He paused a second before answering. ‘It looks that way, but until I’ve read all the reports I can’t say.’
‘Have they done the autopsy?’
‘Presumably.’
‘Not giving away much, are you?’
‘As I said, Mrs Page, until I have seen the reports, I can’t discuss the incident.’
‘You mind if I call you again in a couple of days?’
‘I should have all the facts by then.’
Lorraine felt ill at ease. It was as if they had never met: he seemed cool and offhand. ‘Well, thank you for returning my call,’ she said lamely.
‘Not at all. Goodbye.’ He replaced the receiver immediately, leaving her listening to a dull buzz.
‘Prick,’ she muttered, and pressed the intercom. ‘Can I have some fresh coffee?’
‘By all means.’ Two minutes later Decker walked in with the coffee pot.
He topped up her cup and she gave his sleeve a tug. ‘Bad morning, sorry.’
He perched on the desk. ‘You want to talk about it?’
‘Not really. It’s just some days, or nights, there doesn’t seem much point. You know, I keep seeing that long tunnel and the future looks kind of dark, and...’ He swirled the coffee pot, waiting for her to go on. ‘Well, I sometimes wonder what the hell I’m going to do with my life — or the rest of it. I was fine when I was planning the office and the apartment, and I’ve got this place up and rolling. We may not be exactly snowed under with work, but I’ve got more money in the bank than I ever had...’ She sipped the coffee, and looked through the open door at Tiger stretched out comatose on the sofa. ‘And I got my boy out there. I mean, I’ve got a lot to be grateful for.’
‘But you’re not happy?’
She had to turn away from him because she wanted to cry. ‘I should be, I know that.’
Decker knew intuitively not to say anything. She was slowly, and for the first time, opening up to him, and he valued that, because he liked her, and seeing this vulnerable side of her made him like her even more.
‘I’m not complaining,’ she said, fishing in her pocket for a cigarette. Decker still said nothing as she found her lighter, lit up, and inhaled deeply. She repeated, so softly he could scarcely hear her, ‘I’m not complaining.’ Then she swallowed and tried a small smile. ‘Gonna give these up.’ She was looking at the filter tip, the smile hard to hold.
‘That’ll be good — well, better for your health, and mine,’ he said, passing her the ashtray.
‘Yeah, well, who cares about my health?’
‘I do,’ he said, easing off the desk.
‘Thank you. But apart from you, you think anyone will ever care about me? I’m so lonely, Deck, and sometimes I guess I’m frightened that this is all there’s ever going to be for me.’
‘Everyone needs to be loved,’ he said quietly.
She nodded, still looking away. ‘They sure do, and I had so much love, Deck, and I threw it all away. It’s just that, having known it, I want some more but sometimes I don’t think I have the right. You know what I mean?’
He put down the coffee pot, and moved round the desk. ‘Come here.’
She shifted, not wanting him close, but he lifted her from the chair to stand in front of him, then wrapped her in his arms. She resisted, straining away from him, but he held her tightly until she relaxed. He stroked her hair, soothing her, then patted her back as a mother would her child.
The phone rang — Jose calling from the Nathans’ house — and this time Lorraine took the call. She agreed to come and see him straight away. She kissed the top of Decker’s head as she left, and he could see that her mood was 100 per cent better than when she had arrived.
Lorraine drove up the gravel drive to see that curtains had been drawn behind the garden doors and the sliding timber screens on the upper floor were closed.
She had to wait a few moments before Juana came to the door, looking tired and drawn. ‘Thank you for coming.’
Lorraine stepped into the cool, darkened hallway as Jose walked towards her from the kitchen. He smiled sadly. ‘We just thought she was taking a shower. Juana even prepared her supper tray.’
They all walked into the kitchen and Lorraine and Jose pulled up tall metal stools to the glass counter. Lorraine said little while Jose told her how they had found Cindy.
‘So, she gave no indication that she was depressed?’
Juana shook her head. ‘No, she worked out in the gym for a while, then she came in here and said she wanted a light supper.’
‘Nothing happened that might have upset her? Any phone calls, any visitors?’
‘No, we would have heard, but the phone never rang and nobody came.’
‘Did you see the note?’
Jose nodded, and Juana broke down in tears when Lorraine asked what it had said. ‘Oh, just that she could not go on, that she did not want to live. I know this sounds very bad, but it was the first time I ever felt sorry for her, when I saw her... in the shower. She seemed so young, so small, so... defenceless. She looked as if she was praying.’
‘Could I see the room?’ Lorraine asked, and they agreed to take her upstairs. As they walked from the hall to the staircase, Lorraine registered the shattered ceramics, and the pictures that had been pulled down. One had even been slashed, while others hung at drunken angles on the walls.
The room was in shadow, the blinds pulled down, and everything had been left as Juana and Jose had found it: it didn’t even seem as if the police had been there. Lorraine noticed that another painting had been taken down from the wall and left on the floor, but remained silent.
She went into the bathroom where she noted the discarded towels and the necklace still lying on the floor, then turned back to the bedroom. Cindy’s shoes were still by the bed, and Lorraine crossed to the dressing table where cosmetic jars had been left open, and tissues stained with make-up remover were scattered about.
‘The note was left here?’ she asked.
‘Just there.’ Juana pointed.
Lorraine examined the dressing table more closely. ‘What was it written on? Just a scrap of paper, or was it like a letter?’
‘It was on her own notepaper.’
Lorraine looked round the room. ‘Where does she keep it?’
Juana opened one drawer then another, then scratched her head. ‘I think downstairs in the study. I don’t recall seeing anything in here.’
Lorraine asked if they had seen Cindy’s purse. Jose duly searched the room, and found it half under a chair, partly hidden by the ruched frill. He picked it up and handed it to Lorraine.
‘I’m surprised the police didn’t find this,’ she said softly, opening it. She tipped the contents out onto the bed. ‘Did the police take the paintings down? It looks like they made a lot of mess,’ she said casually.
‘No, no, they didn’t touch anything. Well, not that I could see,’ said Jose.
Lorraine glanced up and caught the look that passed between the two servants.
‘They didn’t do that,’ Jose said eventually.
‘Who did?’ Lorraine asked, and knew again that the Mexican couple were wondering whether to give or withhold some piece of information.
‘It was Kendall Nathan. Jose... We panicked, he called her.’
‘Kendall was here last night?’ Lorraine asked immediately.
‘Yes.’
‘She was at home when you called her? What time was that?’
‘I don’t know — late. I was going to take a bath before I went to bed. That’s how I noticed — the water was cold,’ Juana said.
‘It was after ten o’clock,’ Jose volunteered.
‘But when was the last time you saw Cindy alive?’ Lorraine asked.
‘About six, I think, when she came out of the gym. The shower was running when we took her tray up at eight thirty.’