‘Jesus Christ, Decker, this is important. We need that recording. Cindy Nathan said she never made the call to the office. If Cindy didn’t make that call, somebody did, someone who knew Harry Nathan was dead — maybe because they had shot him, understand, sweetheart? That call is very important.’
Decker was flushing bright red. ‘You spoke to Cindy on the phone and met her. Did you think it was the same voice? I mean, do you think she made the call?’
Lorraine lifted her hands in the air. ‘I dunno... and I’m not wasting time thinking about it. Like I just said, let’s move on. I’m down seven hundred dollars on this fiasco.’
Decker was dispatched to get any back issues of articles on Cindy Nathan, and Lorraine read every newspaper. Harry Nathan had been married three times and there were photographs of Kendall Nathan, his second wife, a thin, dark woman who looked to be in her late thirties, and Sonja Sorenson, the sculptress, a tall, formidably elegant woman with prematurely white hair. Lorraine clipped out the pictures and the accompanying coverage, then tossed the rest into the trash can.
The phone rang and made her jump but she waited a moment before she picked it up. ‘Page Investigations,’ she said brightly.
It was Decker, speaking from the car phone. ‘Hi, it’s me. Turn the TV on. It just came over the radio. Cindy Nathan’s been arrested for the murder of her husband.’
Lorraine hurried into Reception and switched on the TV. There was Cindy Nathan, almost hidden by a battery of cameras, being hurried into the police department. Feinstein, her lawyer, his arms wide, was trying to protect his client. She looked tiny and frightened, in a simple white linen button-through dress and carrying her jacket.
Lorraine sat on the edge of the sofa with Tiger at her feet. Then she shot up, tripping over Tiger as she snatched up a tape and rammed it into the video machine. At that moment Decker returned. ‘Quick! Video this, will you?’ She passed him the remote control. They recorded the coverage of Cindy Nathan’s arrest every time it was screened — a lot was repetitive but they learned that she came from Milwaukee and had left at fifteen after winning a beauty competition. A few modelling jobs followed, and then her short stint in the soap drama Paradise Motel in which she played a chambermaid, not very well.
Harry Nathan was more handsome than Lorraine had expected, a tall, lean, muscular man with dark hair, worn quite long, and a dazzling, though somehow charmless smile. The still photographs of him were glamorous, mostly taken at society functions, premiêres, Oscar nights, with celebrities on his arm. His associates from the studio said in interviews that Nathan would be greatly missed by all who had ever had the pleasure of working with him, and his secretary, in floods of tears, was so distraught she could hardly speak.
Lorraine continued to watch the news coverage at home. It said nothing new. There was no mention of where she was being held pending arraignment.
Nathan was a self-made millionaire and renowned art collector, who had moved from making commercials to directing zany comedy movies, which had been a big hit back in the eighties. He had then turned his attention to producing rather than directing, and had moved gradually towards cheap, adult-oriented movies on the verge of porn.
Lorraine was about to call it a night when, channel-surfing, she caught an exclusive interview with Harry Nathan’s second wife, Kendall. It struck her that there had been neither comment nor reaction from the woman who had been married longest to Harry Nathan, Ms Sorenson.
Kendall Nathan whispered that she was deeply shocked by events, and also felt compassion for Cindy. She had been married to Harry Nathan for four years and knew better than anyone that he had been difficult to live with, but their divorce had been amicable, and she had continued to enjoy a deep friendship with her ex-husband. They had also remained business partners.
Then she gave a tremulous smile, her voice breaking. ‘Harry was always an honourable man whose many friends will be devastated, as I am, by his tragic and untimely death.’
Most people would have focused on Kendall’s performance as a grieving woman, but Lorraine was trying to ascertain whether it could have been Kendall who had called her agency.
The morning newspapers were full of the update on the shooting, and as there were no other job prospects Lorraine and Decker cut out all the articles and pinned them together with the previous day’s.
At twelve they had a call from a Mrs Walgraf asking for an appointment with regard to her divorce.
At two o’clock another appointment was booked and, to Lorraine’s astonishment, a third call came in at four. The next two days were busy.
After being held at the Cybil Brand Institute for Women in the female facility of the Los Angeles County jail, Cindy Nathan was duly arraigned on charges of murder, pleaded not guilty, and was released on bail, security set at three million dollars. No one saw her leave the courthouse, as she was taken out through a small back entrance because of the number of press waiting outside. Her lawyer read a statement on her behalf: she was innocent and begged to be left alone to mourn the loss of the husband she adored. She would give no further press statements or interviews in the lead-up to the trial as she was pregnant. Feinstein assured the press that he was confident that all charges against his client would be dismissed, and that Mrs Nathan needed rest and care. Her pregnancy was in the early stages and the stress of her arrest had made her ill. She was now fearful, Feinstein ended, that she might lose the child for which she and her husband had prayed.
Three weeks after Cindy Nathan’s release, Lorraine had traced one missing daughter, and had discovered that Mrs Walgraf’s husband had obviously been preparing for his divorce for many months before his wife had become aware of his intentions.
Mrs Walgraf did not have the money to pay Lorraine, who would not press her — she felt sorry for the woman.
‘Well, let’s hope we get something a bit more financially rewarding next,’ Decker said.
Lorraine yawned. It was almost time to leave. Tiger was stretched out on his back on the pretty cherry-coloured sofa in Reception, his legs in the air. ‘He’s not supposed to get up on that,’ she said, irritated.
‘I know, my dear, but you try and shift him!’
The phone rang and Decker snatched it up. It was the main reception downstairs. He listened, then covered the receiver. ‘It’s Mrs Nathan. She’s downstairs. She wants to see you.’
Lorraine smiled. ‘You know, I thought I’d hear from her again. Ask her to come up.’
Lorraine put on some fresh lipstick and ran a comb quickly through her hair. She was just checking her reflection when Decker tapped and opened her door. Tiger was barking and tried to get into the office between Decker’s legs. ‘Mrs Nathan to see you, Mrs Page. Sit!’ Tiger slunk off to the sofa and lay flat on it with his head on his paws.
Decker closed the office door and returned to his desk, wishing he could be privy to the conversation. He was beginning to like the job. He’d been worried during the past week as there had been little to do, but now he couldn’t wait to make a quiet call to Adam Elliot to tell him who had arrived.
Cindy Nathan wore dark glasses, a short powder blue princess-line dress, low, peep-toe shoes in white patent leather, and a silver chain and padlock, fastened tightly, like a dog collar, round her neck: a gift from her loving spouse, Lorraine had no doubt. She didn’t have a purse, just a small white-leather billfold.
‘Please sit down. Sorry about my dog. He’s supposed to be trained, but he hasn’t got it quite right yet. Can I offer you tea or coffee?’