Cold Heart (52 page)

Rosie came in, smiled at Bill, and drew up a chair.

‘Hey, Rosie, did Billy ever tell you about Chester Brackenshaw? When we were working together. Well, this guy Chester was a real pain in the butt, always going on about what he would or wouldn’t do when he won the lottery, and he was a real practical joker, wasn’t he, Bill? Anyways . . .’

‘She looks beautiful,’ Rosie said.

‘Thank you, but my nightdress is on back to front. Anyway, Chester goes every Friday to this club, an’ me and the guys work this scam out – like I said, he was a real practical joker – and we get his lottery ticket numbers. It was you, wasn’t it, Bill? You got ’em out of his wallet. Anyway, hasn’t Bill told you this, Rosie?’

‘She’s got her nightdress on back to front,’ Rosie said, fussing.

‘I know, I know . . . but listen, he goes to the club, right? And we get the DJ in on the joke and tell him to announce the winning lottery numbers. So he stops playing records and he announces all Chester’s numbers, and we all expected him to start buying drinks for the house. After we’d got him to spend his wages, we were going to let him in on the joke, but . . . he did nothing. Like, we saw him check his card, but he puts it back in his wallet, right, Bill?’

‘Shall I comb her hair?’ Rosie said to Bill.

‘Leave it, just leave it, and listen . . . we all think he knows he’s been had, and we’re all waiting for him to get back at us some way, but he doesn’t, but then as we’re all leaving the place, he suddenly throws his car keys at his wife, Sandra – her name was Sandra, wasn’t it, Bill? Yeah, “Sandra,” he says, “take the car, it’s yours, and you can have the house. I hate your guts and I’ve been screwing your sister for two years, but I’ve won the lottery, so fuck you!”’ She roared with laughter, seeing all the guys lined up behind Chester trying to make him shut up.

Lorraine fell silent then as Sissy, Mike’s wife, appeared in the doorway. ‘Mike’s coming, he’s in court,’ Sissy said, ushering in the girls. Just hearing her daughters made Lorraine feel so emotional she couldn’t joke any more. The two girls took Rooney and Rosie’s chairs, side by side, and she was so proud of them.

‘Come on in, Sissy, don’t be embarrassed, I’m not. In fact, I’d like to say something to you. It’s . . . well, it’s thank you. You’ve taken such care of my girls, and I want you to know I don’t resent you. I did, but I don’t now. In fact, I’d like to kiss you.’

Sissy leaned over the bed and kissed Lorraine’s cheek. ‘I’ll be outside if you need me,’ she said to the girls, then left them alone with Lorraine.

Julia was the first to reach out to the still, cold hand. ‘I’m wearing the bracelet you got for me.’ She hesitated and then said softly, ‘Thank you, Mom.’

‘Oh, now, don’t you cry – I don’t want to see you crying,’ Lorraine said, but then was so close to tears herself she couldn’t continue.

Julia turned to Sally: ‘Say thank you to Mommy, Sally, go on.’

Sally gently touched Lorraine’s fingers. ‘Thank you, Mommy.’

Lorraine burst into tears: she had never believed she would hear them call her that again. She told them how proud she was, that she knew Julia was a great tennis player and Sally was a gold medallist at her college for swimming. ‘One day, maybe you’ll understand – I wasn’t really me for such a long time, but all the times I wasn’t with you, all the times I should have been there, I never stopped loving you both with all my heart. I want you to have a good and happy future, and I know you’ve got a good father . . . because I loved him too. Hey, Mike, I was just talkin’ about you.’

Mike came and stood between his daughters, then took Lorraine’s hand and kissed it.

‘Say goodbye to your mom.’

Both girls whispered goodbye, and Lorraine was upset that they were crying – she didn’t want them to cry. She watched them leaving the room, and called after them, called each daughter by name, and they turned and looked at her.

‘I love you, babies. I love you.’

She wanted Jake again, needed him, in fact wanted him to be there more than Mike or the girls. She felt so light, as if she were floating, and she wanted him to hold on to her. She had the eerie feeling she was going somewhere, and she called out his name.

He stood in the doorway, and she sighed with relief. For a few moments she had thought he had gone, but he came to her side. ‘I’m here, darling, I’m here,’ he said softly, and she began to relax, knowing he was holding her hand.

‘I want you to know, I don’t care how long it takes, but I’ll get him. We even had him in custody, but we had nothing to hold him on – there were no prints on the baseball bat, nothing.’

She was confused for a while, not understanding what he was talking about, but then he said the name. Eric Lee Judd. Where had she heard that name before? Then she remembered the alley and the moment she had shouted at the boy to stop. She remembered it all now, all the years she had tried to bury the guilt with drink and wanted to pay for what she had done: now she knew that at long last she was paying the ultimate price.

She knew then that it was over, and the last thing she heard, and would ever hear as she floated free of pain was Jake’s voice, filled with love, the love that had given her a happiness she felt she had no right to enjoy, and that now absolved her of guilt and gave her final release. She began to float, way above the bed, and the pain stopped. It was such a relief when the awful pain in her head stopped, and she felt at peace. Hearing him say that he loved her had freed her soul: it was the best way to go.

Lorraine had left life surrounded by people who loved her dearly, and reunited with her daughters. But she would never be able to tell anyone the solution to her last case.

