Cold Heart

by Lynda La Plante

  Kendall wouldn’t allow herself to believe it. What about Harry’s brother Nick? He was an artist, he could have been behind it, and there was Harry’s mother – she had a considerable interest in art and antiques.

  Abigail Nathan had been so friendly when Harry and Kendall were married, so pleased that Harry had got rid of Sonja, and overjoyed about her first grandchild. But Kendall had known in her heart that Abigail cared only about her sons. In her eyes they could do no wrong, and Kendall wondered if the whole Nathan family had ganged up against her. She remembered Cindy saying that someone had broken into the house and Abigail had keys, so the family could have taken the paintings, but how could she prove it without implicating herself?

  Kendall began to search her desk drawers: Harry might not have kept up the house insurance premiums, but she had always paid the insurance of the gallery personally. Now it was all she had, and she knew what she would do: torch it, and claim the insurance. At least she would come out with something, and the more she thought about it, the better she felt. It could be done easily enough – the workshop was full of inflammable spirits, canvases and wooden frames and would catch fire quickly. As it was attached to the gallery, the whole site would go up.

  She hurled everything out of the desk drawers, until she found the documents: the gallery was well insured, and the stock valued at two million dollars. She checked the insurance papers, just to make sure that, in the event of fire, she was fully covered, then crammed the rest of the documents, including the mass of crazy notes she had received from Cindy Nathan, back into the drawer. Those were certainly best out of circulation – she didn’t want anyone thinking she had had anything to do with that fucked-up bimbo’s death.

  Kendall hurried out of her apartment to her Mitsubishi jeep. She loaded the cans of white spirit she kept in her garage into the back of it, muttering drunkenly that nobody was ever going to treat her like a doormat again. She would show that bastard and his family, and she was laughing as she drove out past Lorraine Page, who had parked a few yards from her front door, and whom she did not see. She was too intent on planning her revenge. Kendall wouldn’t be left penniless like Sonja, wouldn’t walk away without a fight.

  Lorraine adjusted her driving mirror and watched the two-toned Mitsubishi jeep career down the road. She had hoped to challenge Kendall about Jose’s statement that he had seen her car on the morning of Harry Nathan’s death as well as Cindy’s suggestion of some fraud to do with the paintings, and her subsequent mysterious death. She tried to follow the jeep, but lost it after a few minutes. Kendall was going somewhere and fast: Lorraine wondered if Feinstein had already called her.

  Lorraine returned to her office and tossed the car keys to the valet parking attendant, who gave her a wide grin. ‘Hi there. Nice day. You having one?’

  ‘Yep. How about you?’

  ‘Could be better,’ he said, getting into the Mercedes.

  She rode the elevator up to her floor, headed for her office, and was about to enter when she heard voices.

  Decker was serving coffee and chocolate madeleines, which he must have rushed out and bought, to Lieutenant Jake Burton. Lorraine hesitated, then smiled. ‘Hello.’

  Burton stood up with a smile. ‘Off duty. Wondered if I could have a few moments?’

  ‘Sure, go into my office. I’ll just get rid of my coat.’

  Decker ushered Burton into Lorraine’s office and closed the door behind him. ‘He just called in. Been here a few minutes,’ he whispered. ‘Single white male his age – don’t pass him up. I’d pull him.’

  Lorraine made a face and walked into her office. She went behind her desk and sat down. After what Decker had just said she found it hard to look at Burton.

  ‘Off the record, Mrs Page, I called to say thank you for sending over the videos and for your . . . other assistance, and to tell you that as yet we’ve had no news from the county morgue on the Cindy Nathan autopsy.’

  He kept staring at her, then added, ‘That’s all really. Thank you.’

  He walked to the door. ‘Is your dog a cross between a German shepherd and . . .’

  ‘I’m not sure – I kind of inherited him, but he’s got malamute or maybe wolfhound somewhere.’

