Линда Ла Плант - Cold Heart

Lorraine had left life surrounded by people who loved her dearly, and reunited with her daughters. But she would never be able to tell anyone the solution to her last case.

None of her private analysis of the murder had been discussed with anyone, none of her notes made on her travels had been read by anyone. Lorraine’s last case appeared to have died with her — the only time a case had not ended in success. Sonja Nathan had not only got away with murder, but with a massive fraud that netted her twenty million dollars.

Lorraine had been at rest for six months when a battered briefcase, its lock forced, was found by a garbage sifter. Lennie Hockum made his living scavenging in garbage dumps, salvaging anything he could recycle and sell on. It often surprised him just how much some of the junk he collected was worth. The briefcase was leather with a suede lining and he was sure he could fix the locks, or make them look good enough for a local garage sale.

Lennie did not inspect the contents of the briefcase thoroughly until he was back at his trailer. There was nothing of immediate value, not even a pen, but there were hotel receipts, sales stubs from various stores and a few business cards in the name of Lorraine Page Investigations. There was also a thick notebook with scrawled writing covering almost every page. Lennie skim-read it, flicking the pages over with his gnarled thumb. Some pages had lists of names with some underlined, but nothing made much sense to him. But he had the woman’s card, he had her address. Maybe he could make a few more bucks if he returned the case to its rightful owner.

Lennie took the case to Lorraine’s office, but he was disappointed when the valet told him the office was closed and had been taken over by another company. He held up the case, asking if the valet knew where he could find the woman.

It was almost a month before Jake Burton was contacted and the briefcase brought into his office. He sat staring at it, then slowly ran his hands along the top. It smelt of mildew and leather polish. Inside there were water stains and the suede had green mould at the edges. The thick notebook seemed fatter due to the damp and some of the pages were stuck together, but he recognized Lorraine’s handwriting. Burton read every page, made copious notes as he went along. Then he had to wait a further week before the Nathans’ housekeepers were traced. He used favours to gain access to their personal finances, but it was evident that they had improved considerably lately: they had purchased a small but quite expensive condo, just off the Ventura highway. They also owned a new Pathfinder and appeared not to be employed.

Using Lorraine’s notes, and with Sharkey as backup, Burton questioned and requestioned Juana and Jose, putting pressure on them to give details of their income. They insisted that they had simply been paid their back salary from the Nathan estate, but when they were informed that it would take only a phone call to verify their statement they began to waver. When they were taken to the station for the interview and questioned separately the cracks began to show. Juana broke first, sobbing hysterically and insisting it was money they were owed, that they had had no choice and had been forced to agree or they would not have been given what was rightfully theirs.

‘I am sure you were owed a lot of money, but as you were not paid out of the Nathan estate, who did pay you?’ Burton asked. He repeated, ‘Who paid for the apartment, the car? Please answer the question. Who is financing you?’

Jose was the one to admit that it was Sonja Nathan and, like his wife, he started to weep. They had promised Mrs Nathan they would use the money to return to Mexico, but had changed their minds. He kept insisting they had done nothing wrong except lie to Mrs Nathan about moving back to Mexico...

Distressed, Juana revealed that Sonja Nathan had always been kind to them, had promised always to take care of them. ‘She was only keeping her promise. She was a good woman...’

Burton kept up the pressure. He was calm, encouraging, and yet relentless. ‘So, on the morning of the murder, you have stated that you saw no one and that you did not hear anything, but were drawn towards the swimming pool when you heard Cindy Nathan screaming. Do you still maintain that to be the truth?’

Sharkey waited as the couple sat, heads bowed. The room so silent you could hear the desk clock ticking. After an interminable silence Burton softly asked again: ‘Did you see anyone else on that morning?’

No reply.

‘Did anyone you know arrange to be at the house on that morning?’

No reply.

Sharkey shifted his weight, looking from Juana to Jose as they sat, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. He then looked at Burton, who was staring at a large silver-framed photograph on the desk. Sharkey couldn’t see the front, but he knew it was a photograph of Lorraine.

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.’