven – she would have time to see Kendall Nathan first.

L
ORRAINE 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 kelims. 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.’