'No,' she said, over her shoulder.

Arthur got up and followed her out of the door. 'Sonja,' he said, 'stop a minute.'

'Arthur, I'm soaking wet. I'll just get this and come right back.'

'Sonja, were you here all morning?'

'Of course I was,' she said, looking him full in the eye. Arthur said nothing. 'You can ask Muller,' Sonja continued. 'He was here within five minutes of Vallance's death. He called to tell me personally.'

'Sonja,' Arthur said, 'Mrs Page said something about Vallance getting some call at the dining table in the Maidstone Arms, just before he died. I don't suppose he called here, did he?'

He could see her hesitate between a lie and the truth.

'Well, yes, he did, but I wouldn't speak to him.'

'What did he say?'

Sonja shrugged. 'Just that he wanted to see me, said he wanted to talk about old times.'

'Is that all?'

'Yes,' Sonja said, her eyes flashing. 'That's all. Now stop the investigation, Sherlock. I'll go and put some coffee on and if your head still aches . . .'

'Yeah, aspirin urgently required.' He leaned back across the bed, feeling almost sick with the pain. Raymond Vallance was dead: he still couldn't believe it he'd seen the man only that morning. The news shocked him, and he had hardly known Vallance but Sonja had hardly reacted at all and she had known him for years. He sat up, with a sense of foreboding: what if she had called Vallance? What could she have said that would have made him shoot himself?

Lorraine hung up and eased out from behind the desk. She glanced quickly round the reception area, and could see the manager deep in conversation with the journalist. Shielding with her body what she was doing, she began to flick through the accounts, looking for Vallance's name, noting that all outgoing calls appeared on the bills. She leaned closer to turn over the pages, but there was nothing under the name Vallance. Lorraine straightened up and was about to go when a computer screen caught her eye. She walked over to it. The cursor was blinking on account ledgers. She entered her own name, and her check-out time, outgoing phone calls and other items on her bill came up on room 5. She moved to room 6, and saw that it had been booked, not in Vallance's name but in that of Margaretta Forwood. The date of arrival and an intended length of stay of two days had been entered, but a cancellation typed in subsequently, with the booking fee, luncheon, wine and phone calls in a column opposite. There were four calls to LA, one to Chicago, and two local numbers, one of which she recognized immediately. Sonja Nathan's.

She heard footsteps behind her, and turned, reaching for her cigarette pack from the desk. 'Thank you so much, Mr Fischer,' she said, glancing at his name-badge. 'I'm sorry to leave my bags for so long and if it's inconvenient I'll . . .'

'Not at all. Do you know how long you'll be here, just in case anyone else should call for you?'

Lorraine said that she was now intending to take the six o'clock bus into New York.

'I hope you enjoyed your stay with us.'

'I did, very much. It's been a pretty terrible day for you, though, hasn't it?'

'Yes, dreadful. It's tragic, just terrible.'

'How is his companion?' Lorraine asked, assuming a look of sincere concern.

The man sucked in his breath. 'Well, the poor woman is distraught he didn't leave a note. They had just decided not to stay over. Mrs Forwood had gone to the bar and their cases were being brought down. Mr Vallance walked past me, and I think he smiled I know I acknowledged him, because I recall seeing him coming down the stairs. He didn't appear to be in a hurry, very casual, and he left the hotel.'

'How long after that was the body found?'

He blinked rapidly. 'I can't be too sure, not long. Mrs Forwood was just leaving, and next minute we heard this screaming.'

'You didn't hear any gunshot?'

'No, nothing. Everything's pretty confused the shock, I suppose but I ran out to the car park. She was hysterical, couldn't speak, just screamed and screamed, and then I saw him. The gun was in his hand, but he was sitting upright.'

He was interrupted by the telephone and excused himself to take the call. Lorraine waited, but another phone rang, and then another, lights blinking on the board. She walked out, hearing him refuse to comment on the day's events.

Lorraine made her way into the bar. The crowd had thinned, and a stool was vacant at the far side. She ordered a Coke and lit another cigarette, discreetly eavesdropping on conversations which all centred on the suicide of Raymond Vallance.

Carina, the pretty blonde, now came on duty. She no longer seemed upset, if anything rather enjoying the notoriety of having served Vallance and his lady-friend their luncheon. 'He was so charming. I was asking for an autograph for my mother she had been such a fan of his and he was so obliging.' Lorraine stubbed out her cigarette, unable to repress a small smile: poor Vallance the last thing he would have wanted to hear from an attractive young girl was that she wanted an autograph for her mother. The girl went on, 'They'd finished eating and were just having a Madeira when he left the table and said he had to call his agent. He was here for a big movie that's what he told us, wasn't it?' The barman nodded, polishing a champagne flute. 'It was going to be shot here, that's what he said.'

