CHAPTER 3.

NEXT DAY when Decker walked into the building he noticed that the door to Page Investigations was a fraction open and assumed that Lorraine must have called in on her way to the funeral. He extended his hand to open the door further and his nostrils burned with the smell of acid. Decker stepped back and kicked it open instead.

The packing cases remained where he had stacked them on the floor, but the cardboard was sodden, and the tapes still smouldered as the acid destroyed even their plastic surrounds. Not one was salvageable yet nothing else seemed to have been disturbed. He entered Lorraine's office with trepidation had she disturbed the intruder: The desk drawers were open and a few papers littered the floor. At first sight nothing else seemed to have been damaged except for a photograph of Lorraine, which lay behind the desk, acid eating into the face, burning and twisting the features grotesquely.

'Jesus,' he said quietly, and picked up the phone, about to call the police department, then hesitated. Even after working for Lorraine for such a short time, he knew that she would want any decision to involve the police to be hers alone. Instead he dialled Reception and asked casually if there had been any security problems during the night. The doorman assured him that there had not. Decker hung up and dialled Lorraine's mobile number. He swore as an electronic voice advised him that the phone was switched off.

Lorraine drove past the fountains and through the gates of Forest Lawn. She had never been to the exclusive cemetery before and found herself in what looked like a cross between the park of an eccentric nobleman and an outdoor department store of death. All tastes were clearly catered for, she observed, as she passed birdhouses, replicas of classical temples and 'dignified' churches. It had an air of frivolity and consumerism rather than reverence or repose.

The Nathan funeral was clearly taking place in the 'Bostonian' church, from which a long line of parked cars tailed back. As Lorraine got closer, she observed a number of people standing about outside. Most were pretending not to notice that they were being photographed by a little knot of journalists, but some were unashamedly smiling and posing. She tried not to stare at the wannabe actresses who had been unable to resist the chance to wear the shortest of short skirts, evening sandals, nipple-skimming necklines and elaborate hats.

The men had mostly confined themselves to dark jackets and ties, but Lorraine noted one with a straggling ponytail in a black Nehru jacket over dirty black jeans and Birkenstock sandals a sort of ageing rock star ensemble completed by little round John Lennon sunglasses. As he turned his head to speak to the older woman beside him, his resemblance in profile to Harry Nathan was striking. They must be the family, Lorraine thought, an impression confirmed when she saw that Kendall Nathan was standing in front of the pair making exaggerated expressions of sympathy and grief.

She, too, was dressed like a Christmas tree, in a fussy black evening dress with chiffon yoke and sleeves, and dowdy pleated skirt. Apart from Lorraine, Harry Nathan's mother, in a conventional dress and coat in black wool crpe, was the only person whose appearance had been influenced by the sombreness of the occasion. She also seemed to be the only person genuinely distressed by Harry Nathan's death.

Lorraine turned to watch as a limousine drew up, followed by an ordinary taxi-cab. The cab disgorged its occupants first, the middle-aged Mexican woman who had let Lorraine into the Nathan house and a Hispanic man, evidently her husband, who made their way straight into the church, ignored by everyone. As soon as the staff were out of the way, the limousine door opened to reveal Cindy Nathan in a long black sleeveless dress Empire line to accommodate her undetectable pregnancy and black velvet platform boots. Her blonde hair was elaborately dressed into a plaited coronet on top of her head, her wrists laden with pearl and jet. A silver snake bracelet encircled one of her slim upper arms, perfectly matching the black cobra tattooed around the other. She looked like a young pagan goddess, and all the nearby long lenses were immediately trained on her.

The girl stood motionless in front of the crowd. No one approached or spoke to her in fact, Nathan's family and Kendall looked away pointedly. My God, she must have been crying all night, Lorraine thought, as she observed the deep shadows around Cindy's eyes. But as she got near enough to the girl to smile and greet her, she realized that the effect was deliberate: Cindy's startling blue eyes and full, flower-like mouth had both been expertly made up in fashionable metallic pink.

Cindy did not speak, but gave Lorraine a strange, controlled smile, like that of a beautiful alien, and carefully arranged a black lace mantilla over her head. With a gesture bizarrely reminiscent of a wedding, she took Lorraine's arm and the crowd parted in front of them as they made their way into the church, leaving a wake of exquisite lily scent and audible hisses of outrage.

'Fuck 'em,' Cindy said, under her breath, as they reached the porch. Her lovely face remained immobile as she spoke. 'Fuck the whole damn lot of them.'

