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.’
Cold Heart Page 42