None of her private analysis of the murder had been discussed with anyone, none of her notes made on her travels had been read by anyone. Lorraine’s last case appeared to have died with her – the only time a case had not ended in success. Sonja Nathan had not only got away with murder, but with a massive fraud that netted her twenty million dollars.

Lorraine had been at rest for six months when a battered briefcase, its lock forced, was found by a garbage sifter. Lennie Hockum made his living scavenging in garbage dumps, salvaging anything he could recycle and sell on. It often surprised him just how much some of the junk he collected was worth. The briefcase was leather with a suede lining and he was sure he could fix the locks, or make them look good enough for a local garage sale.

Lennie did not inspect the contents of the briefcase thoroughly until he was back at his trailer. There was nothing of immediate value, not even a pen, but there were hotel receipts, sales stubs from various stores and a few business cards in the name of Lorraine Page Investigations. There was also a thick notebook with scrawled writing covering almost every page. Lennie skim-read it, flicking the pages over with his gnarled thumb. Some pages had lists of names with some underlined, but nothing made much sense to him. But he had the woman’s card, he had her address. Maybe he could make a few more bucks if he returned the case to its rightful owner.

Lennie took the case to Lorraine’s office, but he was disappointed when the valet told him the office was closed and had been taken over by another company. He held up the case, asking if the valet knew where he could find the woman.

It was almost a month before Jake Burton was contacted and the briefcase brought into his office. He sat staring at it, then slowly ran his hands along the top. It smelt of mildew and leather polish. Inside there were water stains and the suede had green mould at the edges. The thick notebook seemed fatter due to the damp and some of the pages were stuck together, but he recognized Lorraine’s handwriting. Burton read every page, made copious notes as he went along. Then he had to wait a further week before the Nathans’ housekeepers were traced. He used favours to gain access to their personal finances, but it was evident that they had improved considerably lately: they had purchased a small but quite expensive condo, just off the Ventura highway. They also owned a new Pathfinder and appeared not to be employed.

Using Lorraine’s notes, and with Sharkey as backup, Burton questioned and requestioned Juana and Jose, putting pressure on them to give details of their income. They insisted that they had simply been paid their back salary from the Nathan estate, but when they were informed that it would take only a phone call to verify their statement they began to waver. When they were taken to the station for the interview and questioned separately the cracks began to show. Juana broke first, sobbing hysterically and insisting it was money they were owed, that they had had no choice and had been forced to agree or they would not have been given what was rightfully theirs.

‘I am sure you
were
owed a lot of money, but as you were not paid out of the Nathan estate, who did pay you?’ Burton asked. He repeated, ‘Who paid for the apartment, the car? Please answer the question. Who is financing you?’

Jose was the one to admit that it was Sonja Nathan and, like his wife, he started to weep. They had promised Mrs Nathan they would use the money to return to Mexico, but had changed their minds. He kept insisting they had done nothing wrong except lie to Mrs Nathan about moving back to Mexico . . .

Distressed, Juana revealed that Sonja Nathan had always been kind to them, had promised always to take care of them. ‘She was only keeping her promise. She was a good woman . . .’

Burton kept up the pressure. He was calm, encouraging, and yet relentless. ‘So, on the morning of the murder, you have stated that you saw no one and that you did not hear anything, but were drawn towards the swimming pool when you heard Cindy Nathan screaming. Do you still maintain that to be the truth?’

Sharkey waited as the couple sat, heads bowed. The room so silent you could hear the desk clock ticking. After an interminable silence Burton softly asked again: ‘Did you see anyone else on that morning?’

No reply.

‘Did anyone you know arrange to be at the house on that morning?’

No reply.

Sharkey shifted his weight, looking from Juana to Jose as they sat, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. He then looked at Burton, who was staring at a large silver-framed photograph on the desk. Sharkey couldn’t see the front, but he knew it was a photograph of Lorraine.

Burton continued, in the same calm, almost disinterested voice, ‘Did you see anyone in the grounds of the house on the morning Harry Nathan was murdered?’

‘Yes.’

It was hardly audible. Sharkey had to lean forward to hear it.

Juana reached over to hold her husband’s hand. ‘Tell him. Tell him. I don’t want to lie any more.’

Jose clung to his wife’s hand and took a deep breath, but refused to look up and meet Burton’s eyes.

‘Sonja Nathan.’

Sharkey’s jaw dropped. Burton sat down. ‘Thank you, that will be all for now. I suggest you get legal representation before we question you again. You may take one of the tapes we have used to record this interview. Thank you for your co-operation.’

Sharkey ushered the couple out and into the corridor. As he looked back into the room, Burton was sifting through a notebook, head bowed.

‘Pick up Sonja Nathan?’ Sharkey asked.

‘Yes.’

‘She almost got away with it,’ Sharkey said, closing the door.

Burton sighed, running his hand over Lorraine’s closed notebook, then laying his palm flat against it. He looked sadly at the photograph on his desk. Her face smiled back. It was a photograph he had taken on the beach: she had been so happy, so full of life, her head tilted back, her arms lifted towards the camera, as if about to break into laughter. He knew she had been happy – it shone out of her like the sun that glinted on her silky blonde hair.

‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘you got your man and you’ll be pleased to know you got your killer too.’