'Well, he certainly got shot,' said a man with bushy eyebrows, and there were a few guffaws, but even more murmurs of disapproval at the joke, and he apologized. Lorraine wished he would be quiet, as she was trying to hear the rest of what Carina had to say, but the girl was called out into Reception.

Lorraine followed and saw her go into the office. The phone was ringing constantly and the manager was clearly at his wit's end. He covered the receiver and told Carina to get someone to help him. Carina nodded, and turned back, almost bumping into Lorraine.

'Are you all right?' Lorraine asked, with a show of concern. 'It must have been dreadful for you. You found him, didn't you?'

The girl was clearly happy to talk. 'No, I didn't, but I served him lunch.'

Lorraine waited while she was told the entire story about how Carina had asked for his autograph for her mother. 'Did he have any calls?'

'Yes. He got up from the table either to go and call someone, or I think there was a call for him.' She sighed, and tears welled up in her wide blue eyes.

Lorraine gave a brittle smile. 'But at least your mother has his autograph, and it'll be of considerable interest now the last one he ever gave!'

Carina blinked, aware of the sarcasm, then hurried into the bar.

Lorraine decided to screw subtlety, and went into the manager's office. 'Sorry to bother you again.'

Fischer looked up, one phone in his hand, a second off the hook in front of him. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Page, but I really am very busy. If you need-'

She interrupted, 'I do need something I want to know who called Mr Vallance. If you don't have the name, then I would like to see the number.'

He gaped, then flushed. 'I'm sorry, that's private information.'

'I know, and I'm a private investigator.' She took out her wallet, and showed her ID.

'I'm sorry, but I've been instructed by the police not to divulge any information or discuss the incident with anyone.' Lorraine took out her wallet, and the man stood up, flushing a still deeper pink. 'Please don't even consider offering me money.'

She slipped her wallet back into her purse. Since the direct approach hadn't worked, she tried another. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you. I'm conducting an investigation into the murder of Harry Nathan. Raymond Vallance was his closest friend. I have to report back to LA this evening, and until I have the coroner's report, I have to consider the possibility that Mr Vallance was also murdered.'

The manager's flush drained, leaving his face chalk white.

'I don't want anyone to know what I'm investigating. I have full co-operation from the East Hampton police, and I'm sure you will assist me.'

He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of computer printout.

He looked down at Mrs Forwood's account, and said that some local calls had been made when Mr Vallance arrived and some to Los Angeles during the early part of the morning. The last call, though, had been on Vallance's mobile, and the hotel had no way of knowing who or where it came from.

'So, Mr Vallance left the dining room because a call came through?'

'Yes, on the mobile. We don't allow them in the dining room so he had checked it at the desk. He was speaking to someone on the phone when he went upstairs to his room.' Lorraine watched while the man went to the computer, and typed the commands for a printout of the Forwood account.

'Has Mrs Forwood left?' Lorraine asked, as the machine printed.

Fischer turned back to her, folding the sheet. 'Yes, she ordered a helicopter to take her to New York. We're arranging for her car to be returned, after the police get through with it.'

'Did they also remove Mr Vallance's luggage? You said you were arranging to take it to the car, so it wasn't in the car already?'

His mouth opened a fraction, and he frowned. 'Well, it must be still here, unless . . .' He walked across the room to a large double-doored cupboard, opened it and looked inside. 'It's still here.'

He took out an old-fashioned pigskin case and matching briefcase. 'I'd better contact the police. I think the confusion may have been caused by Mrs Forwood because she took hers with her.'

'Could I see it?' Lorraine asked, stepping forward. Fischer tried to open the case, but it was locked. He set it down and took the briefcase to his desk: Lorraine saw that it fastened with a zipper, had flat, beaten metal handles and two outside pockets in one of which was a mobile telephone.

'Could I see that?' She already had her hand out. The manager hesitated, then passed her the phone. She pressed the green power button, then Recall. The telephone bleeped, and Lorraine began to scroll through the digits logged in the memory.

'Should you be doing that?' Fischer asked nervously.

'It's all right, I'm not using it to make a call, just checking something.'

She took out her notebook and jotted down number after number none she recognized then tried to bring up the last number dialled, but got a blank screen and a bleep. She noted the make and serial number of the phone, then turned it off. 'Thank you.' She handed it back, and the man put it back where he had taken it from.

'Perhaps there's a note inside the briefcase,' he said.

