Cold Heart

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘She said that it was nothing to do with her, and she was already selling her jewellery. That’s what she told me,’ Jose answered.

  ‘Well, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’

  Lorraine was itching to contact Burton. Once outside in the car, she dialled his number but hung up almost immediately it began to ring. She didn’t want to look as though she was chasing him like a teenager - yet she needed to see Cindy’s note, and she knew that he was the person through whom to gain access to it. Somehow it seemed less frightening just to go to his office, say she was passing. After all, it was true, she convinced herself. Driving back east on Santa Monica, she was only a stone’s throw away.

  She walked coolly into Reception at the police department, produced her card and told the clerk that she was there to see Jake Burton. Annoyingly, the man insisted on calling upstairs, and suddenly the idea of just turning up didn’t seem like such a good one. But, to her relief, Burton must have agreed to see her, as the desk clerk gave her directions to go on up.

  She made herself rap smartly on the door: there was no answer. She raised her fist to knock again and almost hit Burton in the collar-bone as he opened it suddenly.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, her voice a good octave higher than it normally was, which made her sound, she thought, about nineteen.

  ‘Well, hello, Mrs Page,’ Burton said expressionlessly. ‘I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again quite so soon. Won’t you come in?’ He opened the door wide.

  She was uncertain, as yet, if she was welcome and found herself talking too fast. ‘I was just up at the Nathan house, and I was just wondering whether I could have a quick look at the note Cindy left?’

  ‘If you just swung by my office, you mean?’

  Lorraine found herself blushing furiously: it was as though he really did think she was inventing excuses to see him. ‘Well, since this would be unofficial, I can’t ask you to send it to me Federal Express,’ she said, making her voice as cool as she could.

  ‘You know I’m not in favour of this “unofficial” traffic in information between PIs and police,’ he said, his manner still betraying no warmth. ‘Plus, who’s paying you to do this? Your client’s got no more worries now, has she?’

  ‘She paid me a lot of money up front,’ Lorraine said stiffly. ‘Look, you remember what I said about Kendall Nathan? It turns out she was at the house last night. I just think it’s a hell of a coincidence, and I want to know if Cindy really wrote that note, that’s all.’

  Well,’ he said, ‘I really don’t know whether I can justify spending the department’s time in gratifying the wishes of . . .’ he smiled for the first time and she realized he was teasing her ‘. . . curious bystanders. I have to account to the city for every cent.’

  ‘Don’t be so tight-assed! I pay my taxes,’ Lorraine said, suddenly sure she could get away with it, and laughing. ‘Besides, I gave you the tapes.’

  ‘So, we could do a little trade, you mean?’ He smiled again with a hint of mischief – or was she imagining a little flirtatiousness?

  ‘Well . . .’ she began.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘One-time-only offer.’ He picked up the phone and asked someone to bring in the file on Cindy Nathan. As soon as the man had left he extracted from it a sealed plastic wallet containing half a sheet of pink writing paper. ‘If you’d come an hour later this would have gone to forensic,’ he said. ‘Don’t take it out of the plastic’

  ‘Gee,’ Lorraine said with mock-innocence, ‘you mean I can’t paddle my pretty little fingers all over it? I was a cop, you know.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, smiling again. ‘There’s a sample of Cindy’s handwriting behind it that we got from her attorney. Obviously we’ll get an expert opinion but they look pretty similar to me.’

  So they did: the childishly unformed letters and the unclosed As and Os were almost identical. But it was only a couple of lines long – Kendall was plenty smart enough to imitate that much of someone else’s handwriting, Lorraine reckoned, and the words were written in ink. It was interesting that the note was addressed to no one, but said, ‘by the time you read this, I will be dead’, as though Cindy had had a particular reader in mind. Lorraine also noticed that, though the handwriting sprawled all over the page, the gap between the two lines Cindy had written was larger than the gap between the first one and the top of the page.