They made their way up the aisle towards the front pew, and the clergyman approached, rearranging his amazed stare into an expression of sympathy. Lorraine also noticed a tall, grey-haired man give the young widow an icy glance and immediately move way.

'Who was that?' Lorraine asked, when they had sat down.

'Raymond Vallance,' Cindy said coolly, staring straight ahead at the enormous wreath on her husband's coffin.

The rest of the mourners began to file in, the Nathan family occupying the front pew on the other side of the church from Cindy.

Once everyone was settled, the minister announced a hymn, which no one bothered to sing. Most of those present were more interested in craning their necks to see who else was there. They were eventually brought back to the purpose of the gathering by the clergyman's invitation to remember Harry in silence for a few minutes while they listened to one of his favourite songs, a rendition of 'Light My Fire', arranged as elaborately as an oratorio and played like a dirge on an electronic organ.

Then the minister paid tribute to Nathan's personal charm, energy and talent. As he moved on to talk about his civic virtues and unstinting support for many good causes, Lorraine was conscious of a stir at the back of the church. She turned to see a tall woman with strangely white hair, elegant as a borzoi, who had walked in alone. She came slowly up to the front of the church, her high heels clicking on the stone floor, and sat down with great dignity in the front pew, some six feet away from Cindy. She inclined her head, smiled slightly at the girl, and Lorraine caught a glimpse of a pair of remote, unnerving eyes.

She immediately recognized Sonja Sorenson, the first Mrs Nathan, and tried to study the older woman unobtrusively. She was about fifty, Lorraine guessed, and although her immaculately cut, jaw-length hair was white, her lashes and brows were still dark. Her clothes were formal and elegant, a military-style black wool suit worn with black gloves, hose and shoes, and no visible jewellery. She stared straight ahead, ignoring the congregation's scrutiny.

When the service ended, Vallance, Nathan's brother and four other men advanced to lift the coffin and carry it out. The congregation filed after them, to form a group around the grave. Lorraine dropped back to let Cindy and Sonja stand at the front, noticing that, the minute they got outside, the older woman had put on a pair of dark glasses. Kendall, determined not to be outdone, elbowed her way up to stand between Nathan's other two wives, clutching a single white rose. She beckoned to Mrs Nathan senior to follow her, but the old lady shook her head as though in distaste.

The minister read in a sonorous voice from scripture while the pall-bearers pushed the coffin carefully into the space in the wall and stepped back. As soon as the reading was over, Kendall moved forward to thrust her flower into the tomb, wailing theatrically, then stepped back as though challenging the other women to cap her performance. Sonja did not move, but Lorraine froze as Cindy took a step forward, calmly removed her wedding ring and laid it on the end of the coffin. There was an audible gasp as people wondered how to interpret the gesture: did Cindy mean that her heart was buried in the grave with Harry, or that she wanted her last remaining tie to her husband to be severed in the most public way: The tomb door was closed and people turned away. Lorraine scanned the crowd for Raymond Vallance and saw that he was in surprisingly heated conversation with Jose and Juana. He was certainly making a point of keeping his distance from Cindy, Lorraine thought, to whom he had not addressed a word. But as his exchange with the two Mexicans came to an end and they drifted away, she saw him glance in the girl's direction. Sonja, she noted, was still beside the tomb.

Cindy was looking bored by whatever the minister was saying to her and Kendall, and Lorraine decided to rescue her. 'Cindy, I wonder if I could speak to you for a second,' she said, with a smile. 'Sorry to interrupt, but I'm just going.'

Cindy left Kendall with the clergyman. 'You and me both,' she said. 'Jesus I can't stand to listen to Kendall saying she hasn't eaten a thing since he died when all I can think about is how soon I can get a tuna melt. It's the baby,' she said, and Lorraine saw her eyes lock momentarily with Raymond Vallance's. 'It makes you crave weird things.' Lorraine wondered whether it was just food she was talking about, but the girl said nothing more.

Lorraine breezed into the office just before lunchtime to find Decker showing out two men in overalls. Half the beige carpet had been taken up in the reception area.

Decker's expression was uncharacteristically grim. 'Lorraine,' he said, 'there's been a . . . problem. Sit down for a moment. Somebody broke in and sprayed fucking acid over the tapes.' He decided not to tell her about the photograph yet.

'I see,' Lorraine said, pushing her hand through her hair. 'Well, that's interesting. Cindy said no one else knew about them.'