He was now very uneasy, but Lorraine moved quickly to unzip the case. Like the locked suitcase, the briefcase was old and worn, but had been expensive. It opened into two halves and Vallance's name had been monogrammed on one corner. The compartments on one side contained writing paper and envelopes, some letters held together with a rubber band, a paperback novel, a manicure set, some hotel toiletries, and a Cartier pen. On the other side were three scripts, some flattering publicity photographs of Vallance, some postcards of India and, tucked deep inside, a worn manilla envelope.

Lorraine removed the old movie stills, and another photograph of Harry Nathan and Vallance together, arms around one another, smiling into the camera. A third person had been crudely cut out of the photo, but Lorraine could see the edge of a woman's dress and a picture hat: he had been unable to cut the section off completely because the woman's arm was resting on Nathan's shoulder. Lorraine recognized the strong hand and close-trimmed nails as Sonja Nathan's.

There was another larger, plain envelope, and Lorraine opened it to reveal several sheets of expensive, flimsy paper in a feminine pink, which she recognized at once. Her pulse speeded up as she took them out and unfolded them carefully. The bottom of the first sheet of paper was missing it had been cut in two after the words 'Dear Raymond' and the date, some six months previously, scrawled in ink in Cindy Nathan's childish script. Lorraine flipped open the manicure set, knowing what she would find: a small pair of round-tipped scissors, the blades less than an inch long, with which Vallance had cut one of the desperate letters in half to fake a suicide note.

Poor Cindy, Lorraine thought. Her hunch had been right. The girl hadn't committed suicide: the last of the parade of men who had entered her life, first to desire, then to abuse her, had destroyed her. Not that it mattered now: there could be no doubt as to Vallance's guilt, and now he was dead himself. That he had murdered Cindy made it more likely that he had killed Harry Nathan too. Perhaps she had the solution to the Nathan case right there in her hands, and she could leave the affair now with a clear conscience, do her best to find Feinstein's art, and go back to her own life.

But why had Vallance killed Cindy? Lorraine thought back to the morning he had come to her office, the night after Cindy died, with a wafer-thin veneer of normality concealing a state of considerable emotional turmoil. He had talked compulsively about Nathan and the past and, as she replayed the conversation in her mind, virtually the first words out of his mouth had been hatred and condemnation of the women around Nathan. He had raved about how they had cheapened and damaged his idol, and how he believed Cindy had been responsible for her husband's death, though she would never have been convicted of his murder. The motive that seemed most likely was a desire on Vallance's part to exact vengeance for Nathan on the woman who killed him, which made it most unlikely that Vallance had shot Nathan himself, unless he had completely lost his mind. But having spoken to him shortly before his death, Lorraine knew that that wasn't so. So who had killed Nathan? Would Kendall have killed him to prevent the porn tapes becoming public? Or could it somehow have been Sonja? Lorraine found it hard to believe that it was pure coincidence that Vallance shot himself in the Hamptons, within a few miles of Sonja Nathan's house, shortly after calling her . . .

Lorraine replaced everything as she had found it, and zipped up the case. She wanted to get out and was already planning a diversion to Santa Fe. She said to the manager, 'Don't let me prevent you any longer from attending to business, and thank you very much for your help. I'd pass these on to the police.' Then she hurried out to avoid any further conversation. She had found nothing relating to paintings or secret bank accounts, and no reason why Vallance had shot himself.

Lorraine sat down at a vacant table in the sun lounge and ordered a Coke and a prosciutto sandwich. She looked over the list of phone numbers she had taken down from Vallance's mobile, then circled one. She was sure the code was for Santa Fe. She was so immersed in her own thoughts that she jumped when Fischer slid down beside her, and told her in conspiratorial tones that the police were sending someone to collect Mr Vallance's luggage. She felt the man's breath on her face as he whispered that he had not mentioned that she had opened it.

'Good, and perhaps you'd better not mention that I was asking questions either you know, there's always competition between the police in different counties.'

'Oh well, yes, if you say so.'

'Is this a Santa Fe code?' she asked, repeating the number.

'I believe so, but I can check it out for you.'

'You could go one better and call the number for me. I'd like to know who it's registered to.' She gave him a cool smile, and he glided away. Lorraine finished her Coke and sandwich, then walked out to Reception to collect her luggage.

A uniformed police officer was standing at the desk talking to Carina, who was handing over Vallance's cases, and Lorraine made out the same words that had been on everyone's lips all day terrible, tragedy, unexpected and Sonja Nathan's name.

'Of course, she'd known him more than twenty years,' she heard the officer say. 'She looked like she'd seen a ghost when I gave her the news.'