  ‘I think this has been cut from a longer letter,’ she said. ‘Look at the top.’ Burton leaned closer, and Lorraine was conscious that he cast an almost imperceptible appraising glance over her, taking advantage of her concentration on the paper to do so. When minutely examined, it was clear that the top edge of the paper was not completely straight. ‘It’s been cut with a pair of scissors,’ she said. ‘You can see the blades were long enough to cut the whole thing in one go.’

  ‘Jesus, you might be right,’ Burton said, and Lorraine realized he was embarrassed that his own officers had failed to notice it. ‘Forensic would have picked it up, of course.’

  ‘I’m sure they would,’ Lorraine said graciously – in any case, it was true.

  ‘Kind of makes your theory about the other Mrs Nathan a little more credible – though I don’t suppose she killed both of them.’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Lorraine said. ‘She’s that kind of a girl.’

  She was now certain that the killer was Kendall Nathan, and found the desire to see the woman again, to take the investigation on just one more stage, almost uncontrollable. It was true that there was no reason to do so now that Cindy was dead, but loyalty to her former client, the pathos of her death, so wasteful, sordid, at only twenty years old, made Lorraine feel that she could at least spare half an hour to ask Kendall where she had been the previous night. She promised herself that she would do nothing more, that if anything made her suspicious, she would hand it straight over to Burton. After all, if Cindy had been murdered, it was his job to find out who had done it.

  ‘I won’t take up any more of your time,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for bursting in on you like that.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure – and very instructive,’ he said with a genuine smile, and she felt his eyes flick over her again.

  ‘Well,’ Lorraine said, knowing she sounded ridiculous, but forcing herself to carry on, ‘you know where my office is on West Pico. Stop by any time.’

  ‘I might just do that,’ he said, still looking at her.

  Oh, yeah, she thought, sure you will. ‘Well, I’d better get going.’ She set off down the stairs.

  Gallery One was virtually on her way back to the office, she told herself, getting into her car – and she would only be inside for five minutes. She turned left into Beverly Drive, and as she pulled up outside she could see Kendall Nathan sitting at her desk, talking to the young black man.

  Both of them looked round as soon as the door buzzer sounded, and Lorraine noticed at once how exhausted and haggard Kendall looked – like someone, in fact, who hadn’t slept all night.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said immediately, with no attempt at politeness.

  ‘I wondered if you’d heard Cindy Nathan was dead,’ Lorraine said. The pair in front of her were looking intently at her, Kendall’s strange eyes darker than ever, it seemed, clouded with pain.

  ‘Yes, I heard,’ Kendall said curtly. ‘That terminates your involvement in other people’s affairs, I think.’

  Were you here last night, Mrs Nathan?’ Lorraine asked, not so much expecting an answer as wanting to observe Kendall’s reaction to the question.

  ‘What is this?’ Kendall snapped. Her nerves seemed at breaking point. ‘You have no business whatsoever to come around harassing me, insinuating—’

  ‘So you weren’t here last night?’ Lorraine cut in, noting how quick Kendall was to think she was being accused.

  ‘Yes, as it happens, I was,’ Kendall retorted angrily. ‘And Eric was with me. We left at nine thirty, and I went home – all of which Eric will confirm.’
She looked pointedly at him.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘We were both here.’ Much weight you could give to his assertions, Lorraine thought cynically. If he didn’t back up his employer he would lose his job. He was still staring at her, she thought, with anger, almost hate in his eyes. Had he done Kendall’s dirty work for her:

  ‘I see. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’ She turned on her heel.

  ‘See you don’t come around here again, Mrs Page,’ Kendall called after her. ‘If you do, you’ll have reason to regret it.’

  Lorraine turned round and looked the other woman directly in the eye. ‘Was that a threat, Mrs Nathan?’

  ‘Just a warning,’ Kendall said. ‘Now get off my property and stay off.’

  ‘Glad to,’ Lorraine said. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Nathan.’ She walked out, not bothering to close the door behind her, leaving the buzzer whining loudly.

