On the way home she bought herself a bunch of exuberant red gladioli to remember Decker, and sat with Tiger, finding him a comfort. She knew the dog would miss Decker too the walks, and the special dinners concocted from leftovers that Decker had brought to the office. It never even occurred to Lorraine that Decker's death might have been connected to her or to the line of enquiry he was working on when he died.

In the early afternoon, Jake called to ask about the funeral, and to check that Lorraine was all right. They arranged to meet after eight as he had a lot of work to catch up on. She took Tiger for a walk, but it was still only four thirty when she returned. She tidied the sitting room and arranged her flowers but time seemed to stand still. She turned on the TV but was restless and couldn't concentrate. She began to think over the Feinstein case. She started a list of relevant facts the art fraud, the secret bank accounts, then wrote 'Sonja Nathan', and underlined the name.

Sonja Nathan was now the main beneficiary under Harry Nathan's will: should Lorraine still make the trip to see her?

Without her notes and files, Lorraine tried to recall all the intricacies of the case. No one else had been charged with Nathan's murder and the police investigation was closed. What if someone had engineered everything so things would end up that way? Could Raymond Vallance have been that clever? How could he have planned to get access to the large sums of money Feinstein was sure Nathan had to have stashed somewhere? She wrote down his name on the list. Before she could make any real progress on suspects, though, she had to trace Nathan's missing haul. Then she could work backwards.

The entryphone buzzer made her heart pound, but Tiger barked furiously, then wagged his tail. It was Jake, and just seeing him put the investigation into the background.

'Hi, I'm sorry. I'm later than I said. There's been a double homicide over at Burbank.' He looked tired, and Lorraine took his jacket from him, told him to sit on the sofa and put his feet up. 'This bastard broke into an apartment, held the woman hostage, demanded details of the safe and their cash cards, then beat the hell out of her when she said she couldn't remember. Then her husband came home with their daughter, and he shot them both at point blank range.' He scratched his head, and gave a helpless gesture. 'Kid was only fifteen years old. I mean, how the hell do you live with that, seeing it? And there was nothing in the safe, just papers her husband never kept any valuables at the house.' He sighed and leaned back on the cushions. 'Sorry to lay it on you, but . . . it hasn't been a good day.'

'That's okay. You want me to get some wine? I can run down to the liquor store. Or maybe some whisky. What do you feel like?'

He reached out for her, and drew her close. 'I feel like lying next to my woman.'

She kissed him, and told him to take a shower, then get into bed. He looked at her, and traced her face with his hand. 'I'd like that . . .'

By the time she joined him in the bedroom he was fast asleep. He was naked, vulnerable, hadn't even pulled the duvet over himself, and she loved him. The fact that he had come to her, in a way needing her, touched her deeply.

'I love you,' she whispered.

Lorraine couldn't stop thinking about Decker. She had lain awake beside Jake for a while, then slipped from the bed to return to her notes, only getting to bed after midnight. Tiger was already flat out nose to nose with Jake, and he grunted when she got into bed. Jake stirred and lifted his arm for her to snuggle close, and then went back to sleep.

She had begun to work out the next stage of the Feinstein inquiry. She would need someone to take care of Tiger for a night, as she had decided that the next day she would fly to New York, get the Jitney bus to East Hampton, and stay overnight, as Decker had suggested, at the Maidstone Arms. She would then arrange to talk to Sonja Nathan, and could be back in LA the following afternoon. There was something else she wanted to talk about with Jake, and she was going to do it first thing in the morning before she left. She was going to tell him that when this Feinstein case was finished, so was Page Investigations. Not that he had asked her to contemplate giving up her business it was something she wanted. It might look like a fast U-turn on her part one moment striving to make the agency work, the next letting go of it but she knew she was getting her priorities right. More than anything else, she wanted to marry Jake, and to have his child. She felt that a new phase of her life had begun.

The alarm clock rang shrilly, and Jake shot up, while Tiger hurled himself off the bed, barking. Lorraine felt as if a heavy weight was pressing her head onto the pillow.

'What time is it?' she groaned.

'Seven, and I'll have to get going.' He was already stepping into the shower.

Lorraine pulled on a robe and went into the kitchen. She had a terrible headache, the kind that hung just behind the eyes, so she took two aspirin and felt them lodge firmly in her gut; now she had indigestion too, and Tiger's constant barking at the clattering of neighbours made her head worse.

She squeezed some fresh orange juice, and brought out muesli and cereal. Jake was shaved, dressed and ready to leave. He drank only the juice, saying he'd send someone out for a sandwich. He kept looking at his watch, checking his pockets for car keys and wallet, and then bent down to kiss her. 'I'll call you.'