'Excuse me,' Lorraine said, glancing around quickly to make sure that Fischer was not nearby she did not want him to see her talking to the officer and deduce that she was not, as she had said, working in association with the local police. 'Did you say you had to break the news of Raymond Vallance's death to Mrs Nathan?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Muller said, viewing her with interest.

'I know Mrs Nathan, I visited with her yesterday, and I wondered if perhaps I should call her. Was she very distressed?' Lorraine said, concern in her voice.

'Well, she was shaken,' Muller said. 'I knew she would be.'

'That's the difference between a city like LA and a place like this,' Lorraine gushed, trying to get him to say more. 'There's no way a city police department would ever have time to go and break the news of a friend's death personally to someone.'

Well,' Muller said, 'it isn't usually part of the service here either. It's just that I was driving right past her gates when I got the news.'

'Goodness, how awful,' Lorraine went on, hoping he would not guess that she was fishing. 'So you had to tell her just a few minutes after he died?'

'Just about,' Muller said, eyeing Lorraine closely. 'You a friend of hers?'

'Not a close friend,' Lorraine said, keen now not to talk to him for too long. 'I know some connections of hers in Los Angeles and, since I was in the area, I gave her a call. I'm leaving now, actually I'm just waiting to pick up my bags.'

She caught sight of Fischer coming towards her from the other side of the lobby with her case, and moved off to intercept him before he reached the desk. She gave Muller a final sweet smile, which she hoped convinced him that she was just an innocent visitor.

'The number I'm sorry I didn't get back to you quicker, but the phones are still going crazy. It was Santa Fe, and the subscriber is Mr Nicholas Nathan.'

'Thank you for your help,' she said. And despite his previous strictures, she slipped a hundred-dollar bill into his hand. He watched her leave, then turned to Vern Muller who had joined him.

'Who is that lady?' Muller asked him curiously.

'Mrs Page?' Fischer replied. 'She's a private investigator working on the Harry Nathan murder inquiry. She said she was working with the police in LA and had full co-operation from you.'

'Oh, yeah?' the officer said. 'If she has, it's the first I've heard of it. She looks more like a newspaper reporter to me.'

'Well, she's gone now, whoever she is,' Fischer said. 'Let's get on with it.'

Sonja tucked the comforter round Arthur: he was fast asleep and snoring. Sometimes he looked like a scruffy kid, and she felt such a touching warmth towards him. He took such care of her, and she loved him for it, had not realized how much until today. She moved quietly around the room, then went to a closet to select the clothes she wanted to pack and get out her case. She heard a car drawing up in the driveway and went into the other bedroom to look out to the front of the house. Vern Muller had sweat stains under the armpits of his blue uniform shirt, and was hitching up his navy police-issue trousers over his paunch. He tossed his hat into the rear seat, then looked at the house. Sonja saw him stop to admire her beloved garden before he set off up the path. She went downstairs and had the door open before he could wake Arthur by knocking or ringing the bell. 'Hi, Mrs Nathan. Sorry to bother you again,' he said, walking up the steps.

'Not at all, Vern,' Sonja said. 'Come on in.'

'I won't, Mrs Nathan, if you don't mind,' the police officer went on. 'I just stopped by to ask you if you know a lady named Lorraine Page.'

'Well, yes, I do,' Sonja said carefully. 'She called out here yesterday. She's a PI working for my late husband's lawyer in connection with the estate.'

'That's the story she told Fischer in the hotel, but when I spoke to her she said she was just a friend,' Muller went on. 'She told him and me another couple of things that weren't true, and she seemed pretty interested in this stuff about Raymond Vallance too asked me if you were shocked and so on.' Sonja kept her face impassive. 'Wouldn't surprise me if she was some journalist come out here to dig dirt, or if you saw your name plastered with his across the papers,' the police officer concluded.

If that was all Lorraine was interested in, that was fine, Sonja thought privately. 'Thanks for warning me, Vern,' Sonja said. 'I'll be careful what I say to her if she calls again.'

'Something about that lady makes me think she's looking to cause trouble for you,' Muller said. 'Take care now.'

'You too, Vern,' Sonja said, and closed the door. She leaned back against it for a moment. Upstairs Arthur lay sleeping. For the first time she had begun to believe that things were changing, that the dead hand of the past was losing its grip on her and a new life waiting to begin. There was only one person who could possibly stand in her way now and that person was Lorraine Page.

Lorraine stared out of the window. There had been an accident, and the traffic tailed back for miles on both sides. They had been stationary for fifteen minutes, and the driver had got out to try to see what was going on. 'Nothing anyone can do,' he said, climbing back up. 'They're waiting for the recovery truck with a crane to drag two cars off the road, and there's a third overturned. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen.'