  She was excited as she drove to her office, eager to discuss the new developments with Decker. She roared up to the building, and handed her keys to the valet parking attendant, who now had strict instructions always to keep his eye on her Mercedes.

  He drove it into the underground motor court, and pulled up next to an immaculate, gleaming Rolls Corniche. He hadn’t recognized Raymond Vallance, and had only realized who the owner of the Rolls was when he’d parked the car and seen the name on some mail on the front seat. He would have liked to sneak a look at the letters, but he’d been summoned by Reception on his mobile, so hadn’t had time. As he locked Lorraine’s car, he leaned towards the Corniche again, thinking how amazing it was that people left such personal things in their cars and tossed the keys to valet parking boys, unaware that they always had a good sniff around. He knew of some cases where guys had been paid nice regular sums for information – not that he would ever stoop to that, but some folks were so dumb they deserved to be ripped off. House keys attached to their car keys was an open invitation for a quick impression to be taken, making access to their homes as easy as taking candy from a baby – even more so if you got a couple of hours clear when they were dining out. He wouldn’t co-operate in that kind of crooked deal, but he allowed himself a good snoop around, and often found a few dollars tucked down the back of expensive limo seats. He never thought that was stealing – that was just getting lucky.

  Raymond Vallance’s mail wasn’t that interesting, and the Corniche wasn’t his. It belonged to some woman. The parking attendant smiled as he saw that Mr Vallance also had a nasty letter from his bank. His financial situation was even shakier than the attendant’s. He put the letter back in the envelope, had a good feel around the seats and opened the glove compartment, whistling as he saw it was jammed with parking tickets and CDs. There was a powder compact too, with lipstick attached, a pair of sunglasses, and a number of pieces of folded pink writing paper. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and opened out the top sheet. It was a note, childish handwriting in brown ink, from some woman, by the looks of it, rambling on about how no one understood her or cared about her. God, he thought, glancing quickly over the pages of appeals and complaints. He got enough of that at home. He refolded the pieces of paper, stuffed them back among the other contents of the glove compartment, and had another quick feel behind the seats before he was satisfied that there was nothing of interest, not even a few coins. So much for the movie star. He wouldn’t waste his time asking Vallance for an autograph.

  CHAPTER 8

  LORRAINE BURST into the office, and Decker got up immediately. ‘You have a . . .’ he said quietly, nodding towards the other side of the room.

  Raymond Vallance turned from the window, removing his Gucci shades. Well, Lorraine thought, look who it is.

  ‘Mrs Page? Raymond Vallance.’

  He stowed the glasses in a pocket and held out his hand. Lorraine crossed the room and shook it: it was limp, clammy, unpleasant to the touch. He was taller than she would have expected, at least six foot one, and he was certainly making a serious effort to charm, but Lorraine thought she detected a touch of strain behind the ingratiating manner.

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have made an appointment – if this is not convenient . . .’

  ‘No, no, please come into my office.’ She gestured to him to go ahead then turned back to Decker. ‘What does he want?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know, but he’s been waiting half an hour.’

  Lorraine followed Vallance into her office and closed the door. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ She smiled, as she moved round her desk and sat down. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ she said, already taking a cigarette out of a pack. Vallance’s hand reached her lighter a moment before hers did, and struck a flame. He stared hypnotically at her with his wide-set, ice-blue eyes, a half smile playing on his slightly feminine lips. There was also something effeminate about his hands: the long fingers were tipped with carefully shaped and buffed nails.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, his voice overtly sexual, then clicked off the lighter and put it back on the desk, folding his hands in his lap. He was wearing a navy Armani suit, a pristine shirt in the palest powder pink, and a tie in such a severely ‘tasteful’ muted shade that it must have set him back two hundred dollars at least. His hair was silver-white, and much thinner than she would have expected, especially in Hollywood where most actors used weaves or spider hairpieces to disguise their hair loss. He had a broad face with a slight dimple in the chin, but his profile was superb, as he clearly knew – his nose was perfect, from both right and left sides, and his high cheekbones looked as if they were carved.

