Free Cold Heart by Lynda La Plante Page B
Authors: Lynda La Plante
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
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