'Glad to,' Lorraine said. 'Good afternoon, Mrs Nathan.' She walked out, not bothering to close the door behind her, leaving the buzzer whining loudly.

She was excited as she drove to her office, eager to discuss the new developments with Decker. She roared up to the building, and handed her keys to the valet parking attendant, who now had strict instructions always to keep his eye on her Mercedes.

He drove it into the underground motor court, and pulled up next to an immaculate, gleaming Rolls Corniche. He hadn't recognized Raymond Vallance, and had only realized who the owner of the Rolls was when he'd parked the car and seen the name on some mail on the front seat. He would have liked to sneak a look at the letters, but he'd been summoned by Reception on his mobile, so hadn't had time. As he locked Lorraine's car, he leaned towards the Corniche again, thinking how amazing it was that people left such personal things in their cars and tossed the keys to valet parking boys, unaware that they always had a good sniff around. He knew of some cases where guys had been paid nice regular sums for information not that he would ever stoop to that, but some folks were so dumb they deserved to be ripped off. House keys attached to their car keys was an open invitation for a quick impression to be taken, making access to their homes as easy as taking candy from a baby even more so if you got a couple of hours clear when they were dining out. He wouldn't co-operate in that kind of crooked deal, but he allowed himself a good snoop around, and often found a few dollars tucked down the back of expensive limo seats. He never thought that was stealing that was just getting lucky.

Raymond Vallance's mail wasn't that interesting, and the Corniche wasn't his. It belonged to some woman. The parking attendant smiled as he saw that Mr Vallance also had a nasty letter from his bank. His financial situation was even shakier than the attendant's. He put the letter back in the envelope, had a good feel around the seats and opened the glove compartment, whistling as he saw it was jammed with parking tickets and CDs. There was a powder compact too, with lipstick attached, a pair of sunglasses, and a number of pieces of folded pink writing paper. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and opened out the top sheet. It was a note, childish handwriting in brown ink, from some woman, by the looks of it, rambling on about how no one understood her or cared about her. God, he thought, glancing quickly over the pages of appeals and complaints. He got enough of that at home. He refolded the pieces of paper, stuffed them back among the other contents of the glove compartment, and had another quick feel behind the seats before he was satisfied that there was nothing of interest, not even a few coins. So much for the movie star. He wouldn't waste his time asking Vallance for an autograph.

CHAPTER 8.

LORRAINE BURST into the office, and Decker got up immediately. 'You have a . . .' he said quietly, nodding towards the other side of the room.

Raymond Vallance turned from the window, removing his Gucci shades. Well, Lorraine thought, look who it is.

'Mrs Page? Raymond Vallance.'

He stowed the glasses in a pocket and held out his hand. Lorraine crossed the room and shook it: it was limp, clammy, unpleasant to the touch. He was taller than she would have expected, at least six foot one, and he was certainly making a serious effort to charm, but Lorraine thought she detected a touch of strain behind the ingratiating manner.

'I'm sorry, I should have made an appointment if this is not convenient . . .'

'No, no, please come into my office.' She gestured to him to go ahead then turned back to Decker. 'What does he want?' she whispered.

'I don't know, but he's been waiting half an hour.'

Lorraine followed Vallance into her office and closed the door. 'Sorry to keep you waiting.' She smiled, as she moved round her desk and sat down. 'Do you mind if I smoke?' she said, already taking a cigarette out of a pack. Vallance's hand reached her lighter a moment before hers did, and struck a flame. He stared hypnotically at her with his wide-set, ice-blue eyes, a half smile playing on his slightly feminine lips. There was also something effeminate about his hands: the long fingers were tipped with carefully shaped and buffed nails.

'Not at all,' he said, his voice overtly sexual, then clicked off the lighter and put it back on the desk, folding his hands in his lap. He was wearing a navy Armani suit, a pristine shirt in the palest powder pink, and a tie in such a severely 'tasteful' muted shade that it must have set him back two hundred dollars at least. His hair was silver-white, and much thinner than she would have expected, especially in Hollywood where most actors used weaves or spider hairpieces to disguise their hair loss. He had a broad face with a slight dimple in the chin, but his profile was superb, as he clearly knew his nose was perfect, from both right and left sides, and his high cheekbones looked as if they were carved.

It was a wonderful face, but the man behind it was so conscious of his beauty that he seemed constantly to be turning from one side to the other to display his features to their best advantage.

'So, Mr Vallance, what can I do for you?'

'It's rather a delicate subject,' he said softly, plucking at his trouser crease, and crossing his legs.

'Best just to come straight out with it, then, isn't it?'

'Mm, yes. You, ah, may or may not know that I was a friend of Harry Nathan.'

'Yes, I am aware of that.'