She hurried after him. 'Is there any way you could take care of Tiger, just for today and tomorrow?'

'What?'

'I need someone to look after him, I've got to go to New York.'

He stopped at the front door, sighed and looked at his watch. 'Will you be back this evening? I can come by later and walk him and feed him.'

'Well, I'd planned on staying over.'

'Why didn't you mention this last night?'

'You were flat out. Look, forget it, I'll find someone else. No problem.'

'You sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure. Go on -you don't want to be late.'

He stared at her, then looked away with a sigh. 'No, I don't, and I can't take him to the station with me, can I? Look, I'll call you. What time will you be leaving?'

'That depends. I might not go until later. I haven't arranged my flight or anything.'

'Who are you going to see?'

'Mrs Nathan,' she said, pouring coffee and turning to him with the cup in her hand. 'There's one left, the first wife.'

He looked at his watch again and Lorraine could see him hesitate before he crossed to her. 'I love you, and I'm sorry about not taking Tiger off your hands. Next time, huh?'

'Yep, next time. Talk to you later.'

Lorraine had showered, changed and washed her hair, but her head still throbbed, and the aspirin refused to be dislodged from her gullet. When she got to the office she took some antacid and gulped down some water.

She had considered the Hispanic family in the apartment below hers and rejected it as a temporary home for Tiger, and she felt depressed. She had so few friends, and without Rosie and Bill Rooney around, there had only been Decker left. She started thinking that maybe there was no reason to rush off to the Hamptons Sonja Nathan might not even be there. But when Lorraine called, someone with rather a nice deep voice said he would ask Mrs Nathan to return her call. Soon afterwards her phone rang and Sonja Nathan was on the line.

Lorraine explained that she would like to meet Sonja to discuss a few things in connection with her former husband's estate.

'Are you with the insurance companies?' Sonja asked.

Lorraine told her that she was working for Feinstein and Sonja suggested, without asking any more questions, that Lorraine had better come to the Hamptons right away as she was planning to go to Europe. 'I can be with you Thursday morning,' Lorraine said, in two days' time.

'Fine, I'll see you then, about ten o'clock. You have the address?'

'Yes, I look forward to seeing you.'

Lorraine arranged a flight for noon the next day, booked into the hotel, and was just about to sort through all the art catalogues that Decker's boyfriend had left when Tiger barked. Lorraine walked out into the reception area.

'It's me,' said a high-pitched voice.

'Tiger, sit. Who?'

'It's Rosie, for Chrissakes. Who the hell do you think it is?'

Lorraine ran to the door, shrieking, 'Rosie, Rosie, ROSIE!'

Rosie was plumper, but tanned and sporting a new hairstyle. The frizzy curls had been 'straightened', and the colour had also been toned down and was no longer quite such a vivid red. For a moment neither could speak, they were so pleased to see each other. Lorraine had missed her one true friend, and burst into tears. Rosie already had tears streaming down her cheeks. They had climbed together out of a dark past and now Rosie had found the love she craved, found a future. She wished all that she had for Lorraine too; then her happiness would be complete.

'You look fabulous,' Lorraine said, holding her friend at arm's length. She sniffed back the tears and wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hand. 'I dunno why I'm crying.'

Rosie kissed her again. She had an array of gifts for Lorraine in carrier bags and boxes that she had dropped as soon as the door had opened.

'Any chance of some coffee? I'm dying for a cup,' Rosie said, collecting her things and stacking them on the coffee table, before she went over to a rather bemused Tiger. He sat as she rubbed his big head. He didn't like many people to fondle him but as Lorraine joined in he accepted it.

'He's changed so much, Rosie. I don't know what I'd do without him now.' Lorraine nuzzled him and he rolled over legs in the air as she scratched his belly.

'My God, he's enormous,' Rosie said. 'He looks like a different dog altogether!' Tiger's coat looked glossy and clean and as he grunted with satisfaction, he looked as if he was smiling. 'Nick'd be happy to see him like this,' she said softly.

'Yeah, Nick would be proud of him well, most of the time.' She gave Tiger a last tickle and stood up.

'So, this is the workplace huh?' Rosie said.

Lorraine opened her arms wide. 'This is Page Investigations, Rosie.'

They went on a tour of the office. Rosie said all the right things, then watched as Lorraine opened her presents like a child scarves, beads and hair-bands, a watch and bracelet, souvenir tea towels, baseball caps and cut glass.