  It was a wonderful face, but the man behind it was so conscious of his beauty that he seemed constantly to be turning from one side to the other to display his features to their best advantage.

  ‘So, Mr Vallance, what can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s rather a delicate subject,’ he said softly, plucking at his trouser crease, and crossing his legs.

  ‘Best just to come straight out with it, then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mm, yes. You, ah, may or may not know that I was a friend of Harry Nathan.’

  ‘Yes, I am aware of that.’

  ‘And of Cindy Nathan,’ he said, his manner just a fraction too casual.

  ‘Yes,’ Lorraine said, smoking. When he flashed her that penetrating look, she met and held it unflinchingly, his eyes slid away. She wondered if he knew that Cindy was dead, but decided she would bide her time before mentioning it.

  ‘You were retained by Cindy to . . . investigate Harry’s death, weren’t you?’ he went on.

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘And I understand that you received some . . .’ He coughed slightly. ‘I find this very difficult.’ Lorraine did not help him. She found the ageing man somehow faintly repulsive, but the opportunity to find out what he knew about Harry and Cindy was too good to miss. ‘I understand that you received some videotapes from Cindy.’

  ‘Some tapes did come into my possession, yes,’ Lorraine said, deciding not to reveal that she no longer had them until he had told her just a little more.

  He knew, just as Kendall had known, that she had seen them. ‘I’m afraid that sort of thing is quite common in Hollywood,’ he said. ‘Though those tapes were, of course, recorded without my knowledge.’

  Well, that was a lie, Lorraine thought, but decided to let it ride.

  ‘I’ve been approached about a leading role in what will undoubtedly be one of the most important films made in this decade,’ he continued pompously, and Lorraine permitted herself a sceptical lift of one eyebrow. ‘Very sensitive political material. The director’s name I’m sure you can guess . . .’ he gave her a meaningful look ‘. . . and I happen to know that some of our . . . ah, friendly government agencies would just as soon I didn’t get past first base. Anything negative attaching to an artist’s image, and an offer can be immediately withdrawn, and, of course, they don’t hesitate fabricating material if nothing genuine can be found. For those reasons, Mrs Page, I have to say that
I need to recover those tapes.’

  Lorraine had heard all this before. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Vallance, those tapes aren’t mine to dispose of.’

  ‘I want them,’ Vallance said sharply. Lorraine stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Obviously, a man in my position cannot have that kind of—’

  ‘Pornography,’ she interrupted.

  It was delightful: he was flushing under his tan.

  ‘I am willing to pay you for them,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ she said, almost mockingly.

  He adjusted his tie. ‘They are not something I am particularly proud of.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, but it is possible, Mr Vallance, that they may be required as evidence.’

  ‘Evidence?’ he said nervously. ‘But why? I can’t see why anyone would want them - they’re private, were recorded without even my knowledge. In fact, I could sue.’

  Listening to him, Lorraine wondered if he knew about the phone tapes, also recorded without his knowledge, and if he did, had he wanted them badly enough to hire someone to break in and pour acid over them? ‘I am sure you could if they were to be offered for sale,’ she said. ‘I understand there’s quite a black market in pornographic tapes of that kind, especially featuring - or should I say starring? - someone like yourself.’

  Vallance stood up, hands clenched at his sides. ‘How much do you want?’

  Lorraine turned up her palms innocently. ‘I can’t sell them, Mr Vallance.’

  He leaned forward, his face distorted with anger. ‘So what do you intend doing with them, Mrs Page?’

  ‘As I have said, they might be required as evidence, Mr Vallance, and I cannot simply hand them over to you. They are not my property in any case. They belonged to my client.’

  ‘Cindy?’ he snapped.

  ‘Yes, Cindy Nathan,’ she said firmly. Vallance turned away, his hands still clenched. ‘You were involved in what I would describe as quite brutal sexual games – she was young, she was innocent . . .’

  ‘Like fuck she was! She’s a tough little whore.’