'And of Cindy Nathan,' he said, his manner just a fraction too casual.

'Yes,' Lorraine said, smoking. When he flashed her that penetrating look, she met and held it unflinchingly, his eyes slid away. She wondered if he knew that Cindy was dead, but decided she would bide her time before mentioning it.

'You were retained by Cindy to . . . investigate Harry's death, weren't you?' he went on.

'Yes, I was.'

'And I understand that you received some . . .' He coughed slightly. 'I find this very difficult.' Lorraine did not help him. She found the ageing man somehow faintly repulsive, but the opportunity to find out what he knew about Harry and Cindy was too good to miss. 'I understand that you received some videotapes from Cindy.'

'Some tapes did come into my possession, yes,' Lorraine said, deciding not to reveal that she no longer had them until he had told her just a little more.

He knew, just as Kendall had known, that she had seen them. 'I'm afraid that sort of thing is quite common in Hollywood,' he said. 'Though those tapes were, of course, recorded without my knowledge.'

Well, that was a lie, Lorraine thought, but decided to let it ride.

'I've been approached about a leading role in what will undoubtedly be one of the most important films made in this decade,' he continued pompously, and Lorraine permitted herself a sceptical lift of one eyebrow. 'Very sensitive political material. The director's name I'm sure you can guess . . .' he gave her a meaningful look '. . . and I happen to know that some of our . . . ah, friendly government agencies would just as soon I didn't get past first base. Anything negative attaching to an artist's image, and an offer can be immediately withdrawn, and, of course, they don't hesitate fabricating material if nothing genuine can be found. For those reasons, Mrs Page, I have to say that I need to recover those tapes.'

Lorraine had heard all this before. 'I'm sorry, Mr Vallance, those tapes aren't mine to dispose of.'

'I want them,' Vallance said sharply. Lorraine stubbed out her cigarette. 'Obviously, a man in my position cannot have that kind of-'

'Pornography,' she interrupted.

It was delightful: he was flushing under his tan.

'I am willing to pay you for them,' he said.

'Really?' she said, almost mockingly.

He adjusted his tie. 'They are not something I am particularly proud of.'

'I'm not surprised, but it is possible, Mr Vallance, that they may be required as evidence.'

'Evidence?' he said nervously. 'But why? I can't see why anyone would want them - they're private, were recorded without even my knowledge. In fact, I could sue.'

Listening to him, Lorraine wondered if he knew about the phone tapes, also recorded without his knowledge, and if he did, had he wanted them badly enough to hire someone to break in and pour acid over them? 'I am sure you could if they were to be offered for sale,' she said. 'I understand there's quite a black market in pornographic tapes of that kind, especially featuring - or should I say starring? - someone like yourself.'

Vallance stood up, hands clenched at his sides. 'How much do you want?'

Lorraine turned up her palms innocently. 'I can't sell them, Mr Vallance.'

He leaned forward, his face distorted with anger. 'So what do you intend doing with them, Mrs Page?'

'As I have said, they might be required as evidence, Mr Vallance, and I cannot simply hand them over to you. They are not my property in any case. They belonged to my client.'

'Cindy?' he snapped.

'Yes, Cindy Nathan,' she said firmly. Vallance turned away, his hands still clenched. 'You were involved in what I would describe as quite brutal sexual games she was young, she was innocent . . .'

'Like fuck she was! She's a tough little whore.'

'Cindy died last night, Mr Vallance,' Lorraine said, watching him closely. 'Suicide, it seems.'

For a moment, Vallance did not react. Then he said, looking straight at her, 'I'm . . . sorry to hear that.' His eyes were curiously shuttered, and Lorraine's skin crawled. Cindy's death had not been news to him, whatever he wanted her to believe.

'You and Cindy had a close friendship, I believe,' Lorraine said.

'You could say that.' He was guarded.

'Was it your child, by the way?' Lorraine asked casually. 'The baby she lost?'

'No,' Vallance said curtly. 'It could have been any number of people's, but it was not mine that I can be sure of.'

'Really? But I have seen you in action, Mr Vallance, so to speak.'

He turned those wide eyes on her and they were beautiful, a wonderful, dazzling blue that flashed like lightning. If only he could have brought that look, or the strength of feeling behind it, to his performances, he might perhaps have reignited his dying career.

'You didn't answer me, Mr Vallance. I have seen you in the videos that Harry Nathan made and, as far as I could tell, you . . .' She gestured eloquently with her hand. 'You were very aroused. Oh, of course, I'd forgotten.' She touched her forehead, feigning surprise at her absent-mindedness. 'There was the one where you strapped on a-'

He leaned forward, almost spat at her, 'I want those fucking tapes, you hard-nosed bitch.'