Then the two women decided to have lunch together at a small local bistro, where Rosie, as usual, ate ravenously, ordering a supposedly healthy saute of zucchini and mushrooms dripping with olive oil. Lorraine had a small portion of fettuccini. She was regaled with stories about the trip and there were six wallets of photographs, showing the honeymooners arm in arm and hand in hand in all the various countries they had visited.

Rosie insisted she see the new apartment next, so they collected Tiger, closed the office and piled into Lorraine's jeep. Rosie was impressed with it and even more so when she heard about the Mercedes. 'Well, it's your money and you could always get run over by a car tomorrow, so live for today,' but she sounded worried, or maybe a little envious.

After the tour of the apartment, where Rosie enthused about every curtain, every piece of furniture, they settled back to more gossip. Rosie's happiness shone in her face, and through the affectionate, funny stories she kept telling about big Bill. It made Lorraine reach over and clasp her hand. 'I'm so glad it's worked out for you two, you seem so well suited.'

Rosie folded her hands over her tummy. 'Now, you've heard all my news you start now.'

'I'm going to get married.'

Rosie's jaw dropped and then the tears started. She hugged Lorraine and wanted to call Bill and tell him, but Lorraine said she wanted to tell him herself. He might even know her new boyfriend, Lieutenant Jake Burton. Rosie's jaw dropped still further. 'A cop?'

'A chief of detectives, Rosie!'

'Jesus. That is incredible!'

Lorraine smiled. 'Yes, it is. I guess I'm happy too. But I'm also scared to death that it might all blow up in my face. So, please don't say anything to Bill, not yet, and . . . you mind if we change the subject?'

'Sure,' Rosie said, aching to know every single detail. But Lorraine had that set expression on her face so she asked instead what her friend was working on. She listened as Lorraine, trying not to sound too emotional, told her first about Decker. Then she moved on to her case. 'It's the Harry Nathan murder. I was hired by his wife, Cindy, but she committed suicide.' Lorraine explained briefly how Cindy had contacted her, then lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and her mood changed. Rosie could feel her tension but she said nothing, just waited, like in the old days. She had learned never to push for information from Lorraine she'd tell you what she wanted you to know and nothing more.

Lorraine took another deep drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke drift from her mouth. 'You ever heard of a movie star called Raymond Vallance?'

'Yeah, you know me and movies. He used to be fantastic-looking. Is he involved in your investigation?'

They both jumped when the entryphone buzzed and it took Lorraine a while to drag Tiger away from the front door. Standing on the step was a sheepish Bill Rooney, holding a faded bunch of flowers.

'Hi, how you doing, eh?' he said, and squeezed Lorraine so hard against his expansive chest that she gasped for breath.

Lorraine gave him a tour of the apartment while Rosie made a fresh pot of coffee. Rooney nodded and congratulated Lorraine on her taste but she knew he must have had a few drinks because he muttered to himself as he followed her from room to room, telling her that now he liked putting his feet up and watching football on the TV and the best part was Rosie bringing him his dinner on a tray. 'I've done enough travelling, for a while,' he said, and then nudged Lorraine like a naughty schoolboy. 'Don't repeat that. God knows where she's planning on going next, but me, I've gone soft. TV, football, a home-cooked meal and fast asleep by eleven. Lovely!'

Lorraine found it sad that he seemed to need to repeat himself. He had got even fatter and his bulk made the wide four-seater sofa in the lounge seem small. He seemed ill at ease, knowing that Rosie was annoyed with him for intruding on her evening.

Rosie had the coffee ready and waiting now. She'd even found some biscuits and laid them out on a silver plate solid silver, she had noticed. As she poured the coffee, there was a strange, uneasy silence that continued until Rosie banged down the coffee pot and nudged Rooney. 'Before you barged in and interrupted us, Lorraine was just telling me about this case she's working on. Do you remember a movie star called Raymond Vallance?'

'No,' Rooney said, selecting a biscuit.

'Tell him, Lorraine,' Rosie said, settling back on the sofa beside her husband. The pair sat riveted as Lorraine filled them in on the case. She was concise but made sure she left nothing out except the threats on her life. She didn't want to worry her friends. When the silence fell again, it was like old times. Rooney was leaning back, eyes closed, but not sleeping even though it was way past eleven. He was 'thinking', and so was Rosie, twisting a strand of hair round and round in her fingers.

'Well, you got all the facts, almost.' Lorraine looked at Rooney, wanting him to give her the answer she couldn't put her finger on. His eyes opened, but he shook his head, pulled himself onto his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Rosie broke the silence. 'I think it's Vallance. He, out of everyone, had the most to lose, am I right? Do you think it's him, Bill?' Rosie was excited, her cheeks flushed: from what Lorraine had told them, everything pointed to the actor.