  ‘I used to have a Dobermann,’ he said. ‘Miss them when they go – especially the walks. Kind of clears your head, or it did with me. Anyway, thank you again.’

  He was about to open the door when Lorraine said, ‘Whenever you feel like walking, just call me – he’s always available.’

  He gave a shy smile. ‘I will. I’d like it even better if there was some company too. Anyway, I’d better make tracks. Thank you again.’

  ‘Let me give you my home number,’ she said suddenly. She wrote on one of her cards, and passed it to him.

  ‘I’ll take you up on that.’

  She followed him out, and he asked where she usually walked. ‘Oh, sometimes the park, but on nice evenings I drive to the promenade. He loves the beach.’

  Decker was listening, but pretending to be busy. Tiger raised his head as they passed and Burton patted him, then nodded to Lorraine, and grinned at Decker. ‘Nice meeting you again – goodbye.’

  Lorraine watched him leave, and Decker rolled his eyes. ‘My God, you are so slow. He was begging yon for a date – when a guy talks about taking your dog for a walk, you know, sweetheart, it’s you he wants to go walkieswith.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, returning to her office.

  ‘So what did he want?’

  Lorraine shrugged. ‘Nothing, really, just to thank me for sending the videos over.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Decker said, raising his eyebrows. ‘He had to come and see you to do that? So he is after your ass.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Lorraine said dismissively.

  He laughed. ‘Sweetie, trust me, you’ll have to make the running. He’s all male, all testosterone and incapable of coming out with the line “I suppose a fuck is out of the question”, but he has major hot pants for you, trust me.’

  ‘Not in a blue moon, Decker. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.’

  ‘If you could see your face – ’ he giggled ‘ – go take a look!’

  She slammed her office door, and scurried to look at herself in the make-up mirror she kept in a filing cabinet. She was flushed, and she did have the hots for Burton. Decker was just a sex-obsessed fag – but intuitive.

  Kendall turned into the alley that ran along the back of the gallery, overlooked by barred windows and full of huge commercial garbage bins. Most businesses left their back yards open to use as a parking area, but Kendall had enclosed all the space that belonged to her to construct a workroom, and she pulled up now in front of the high iron gates she had installed. On the other side of the alley were the backs of the shops and other properties that fronted Canon Drive. One was a men’s accessories shop, run by a guy called Greg Jordan. Now she saw him standing at the back door of his shop. She waved across to him, making sure he saw her, not wanting to appear furtive. ‘Hi, how’s business?’ she called loudly.

  He walked out into the alley. ‘Slow. How is it with you?’

  ‘Not so bad. Got a client coming in - ‘bye now.’ She waved again, and pushed open the big double gates.

  Eric was in the yard, stacking a delivery of old frames they would repair in the shop. She tossed him the keys of the jeep, a little irritated that he was there: she had forgotten about him. ‘Eric, there’s a delivery of white spirits in the jeep - bring them in for me, will you? ‘

  ‘Sure, Mrs Nathan, but we’ve got plenty in stock,’ he said, heaving an old gilded plaster frame up to lean against the wall of the workshop.

  ‘I know, but I don’t want it cluttering up the garage.’

  Eric wandered out to the alley, unobserved by Greg Jordan, now busy with a customer. ‘Where do you want them?’ he asked Kendall, as he carried the crate of spirit into the workshop.

  ‘Just leave them by the door,’ she sa
id nonchalantly, bumping into the big trestle table covered with paints and pots.

  ‘You all right, Mrs Nathan?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine. We do any business today?’ she asked, trying to appear casual, and he said there had been just a few customers, but no sales.

  ‘Well, I might close up early,’ she said, then had to hold onto the ledge of the table as the room was spinning. ‘Got a headache, actually,’ she muttered, and he looked at her but said nothing. It was obvious she had been drinking.

  ‘You want me in the morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Maybe come in a bit early as I want to shift some of these paintings into the main space.’

  ‘I can do it now, if you want.’

