Cold Heart (27 page)

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 entryphone 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.

L
ORRAINE MADE
breakfast while Jake showered. Just setting two places felt good. She had lain awake beside him for a long time, replaying over and over in her mind the moment he had asked if she would marry him, half afraid she had dreamed it.

‘Hi,’ he said, as he came into the kitchen buttoning up his shirt and rubbing his chin. ‘You’ve got one hell of a blunt razor in there.’

They were at ease with each other, and Jake ate yoghurt and cereal, poured coffee for them both, and even put his dirty dishes in the sink. He made no mention, though, of having asked her to marry him.

‘Somebody house-trained you,’ she said, watching him squirt washing-up liquid into the sink.

Tiger took up his position at the front door, waiting for his morning walk, and Jake offered to take him out while Lorraine showered. It was as if he had known her for months, not just days, and his presence didn’t seem intrusive, just got better and better every moment he was with her.

Jake might have been well-trained in the dish-washing department, but he had left the shower steamed up, sopping towels and puddles on the floor and wet footprints on her carpet. Lorraine liked even that because it stopped him being too perfect. She remembered her ex-husband Mike, and the arguments they had had over his bathroom habits: she could never understand how he could take a shower and leave wet footprints everywhere but on the bath mat – and here she was liking it that the new man in her life was behaving in the same way. The new man in her life! She stared at her reflection in the mirror. In just two days her life had changed course, and from feeling depressed and alone, she knew now that a future was waiting for her.

Lorraine finished dressing, made the bed, vacuumed the living room and even plumped up the soft cushions, a small smile playing on her lips as she did the chores at top speed. She wished Rosie could see her now – she wouldn’t believe it! Being loved, even if just for two days, had made her domesticated! Lorraine crossed to the window to see if Jake and Tiger were on their way back, and seeing them both coming up the street below, she opened the window and called down. Jake looked up and waved, while Tiger almost pulled him off his feet. He undipped the dog’s lead, still looking up at Lorraine. ‘I’m going to be late, I’ll call you.’

She was disappointed – she had wanted him to see how she had cleaned the house. Then suddenly she felt stupid, and a dark spiral of emotions started rushing through her mind. Why hadn’t he mentioned their marriage? Why hadn’t he come back to kiss her goodbye? Would she see him again? Tiger scratched at the front door, and Lorraine let him in. He went straight to his bowl, and began to gobble his food noisily. ‘Hey, you! I just washed that floor!’

It was while she was driving into the office, accelerating along Rose Avenue, that she began to run through the case. The light at Walgrave and Rose was broken, blinking a steady red that permitted one car at a time to cross the intersection. Seeing the line of vehicles jammed bumper to bumper, Lorraine looked at the memos she’d scrawled to herself. Why
had
Harry Nathan been killed? Somehow she didn’t think it was to stop the porn tapes being released – if someone was desperate enough to kill him for that reason, they would have ensured that they knew where the tapes were. But if that were the case, the suspects were Cindy, Kendall and Raymond Vallance, with Kendall and Vallance having the most to lose by the tapes becoming public. However, Lorraine thought, Nathan’s involvement in a multi-million-dollar art fraud seemed a much more likely motive for his murder. It was almost impossible that he had been killed by one of the victims of the scam – or of his other blackmailing activities: the tight security at the house would have kept strangers out. No. Nathan had been killed by someone who knew him well, which meant his wives or his friends. Yet again Kendall seemed the most likely killer – especially since what was probably her jeep had been seen near Nathan’s house on the day he died. Against that, though, she had given a convincing appearance of not having known that she had been ripped off in the scam until weeks later when Cindy died. The phone tapes indicated that she had been on warm terms with her ex-husband.

At last it was Lorraine’s turn to cross the intersection and she speeded up along Airport and Centinela to make up the lost time, but the ten-minute delay meant that she hit another major jam on Pico Boulevard. Lorraine turned back to her notes, and considered other reasons why anyone might have wanted Harry Nathan dead.

Assuming that no one else had had any inkling that the paintings weren’t genuine, Nathan had been perceived as a rich man; perhaps he, and the women, had been killed for his money by the person who would eventually inherit it – Sonja Nathan. Lorraine had never established who had made the telephone call to her office on the morning of Nathan’s murder, which lent a shred of support to that hypothesis. It had certainly been a woman, she thought – though perhaps Raymond Vallance could have imitated a woman’s voice.

The traffic was at a dead stop. Lorraine tapped her teeth with her pen, and continued to think about Sonja Nathan. If she was primarily motivated by financial greed, why had she let Nathan rip her off so spectacularly after their divorce? She had surrendered the gallery she had built up, her only means of earning a living – and which a court would almost certainly have awarded to her – because, Vallance had said, she was too proud to soil her hands. But soiling one’s hands with petty squabbles over money might be a very different matter to Sonja Nathan from soiling them with an enemy’s blood.

The impatient driver behind blasted Lorraine with his horn. She indicated in the mirror that there was nothing she could do, and glanced back at her notes, where she had written the words paintings, new partner. Had it been Nathan’s own idea to sell the paintings without Kendall’s knowledge, or had he been working with someone else? Someone who had decided to cut him permanently out of the picture – and out of the proceeds of the sale – just as ruthlessly as he had cut out his second ex-wife?

Lorraine ignored another toot from the driver behind her, and went back to her notes. Any new accomplice in the fraud would still have to be someone in Nathan’s circle of intimates, or they could not have got past the security – or known that Nathan would have to be killed outside, away from the recording devices in the house. That brought her back to Vallance and Sonja again: Sonja was the one with the specialist knowledge of the art world but Vallance was the one most desperate about the porn tapes . . .

Lorraine felt that she was going round in circles, but at last the traffic began to move. She put away her notes.

When she got to the office Decker was at his desk, calling galleries and auction houses. ‘I still haven’t turned up any gallery selling the paintings on the list, but there’s hundreds of’em,’ he said.

Lorraine told him to concentrate next on private dealers: they were more likely to have buyers who did not necessarily want their purchases made public. She also asked him to check out known buyers from Japan and the former Soviet republics, especially the latter, who had a lot of illegal dollars to spend, and not to forget the buyers on record as having purchased art works from Kendall Nathan’s gallery.