'They most certainly are fucking tapes.' Lorraine laughed, and then leaned forward. 'Perhaps you'd be happier if it really was your own hard prick, and not some plastic strap-on number. You might get a whole new career for yourself. What's the matter, Mr Vallance, can't you get a hard-on? Is that the-'

He slapped her across the face. She took the blow and paused a moment before she swung her right fist and caught him full on his perfect nose. He flopped back into the chair, one hand to his face while he fumbled with the other for a handkerchief. She watched him feeling the bridge of his nose gingerly, afraid she'd broken it, staring at the fine trickle of blood on his hand before he put the handkerchief to his face.

'I'm sorry, Mr Vallance. I only just heard about Cindy and . . .'

She looked carefully at him: his head was bowed and he was weeping, covering his face with the white cloth. Lorraine picked up the glass of water and held it out to him, but he shook his head and turned away from her. It was about three minutes before he composed himself, checked his nose again and looked at the spots of blood on the handkerchief before he put it back in his pocket. He reached for the glass of water and raised it to his lips, his hand shaking badly. He sipped carefully, then slowly replaced the glass on the desk.

'How did she do it?' he asked flatly.

'She took some cord, wrapped it round the shower head and then round her throat only a short distance, but enough. She was kneeling, as if she was praying, according to the servants.'

He sighed, and reached for the water again, drained it and held the empty glass in his hands. 'I'm sorry. Maybe she wasn't as tough as I thought.'

'Nobody ever is,' she said, and he looked up. 'Can I ask you frankly, Mr Vallance, do you think Cindy killed Harry Nathan?'

There was a moment's silence, and Lorraine had the impression of a curtain falling at the back of the man's eyes. 'Yes,' he said finally. 'Yes, I do. She would never have been convicted, of course. Harry should have kept right away from women he just wasn't himself with them, they made him dirty, sucked him dry. I used to tell him that he ought to regard women as liquor to an alcoholic, that they were something he would have to cut right out of his life, just accept that they brought out negative things in him, things he didn't need.'

'Harry was different then, away from female company? '

Vallance gave a strange, bitter-sweet smile. 'He was such a prince when he could cut loose from all that, the kindest, funniest, most generous guy you could meet, and so damn talented . . .' God, Lorraine thought, he sounded like some high-school girl gushing over her first beau. 'Cindy never gave a damn about Harry,' Vallance went on. 'She never gave a damn about anyone but herself. She wanted his money, and she thought . . . I guess she thought she'd got it.' His quick correction didn't escape Lorraine. Could Vallance have had anything to do with Cindy's death? Was it possible that he and Kendall had acted together: 'But, Mr Vallance, although you say you and Harry were such good friends, I have to say that I know he was blackmailing you.'

He laughed softly. 'That's what I mean. The women changed him, made him dirty, selfish. That's not the way he started out, but it was sure as hell the way he finished up. Once Harry stopped making money, I doubt if there was anyone he knew that he didn't put the squeeze on. He wouldn't think of it as blackmail, though he would probably have been shocked if you called him a blackmailer. Conman might be a better description.'

'Did you pay him?'

He stared at a point on the wall. 'I guess so. I paid Harry in women, but he also paid me his way sometimes my rent, phone bills or whatever. He liked me to have to ask him for hand-outs, but he could be generous.'

Lorraine waited. Vallance was digging deep inside himself, and she knew from his body language that it hurt: he seemed to have shrivelled, as if he was ageing in front of her.

'So why did you put up with it?'

His shoulders lifted. 'It didn't happen overnight, darling. Our sort of relationship goes back a long way.' Again there was a pause, and Vallance sat back, as though watching a movie playing on her office wall.

'I knew Harry before any of them we used to share an apartment.' What a surprise, Lorraine thought. 'We used to work out together - this is before anybody worked out. Harry always kept himself in shape. We'd pick up these little girls and bring them home, and we'd both come on with the heavy romance, and they'd think they'd met these two really great guys.' Vallance almost chuckled. 'And then, after a while, of course, we'd get them in bed and give them all the I-never-met-anyone-like-you-before crap, and then as soon as we'd fucked them, Harry used to put on this crazy voice and yell, "Grand Central Station, ladies and gentlemen!"' Vallance produced an odd, caterwauling yodel like an Appalachian railway porter. '"All change!" And then, of course, I'd fuck his and he'd fuck mine. Sometimes the girls'd kick up a fuss, and Harry'd say,' Vallance's face contorted with amusement, '"A fuck is only a fuck, my dear, but a friend is a good cigar."' He laughed, slapping his thighs. 'That was when Harry started all the goofy kind of comedy he used to do later on. All that came right out of that apartment we used to have, I swear it.'

