Just as Lorraine opened the door, Cindy spoke again. ‘I did love him at the beginning. I was only eighteen, he was so nice and he made me all these promises, about being in one of his movies. But they were as fucking sick as he was — he was just making porn.’ She pulled herself up on her elbows to look Lorraine in the eye. ‘You think I killed him now, don’t you?’
Lorraine met the girl’s gaze before she replied, ‘No, Cindy, I don’t believe I do. Take care now.’
She went out and closed the door quietly after her. She had made no mention of the bullet she had found, or Jose’s revelation about the parked jeep that could have been Kendall’s. She didn’t want to raise Cindy’s hopes, because unless Lorraine could clear her name, Cindy Nathan would have to stand trial for the murder of her husband.
As soon as Lorraine got back to the office she asked Decker to check out Jose’s story about the jeep. ‘Find out if anyone else saw it there. Talk to any residents close to where he said it was parked.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah, can you get me any newspaper coverage of fine art auctions or galleries selling top quality paintings?’
‘Sure.’
‘Maybe come on as a buyer. Don’t act up the investigator.’
‘As if I would,’ he said, with a camp flick of the wrist.
Lorraine grinned at him. ‘Get out of here — go on.’
‘On my way,’ and he left with a prancing swagger.
Lorraine began to thumb through notes of her last interview with Cindy, in which she had underlined the name of Detective Sharkey.
Jim Sharkey, the officer she had worked with on her first case in Pasadena. She was sure she’d be able to get some inside info on the police inquiry — if she paid for it. She called the police department, asked for Sharkey. It was a while before he came to the phone.
‘Sharkey,’ he said abruptly.
‘Lorraine Page,’ she replied politely.
‘Yeah, they said.’
She could tell he was smoking as she could hear him inhale, then hiss the smoke out from his lungs. ‘Can we meet? ‘
‘Not right now, I’m busy.’
‘So am I — but I think we should meet. I may have some information for you in regard to the Nathan inquiry,’ she said, still keeping her voice over-polite, almost coaxing. ‘What about lunch? I’d prefer to discuss it away from the station.’
‘Like I said, I’m busy.’ His voice sounded tense and irritated. ‘Mrs Page, if you have anything relevant to my present investigation, then you should come in and talk to my lieutenant.’
‘I’d prefer to discuss it with you. Surely you don’t want me to spell it out.’
‘Spell what out, Mrs Page?’
‘Oh, come on. Stop playing games with me. You know I’m working for Cindy Nathan, I know you’re on the case. Now, if you don’t want to meet, then you can go fuck yourself. If, on the other hand, you want to have a cup of coffee with me, I’ll be at the Silver Spoon, corner of Santa Monica and Havenhurst, about two.’ She put the phone down. Detective Jim Sharkey had been given a lot of backhanders by Rooney, and now he was coming on all pompous and squeaky clean. It infuriated her, as she knew just how much money Rooney had palmed the man in return for access to police files for the last murder case she had worked on.
The phone rang and, still angry, she snatched it up to hear the bleeps of a payphone. ‘Mrs Page?’ It was Sharkey again.
‘Speaking.’
‘Don’t ring the fuckin’ office — I got the Captain at my fucking elbow listening in on every word you said.’
‘All I said was I wanted a meet.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna give you my mobile number. You want me in future you call that, not the station, and I’ll see you at two at the Silver Spoon.’ He dictated the number and hung up. Lorraine checked the time. Still only eleven — she would have time to see Kendall Nathan first.
Chapter 5
Lorraine walked up Beverly Drive, looking for Kendall Nathan’s gallery. Although the location was a notch below the premier sites on Rodeo Drive, the smell of wealth and luxurious living was everywhere in the air. Lorraine passed store after store selling designer clothing, shoes and leather goods.
The neighbourhood was also full of art-related retailing — jewellery and antique stores, and Gallery One was next door to a shop selling antique Oriental kilims. The gallery itself had a plain white store-front, with its name in hammered metal letters, and large, plain plate-glass windows behind which were displayed a sculpture and a couple of star attractions from the latest exhibit.
Lorraine walked a hundred yards down the block and turned up the back alley between Beverly Drive and Canon to have a quiet look at the back of the premises before Kendall Nathan was aware of her presence. The parking area belonging to the gallery had been walled off behind high wooden gates. There was, however, a gap of about half an inch between gate and post, and, squinting through it, Lorraine could make out the paintwork of a parked vehicle: it was cream and black, the same colours as the jeep Jose had seen parked near the house on the day Nathan died. As she stepped back, she noticed a young black guy walking towards her up the alley. He was looking right at her, almost as though he thought he knew her, but he dropped his eyes as soon as she met them and passed her without a word.
Lorraine walked back to the front of the gallery and in at the door, triggering an entry buzzer. She stood in the centre of the large, light, virtually square room. The ceiling had rows of spotlights positioned to show off the paintings, hung strategically around the walls. The canvases were mostly unframed, and one wall displayed the works of only one artist, landscapes in bright acrylics. On another wall were oblong canvases, all of block colours, deep crimson, dark blue, black and walnut, all with an identical white and silver flash of lightning in the right-hand corner.
The only furniture was a desk made of what seemed to be aluminium, with riveted legs, and an uncomfortable-looking chair to match. There was a leather visitors’ book — open — a Mont Blanc pen and a leather-bound blotter, all neatly laid out next to a telephone.
‘Can I help you?’
Lorraine turned, and for a moment her eyes were unable to distinguish anyone: the cross-beams of the spotlights made it difficult to see after coming in from daylight. She couldn’t work out where the voice had come from.
‘Or would you prefer to be left alone?’
Lorraine smiled, her hand shading her eyes. ‘No, not at all. I wanted to speak to Mrs Kendall Nathan.’
‘You already are.’
Kendall Nathan was wearing a simple black almost ankle-length cotton dress with a scoop neckline and long sleeves. Her right wrist was covered in gold bangles, and she wore a gilt chain-link belt, and a large amethyst ring on her third finger. She held out long, thin fingers, which were bony to the touch, but her grip was strong.
‘Lorraine Page.’ They shook hands.
‘Did someone recommend that you...?’
‘No, I’m not here with regard to your paintings.’ She laughed lightly, feeling slightly embarrassed, partly because as Kendall was standing in the shadow she couldn’t see her face clearly. Kendall Nathan walked back into the main gallery and Lorraine went after her.
‘I’m afraid you won’t find much to interest you here in that case,’ Kendall said mockingly, moving lightly round the desk like a dancer. Now Lorraine could see Harry Nathan’s second wife well. She was different from how Lorraine had remembered her at the funeral. There was something simpering in her manner, and the narrowness of her body was accentuated by one of the longest faces Lorraine had ever seen.
Kendall had a wild mop of frizzy, curly hair down to her shoulders, hennaed a reddish colour, which made her olive skin tones slightly yellow. Her eyes were dark, almost black, sly and hooded, and although large, were set too close together on either side of a long, pointed, Aztec-looking nose. Her small mouth was tight and thin-lipped and, even in repose, bore the hint of a snarl.