'Well, maybe she changed her mind about letting you listen to them,' Decker said.

'Maybe,' Lorraine said, meditatively. 'I can't quite imagine her going to these lengths, though.'

'Perhaps she has some more . . . extreme friends,' Decker suggested. 'Who was she with at the funeral?'

'Nobody. Though she was breaking her neck not to be seen looking at Mr Ageing Romeo himself, Raymond Vallance. Pouting and glowering on both sides, though sexual tension you could cut with a knife.'

'Raymond Vallance?' Decker pulled a face. 'I thought he was already planted out there. He must be about two hundred the oldest living really terrible actor.'

'Looks every day of it,' Lorraine said. 'Though perhaps the shock of losing his close friend Mr Nathan was affecting his looks. He and the mother were the only people to shed a tear.'

'Actually,' Decker began, serious now, 'something else happened in the break-in.' He picked up the photograph. 'They did this.' Lorraine's face remained expressionless as she registered the damage. 'It looks like a get-the-fuck-off-this-case message, wouldn't you say?'

Lorraine shrugged. 'Maybe.'

'Maybe something else. Maybe somebody who knows you,' Decker went on. 'It's a really creepy thing to do, Lorraine. I knew you wouldn't want me to call the police until you got back, but I really think you should. I mean, it's like a threat.'

'Well, thanks for the concern, Decker, but there's no way I want the police knowing about either me or the tapes or that Cindy sent them here. I wish we'd got to listen to them, though. There must have been something on them that somebody didn't want us to find.'

'Well, we still have some . . .' Decker said. 'I took twenty home last night. But there's nothing on any of the ones I've listened to so far.'

'Sit down, boy wonder, I'll make you some coffee you deserve it.' She smiled broadly. Clearly, as far as Lorraine was concerned, the subject of any personal danger was closed.

But the knowledge that Cindy Nathan had lied to her burned at the back of Lorraine's mind, and as soon as the office was back in shape she called her, only to be informed by Jose that Mrs Nathan was lying down after the stress of the funeral and could not come to the phone. He suggested she call again the following day.

Decker assembled the tapes in date order as far as he could, but some had only a number. 'How do we want to start backwards, or at the beginning?' he asked.

Lorraine pursed her lips. 'In whatever order we can. We'll list any names mentioned, anything that may be useful. There's nothing else to do, apart from searching Harry Nathan's garden, and we'll have to do that at night.'

'Wouldn't it be easier in daylight?'

'Of course, but we'd be seen doing it. The police won't be there at night.'

'How do you know?'

'I was a cop, Decker, just take my word for it.' She pressed Play and sat on the cherry-coloured sofa, Tiger's perch. She could smell him on it.

'Hi, how you doing?' The voice was warm, easygoing, with a nice smoker's edge. It was Harry Nathan.

Lorraine leaned forward to catch the low volume. Decker turned up the sound.

'I've been better. I didn't get the fucking part.'

'I'm sorry, I thought it was in the bag.'

'So did I, pal, so did I, but they said they felt they needed a name. I said, "I have one," and this kid, no more than twenty years old, says to me, "I meant a name anyone under forty has heard of." I wanted to say, "Go fuck yourself," but what can you do? They need a fucking name to sell toothpaste nowadays. That's what I hate about this industry, no respect.'

'Mm, yeah. So, you on for tonight?'

'I guess so. I'm going down to Hollywood Spa this afternoon.'

'You spend more time in the sauna than you do in your own home.'

Their conversation droned on but, to Lorraine's irritation, Nathan never once used the caller's name.

The rest of the tape consisted of equally boring calls, as Nathan arranged his day between his masseur, his personal trainer and his yoga guru, and had a long discussion with someone about colonic irrigation. Four further tapes were just as mind-numbingly dull, but Nathan's personality was emerging clearly: he seemed to have little interest in work as every call was of a personal nature, ranging from haircuts to manicures and massage even an eyelash tint.

'Jesus, is this guy for real?' Decker asked.

'You're listening to him, darlin',' Lorraine answered, as bored as Decker.

Decker inserted another tape and leaned back, doodling on his pad as the tape whirred and scratched before the connection was made.

'Hi, it's Raymond.'

Lorraine and Decker looked at each other it was the sauna and steam-bath caller, Mr Raymond Vallance.