Jesus, Lorraine thought: Vallance imagined he was not only Harry Nathan's heroic friend, ideal lover, but also his muse. The reality, however, was painfully clear: Vallance couldn't get sex with Harry, so the next best thing was sex with the women who did, and preferably thirty seconds after Harry had pulled out.

'Presumably all this fun and games had to stop when Harry got married?'

'You bet it did,' Vallance said bitterly. 'What he ever saw in that fucking Swedish bitch, God knows. She was great-looking, of course, but, Christ, they all were.'

'So, you didn't see so much of Harry after that?'

'Oh, I saw him okay,' Vallance said. 'Harry was innocent, and he just assumed we'd all be friends. He started making a lot of money with his movies, but Sonja just pissed on all that too. I used to go out to the house most weekends, watch her spending Harry's money doing the place up like fucking Versailles. Then when she finished the house, she started saying how bored she was, so Harry bought her the gallery. Anyone else would have got down on their knees in gratitude, but Sonja said Harry did it to stifle her talent, to make her play shopkeeper when she wanted to be alone, to create . . .'

'But she must have had talent of some sort,' Lorraine said. 'I mean, she has quite a reputation now.'

'You can sell just about anything on the modern art market, Mrs Page, provided it's full of enough neurosis, sickness and self-possession, and Sonja Sorenson had all those things to burn.'

'So what happened? Why did they get divorced?'

'Well, Sonja was miserable. Nothing was ever right for her, and first it was Harry's fault, and then it was my fault,' Vallance said, and something in his voice told Lorraine that he was about to embark on another pack of lies. 'She started blaming me for everything, trying to turn Harry against me, saying I was at the house too much, saying I was just taking money off him. Sonja got more and more up her own ass, and then they couldn't have kids, and by the time they finished up she was in her forties and she looked pretty terrible.'

'She didn't look so bad at Forest Lawn,' Lorraine said, thinking of the elegant woman she had seen at the funeral.

'That's just clothes,' Vallance said dismissively, turning round to lean against the sill.

When Vallance was lying, an airy nastiness entered his voice, and Lorraine knew he was lying now. She was quite certain that his account of the Nathan marriage was as biased, distorted and selective as it was possible to get.

'So, did you encourage him to leave her?' she asked.

Vallance sat down again, brushed at his immaculate suit and adjusted his perfectly knotted tie. 'Let's just say I helped along what was going to happen anyway. Kendall was on the scene by then, and she was digging Sonja's grave from the minute she walked through the door.'

Lorraine pricked up her ears.

'So you and Kendall helped things along together?' she suggested. 'Did you get along well with Kendall?'

Vallance fell silent. He got up again and straightened one of her prints without looking at her. 'Not really. Kendall didn't get along with anyone.' He seemed disinclined to say any more. The changes in his mood were rapid: sometimes he seemed to want to talk, then something he didn't like would come up and he would sink into silence.

'But would you say she was another of those self-absorbed, selfish sort of women Harry seemed to go for?' Lorraine asked, pretending sympathy with Vallance's point of view.

'Was she ever,' Vallance said, with a scornful laugh, rising to the bait. 'Have you seen Kendall lately? All set up in her fancy art gallery, with her fancy friends and her fancy clothes and her fancy voice? Kendall was her maiden name before she married Harry. Her real first name is Darken. Doesn't play quite so well, does it? She came to LA as just another little piece of white trash and got a job as a secretary to some decorator, and then it was an antique dealer, and the next thing Sonja - God, she was dumb - gave her a job in the gallery. I guess she thought Harry would never look twice at her - she wasn't his type and she looked like shit. Big hair and big shoulders and these terrible tacky little suits, but my, that little lady was quite some operator.'

Clearly there was no love lost between the two of them, and Lorraine rapidly revised her theory of Kendall and Vallance acting together to get rid of Nathan and Cindy. 'You mean in a business sense?' she asked, deliberately misunderstanding him.

'You could say that. Kendall has been in business since she was in diapers - the business of promoting Darken Kendall Nathan. She acted at first like she worshipped Sonja, studied her clothes, copied the way she talked, and, of course, she changed her name just as soon as she could, said it was because Sonja used to call her by her surname, like as a pet name, when they were working together. Kendall started to play up all this great artist garbage too, and Sonja'd lost the plot anyway, by this stage - her hormones had curdled, I reckon, over this whole no-kids stuff.' He gave a sigh of irritation with these unsavoury feminine preoccupations.

'Sonja said she had to start working again so she locked herself in the studio for about a year and Kendall just waved her hankie and said bye-bye. She took over the gallery, of course, and worked her ass off there until she was running it. Gradually she took over Harry too.' Clearly this turn of events had not suited Vallance.