  ‘No, tomorrow will be fine. I’m going out to dinner, so I won’t be here long. I’ll just lock up and then I’ll be leaving.’

  ‘Okay.’ He stared at her again: she was dragging some wooden frames from behind a screen.

  ‘You sure you don’t want me to stay an’ help out?’

  ‘No, just go. See you tomorrow.’

  Eric hovered by the door, watching her stumble against a wall. He’d never seen her like this in the two years he’d worked there. ‘You sure you’re okay, Mrs Nathan?’

  She turned on him angrily. ‘I’m fine. Now just go, go on, get out.’

  ‘On my way,’ he said, picking up his jacket. He didn’t give a shit either way - he’d never liked her or her hawk face. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, as the door shut after him.

  Alone, Kendall did not move until she had heard the yard gates clang shut. Then she heaved more and more wooden frames into the centre of the room, laughing softly, knowing they would catch light fast.

  Lorraine was clearing her desk, getting ready to leave for home, when the phone rang. She checked the time - five thirty. Decker buzzed her office. ‘Call for you, Mrs Page, line two. Lieutenant Gorgeous. Okay if I leave?’

  ‘Sure. See you tomorrow.’ She hesitated, then switched to line two. ‘Lorraine Page speaking.’

  ‘Hi . . . er, I was just wondering . . . I’m off duty early this evening, and it’s a . . . well, it’s a nice night, and I was wondering . . . if you were going for a walk. Or if you were busy I could take your dog out for you.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m just leaving the office.’

  ‘Oh, well, another time.’

  ‘No, no, I meant that I’d go home, change, and I’d like . . . we could walk together.’

  ‘Oh, yes, fine.’

  She gave him her home address again - just to make sure - and they arranged to meet at seven thirty. She couldn’t stop smiling. She had a date! Well, she and Tiger had one.

  Usually, when she got home, Lorraine tore off her clothes, pulled on an old track suit and sneakers, then walked to the nearest park, ran for almost two miles and went home. Tonight she washed her hair, redid her make-up, and put on a pale blue track suit with a white T-shirt that she wore only for the gym on Saturdays - it was an expensive designer label, and she knew the colour suited her. Then she tidied the apartment, arranged some fresh flowers and sprayed air freshener, while Tiger padded after her, wondering what the hell was going on. He even dragged his lead from the hook by the door and sat there waiting, afraid that she would go out without walking him.

  On the dot of seven thirty, she heard Burton’s car outside. She cast a quick glance round the room and tossed a magazine onto the sofa as the entry phone buzzed.

  When she let Burton in, Tiger hurled himself, barking, at the door, and Lorrane grabbed his collar and yelled at him. ‘It’s okay, Tiger, stop it. Good boy . . . Tiger?

  Burton wore an old pair of torn jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, and concealed his shyness by making a fuss of Tiger. ‘Hello there . . . Who’s a good house-dog, then, eh? Hello, good boy, good boy.’

  Tiger allowed Burton to ruffle his ears, then tried to squeeze between his legs to get out of the half-open door.

  ‘Wait!’ Lorraine yelled, but Burton grabbed his collar.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve got him. He seems pretty eager to go.’

  Lorraine agreed, saying that she had only just arrived home, and he was used to his routine. ‘I just throw on a track suit and we run.’

  Burton looked at her, flushing. ‘Well, you look lovely, that colour suits you.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. I’ll get my keys.’

  He clipped Tiger’s lead on, and went ahead of her down the stairs to the street. He hadn’t had a chance to notice how she had cleaned the apartment: all he had been looking at was her, and he liked what he saw – but, then, he had thought the same when he’d first met her.