'Listen, I've just met this chick she's beautiful. I was having lunch and she was at the next table, man. She is stunning. She has a body you'd cream yourself over, and she's got this blonde hair, like, man, it's down to her waist, and she's got to be five eight, maybe even taller. She's cover-of-Vogue class, so I won't be coming over.'

'What's her name?'

'Trudie. And she was giving me the real come-on. I mean, man, I could feel her looking at me. I'm seeing her tonight.'

They continued discussing the nubile blonde, their conversation more like that of two teenage boys than middle-aged men. That Nathan even bothered to record the entire tedious conversation was extraordinary. Decker saw that Lorraine was fast asleep, so he rewound the tape, put on some fresh coffee and inserted the next one. He would wake her if anything of interest came up. He listened to more of Nathan's grooming arrangements and more of Vallance's lectures about diet. Then a female voice, enquiring nervously if Mr Nathan wanted to see the dailies, to which Nathan replied that he wanted them sent over, that he would look at them in the evening. No date or time was stated, but Decker listed the call: it suggested that Nathan did occasionally do some work and that some movie was being shot. The next call made him listen intently.

'Harry? It's me, and I'm pissed you got a fucking nerve. You don't like the dailies, well, fuck you. If you could spare a second to come on the set you'd know we got a fucking brain-dead male lead. I warned you the script sucked, but this is puerile shit and I'm walking.'

Nathan's angry voice retorted that he didn't give a shit if he walked or not, and there was an angry altercation between the two men that resulted in Nathan screaming that the man could sue him, but as he was broke he'd never get a cent.

Lorraine woke with a start.

'Listen to this. Seems Nathan wasn't the rich man we think he was.'

Decker replayed the tape.

'You're a piece of shit, Harry.'

'Yeah, so tell me somethin' new.'

'I'm telling you straight, an' no amount of fucking blackmail and threats will make me stay on this garbage.'

Nathan laughed. 'You threatening me?'

'No, but you do whatever your dirt-bag mentality wants. I am through making second-rate porno shit.'

From then on, the tape was all business, one call after another from the studio as the film was halted. The director had walked and the cast and crew were threatening to quit unless they got paid. Then came a series of calls made by Nathan as he replaced the director, raised further finances to cover the production costs, and another when he suggested that certain incriminating photographs of Julian Cole be released to the gutter press, to teach the son-of-a-bitch a lesson that nobody messed with Harry Nathan. The astonishing thing throughout the flurry of calls was how relaxed and easy Nathan sounded as he cajoled and bullied everyone he spoke to. Last on the tape came a pitiful call from Julian Cole, the director who had walked off the set, begging Nathan not to release the photos.

'Listen, my friend, you owed me a favour. You quit on me and caused a lot of aggravation. I warned you . . .' Nathan said airily.

There was a deep intake of breath on the line and then the weeping man hissed, 'You bastard! I'll make you sorry.'

'Try it. Many have before, Jules, but they've always failed. Screwing under-age kids'll make headlines. You're finished. You'll never get a gig in this town again.'

The tape ended and Lorraine looked at Decker. 'You ever heard of this Julian Cole?'

Decker nodded. 'He made some movie about a whale and a mermaid Oscar nomination years ago but I think he's got one hell of a habit. Disappeared, or his later movies did.'

Lorraine got up and stretched her arms above her head. 'Maybe he could be a suspect maybe half the callers we just listened to could be. Seems a lot of people wanted Harry Nathan dead.'

Decker agreed. 'What a sleaze-bag. I'll run a check on all the callers we got.'

'Mm, yes, but first run a check on Nathan's finances let's see how broke he was. Something tells me he's the kind of man that has stashes of cash but won't touch a cent of his own money if he can blackmail, or whatever else, to make some other poor schmuck pay up.'

Decker rewound the tape and reached for the next. By tape five they had Raymond again, still talking about his latest nubile love. The calls were as tedious as the rest, until the last one on the tape when Nathan suggested that, as Raymond's career was going nowhere, he should do a small favour for him.

'You must be joking, I haven't reached that level.'

Nathan laughed. 'I'm talking private tapes, man.'

'What?'

'You heard me.'

'I don't follow, Harry,' Raymond said, fear audible in his voice.

'Yes, you do. You know about my wires, my little personal kicks.'

'Jesus Christ, are you serious?'

"Fraid so. I need money, and . . .'

'But you wouldn't, I mean . . . They're just between you and me.'

'They were. But, like I said, I need cash. I got a studio to run, a movie about to go down, which will cost me, so-'

'I can't you know, I can't.'

There was a long pause.