Cold Heart

by Lynda La Plante

  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?’ K
endall 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.