Rooney still said nothing. Lorraine was fascinated because he had suddenly become his old self: Rooney the cop. He was acting the way he used to, not wanting to give away too much, not wanting to make a mistake by jumping the gun, staring at the wall, not meeting Lorraine's eyes. Finally, his hands digging deeper into his pockets, the loose change jangling as he turned a coin in his fingers, he said, 'I think there's a hidden agenda. Christ only knows what it is, but there's something. It may even be staring you in the face, sweetheart.'

'Is that it?' Rosie blurted out.

Rooney's eyes now met Lorraine's, a steady rather unnerving gaze. He touched her hand. 'I'll call you, all right? Let me sleep on this.' Then he caught Rosie's hand. 'We should go, darlin', it's late.' There was a firmness in his voice and Rosie didn't argue. They said their goodbyes, waving from the car, blowing kisses to Lorraine by the open window, watching them drive away. She didn't wave, she just stood, arms folded.

Rosie took a sidelong look at her husband. She had been about to tell him about the new man in Lorraine's life when he swerved to the side of the road and pulled on the handbrake like his life depended on it.

'What happened? I didn't see anything,' Rosie said, looking back to the road.

'I just needed to think,' he said in a gruff voice that made him sound like a stranger. He had known Lorraine for a long, long time. He knew her heartbreak and had witnessed her pain. He had been disgusted by her spiral into the gutter and would never have believed she would climb back, just as he would have laughed if someone had said he would end up not only working alongside her, but admiring and loving her.

'I know her, Rosie, God help me for saying this, but I have known her when she was not worth the shit on my shoe. I have seen her humiliated and heartbroken. She's been beaten within an inch of her life and I've picked her up out of stinking, garbage-strewn gutters.'

'Is all this going someplace?' Rosie asked, staring out of the car window rather than looking at her husband. He was unapproachable, made her feel uneasy, and she almost cringed back from him when he hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand, hit it so hard the car rocked.

'Yes, it's fucking going somewhere, for Chrissakes. I just needed to work it through, to think about it, because she was fucking hiding something. She wasn't telling us the truth.'

'Why would she lie?' Rosie said, easing round to look at him.

'I know her so well, Rosie.' He ran his finger round his collar: he was sweating.

'Yeah, you said, and so do I. We both know her pretty well, I'd say.' She rolled down the window, feeling hot herself.

'Rosie, I have never seen fear in that woman's face, no matter what she has been through, not once, not ever. I saw it tonight. She tried to hide it but I know she's in trouble and I'm afraid for her.'

CHAPTER 13.

NEXT MORNING, Lorraine leaped back into action: her flight was at noon, and Rosie's visit had taken up virtually all of the previous day. Jake had called and said that as he happened to be off duty, he would like to see her and drive her to the airport, and that today he could take Tiger for her.

Lorraine had packed an overnight bag, changed and tidied the apartment, and was now becoming impatient, afraid she would miss her plane. He was late, only arriving at ten thirty. In the car, she gave him instructions about Tiger, plus Rosie and Bill's telephone number in case the dog was in the way, or she had to stay longer in the Hamptons than she expected. 'You think you might?' he asked, as they hurried through the terminal building.

'No, but you never know, just covering all the options,' Lorraine said. It had crossed her mind that the legacy to Sonja Nathan would not take effect until midnight the following night, and she wondered whether the next forty-eight hours might be more eventful than she was anticipating but there was no point in worrying him. She handed over her ticket to a stewardess, who said that the flight was already boarding and she should go straight to the gate.

Jake kissed her, and Tiger almost choked himself on his lead as he tried to follow her into the departure lounge. Lorraine walked away, but then had an urge to turn back, so strong she couldn't resist it. Jake was still standing there, and Tiger still straining at his lead. Jake waved, mouthed that he loved her, and their eyes locked. She wanted to run back to him, stay with him, but she forced a smile and hurried out of sight.

The duration of the flight was only five hours, but with the time difference between the west coast and the east, they wouldn't arrive until almost eight thirty in the evening. Lorraine had been in such a hurry she hadn't brought any books or magazines, so she read the inflight journal over dinner, and slept for the rest of the flight. After the plane had landed and she had retrieved her bag, she caught a taxi to Queens and waited for the last Jitney bus to the Hamptons.

It was right on time at nine fifty, and the driver smiled pleasantly as he stowed her bag in the hold, then helped her up the steps into the cool, air-conditioned interior. She chose one of the wide, comfortable seats midway up the aisle, next to the tinted windows this was no ordinary bus, and the occupants were not ordinary people, either arty or glamorous: one woman even climbed on board with two Pekinese and a chauffeur.