  They used her jeep to drive the short distance to Santa Monica beach. Burton drove, and Lorraine liked the way he asked if she’d like him to drive, not too pushy, easy and relaxed. She tossed him the car keys, and as he got in he pushed the seat back to accommodate the length of his legs. Tiger was stationed in the back seat, his head almost resting on Burton’s shoulder. She liked the way Jake had checked the gear shift and made sure he knew where everything was before they drove off. Out of his working clothes he looked younger, and she noticed he was well built, and had strong, tanned arms. He asked if she had any special route or if he should just take her the way he knew. She said she’d leave it to him, but started to direct him down the avenue anyway. He laughed, and didn’t seem to care that Tiger was drooling on his shoulder. When they stopped at lights he tilted his head to one side to run it against the big dog’s muzzle, and Tiger licked his face in reply.

  He was relaxed, at ease, and as he drove, Lorraine was able to sneak glances at his profile. He was, as Decker had said, a very handsome man, and seemed even more so this evening than when she had first seen him. He was not exactly drop-dead gorgeous, but he had strong features: his nose was aquiline, and he had high cheekbones, and a deep cleft in his chin. His eyes were deep-set, and although she knew they could be cold and unfriendly, now they were teasing.

  He knew she was scrutinizing him, but didn’t mind. He would have been a bit suspicious of someone who pushed their way into his life, and would have been sure, as he presumed she was, that the walk with the dog was just a pretext.

  ‘So, this was unexpected,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t you trust me? Do you think I have some ulterior motive?’

  ‘Possibly,’ she said lightly.

  He half turned towards her, then back to concentrate on driving. ‘I used to have a dog, I told you. I like . . . taking walks, and I prefer some company, not all the time, but occasionally.’

  Lorraine stared out of the window. It had been so long since she had had company, and not just for walking Tiger. ‘Yes, me too,’ she said softly.

  Kendall arranged the frames, not obviously, but stacked at the side of a long trestle table, draped a length of muslin over them and soaked it in white spirit. She poured a trail of the liquid across the bare floorboards, which were splattered with paint and spirit spilt over a period of years. She brought more finished canvases out of their slats in the storage area, again not making an obvious bonfire but resting them against the walls, leaving space for air to circulate under them to feed the flames. She worked for almost an hour, sweating with the effort, and soaking rags from the bins in yet more spirit. Then she carried out more old canvases and laid them along the walls of the short passage between the workshop and the gallery, to encourage the fire to spread into the gallery itself. She was still drunk but so intent on what she was doing that she wasn’t aware of it.

  At seven thirty she entered the gallery, turned on all the lights, and opened all the doors. She made four phone calls arranging for artists to meet her the next morning, opened her desk diary and entered the appointments, plus notes of possible sales – all to create the impression that she had no financial problems and had been planning normal business for the next day. She spread more papers and anything that would catch light quickly on the floor, and started to make her way back to the workshop. Half-way there, sh
e crossed to the big gates to look out – then swore. Heading towards her was Greg.

  ‘Hi – that you, Kendall?’ he called, and she opened the gate. ‘You got any fresh coffee? It’s just that I’m stock-taking, and I’ve run out and can’t be bothered to go to the store.’

  ‘Sure, come on in. I’m working late myself – I’ve just got a new artist and I’m planning the show for him, so I’m moving things around to make space.’

  She kept calm, walked into the little kitchen area in the warehouse with Greg, and passed him a half-used packet of coffee.

  ‘So, business is good, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep, well, I hope it’ll be even better. I am always looking for new talent. You know – eye-catching stuff She smiled, wanting to get rid of him, but then realized he would make a good witness, and elaborated on her new deals, even gestured towards the warehouse. ‘You can see it’s kind of cluttered in here, so I’ve got plenty to keep me busy this evening.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for the coffee – I’ll repay you in kind tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Oh, it’s on the house.’

  He thanked her again. She smelt of alcohol, and he was sure she was tipsy. She didn’t offer him a drink, though, and he hadn’t really wanted the coffee – he’d wanted a chat with Eric, from whom he scored a variety of recreational chemicals.

  Kendall watched him leave, and not until he was back inside his shop did she return to the warehouse.