‘He was the only one who was worth it.’
‘I’m investigating a possible art fraud Harry and Kendall seem to have been pulling out of the gallery—’
‘You mean Kendall was pulling,’ Vallance cut in. ‘Harry would never have thought up anything like that on his own, but she was as crooked as they come.’
‘What do you know about the gallery?’
Vallance turned his mouth down and lifted his shoulders. ‘I went once or twice, more, I suppose, to show my face for them when they had an exhibition. Artists need press like everyone else, and I’d bring in as many faces as I could, but I didn’t have the finances to buy anything from them.’
Lorraine opened her notebook and began to read out the names of some well-known film stars, part of the list of people who had bought paintings she now knew to be fakes. She flicked a glance at Vallance as he nodded at name after name. ‘So you introduced buyers too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you paid a commission for doing it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know any of these other names?’ Lorraine mentioned producers, bankers and other professionals who had been approached by Feinstein with the suggestion that they have their paintings revalued. Vallance nodded only occasionally, and she ticked each name he acknowledged, but his contacts had mostly been the show-business buyers.
‘Do you know who Nathan’s contacts would have been in the banking world, for example?’
‘No, that was Kendall’s department. She made sure she knew anyone who might have the cash to cough up for her art.’
‘How about any contacts in Europe?’
He twisted his keys. ‘She made it her business to know foreign buyers. She was a real nose to the grindstone, in the early days I think because she could see Harry more by making the gallery her life. But she was a hustler by nature.’
‘Did he ever mention any banking facilities he used, either here or in Europe?’
‘No.’
‘But he did travel abroad a lot. Did you go with him?’
‘No, but during the past year he went away a lot. Just a week here or there, though he’d never take Cindy. Maybe Kendall went — I’ve no idea. But you’re not much of an investigator if you haven’t checked his passport — surely that’ll tell you where he was sliding off to.’
‘It doesn’t. As he used so many aliases to open the bank accounts we’ve traced so far, we can only presume he also had a number of passports in different names.’
‘Well, that’s quite possible. Harry had picked up a few unsavoury friends along the way — I kept my distance from them.’
‘Can you think of anyone in the art world who might have been working with him in the last few months before he died? Not Kendall, someone else.’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Lorraine said.
It was a moment before Vallance realized that she was saying the ten minutes were up. His jaw slackened. ‘Oh — was that of any use?’
‘Maybe. If you could give me an address where I could contact you, I’ll let you know if I make headway.’
He swung his keys round a finger. ‘I’m between residences at the moment.’
‘What about your agent?’
The keys swivelled faster. ‘Let’s say I’m between agents too. Why don’t I contact you, say in a couple of weeks? Just to see how you’re progressing.’
Lorraine passed him her card, and he slipped it into his pocket without looking at it and walked out. Lorraine called Feinstein, who hadn’t arrived at his office. She spoke to his secretary, listing what she would need on her return. ‘One, can you find a recent address for Nathan’s brother, Nick, plus his mother. Two, see if any passports have been issued in any of the other names Nathan used. There may be more than one. Three, will you run by Mr Feinstein that if I were to get assistance from someone, which led to either the money or the art works being recovered, it would help if I could hint at a few bucks going their way, okay?’
‘Yes, Mrs Page. I will pass on those messages to Mr Feinstein as soon as he comes in,’ the exquisite Pamela answered.
‘Thank you.’ Lorraine hung up, then went down to Reception to check out. It was now almost lunchtime. She realized she would now have to catch the three-fifteen Jitney, and might as well get lunch in East Hampton before she left. Somehow she couldn’t face eating in the hotel with Vallance and his friend, so left her bag at Reception and walked out to a small seafood place down the street. She installed herself in a corner booth with the doom-laden New York Times and a platter of shrimp and crab, thinking of the dinner Jake had cooked for her at his apartment. It would be Thanksgiving soon, she thought. She would have him, Rosie and Rooney round for dinner at her apartment — she had never had more to be thankful for as this had turned out to be the best year of her life.
She got up, paid her bill, tossed the unread paper into a trash can and walked back to the hotel, her thoughts drifting again to the future and to images of where she and Jake would live. Her place was too small, though she loved being near the ocean, and neither of them was crazy about his apartment. They must have a proper engagement party too, she thought, suddenly wanting to do things right, to feel the warmth of tradition and ritual around her, wondering if maybe Mike and Sissy and the girls would come. She thought about her daughters every day, and it had never been lack of feeling that had kept her away from them for so long. She had been so afraid that the craziness and chaos that surrounded her would somehow enter their lives. She focused again on the idea of introducing Jake to them. She wanted him to meet them, and for them to see their mother happy and relaxed, supported and loved.
Lorraine turned into the Maidstone’s driveway. A paramedics van, lights flashing, was parked in the hotel car park, with two patrol cars and a pale blue Rolls-Royce Corniche. She continued into the hotel reception, but halfway across the lobby she was stopped by an officer, who asked if she was a guest, and only allowed her to go and collect her overnight bag when she confirmed that she was. Then she saw the pretty receptionist weeping hysterically, being comforted by the barman. The blowsy blonde woman, whom she had seen earlier with Vallance, was sitting in one of the Queen Anne chairs. She screamed, sobbed and hyperventilated, and wailed the same words again and again. ‘Why? Oh, dear God, why?’
Lorraine looked around more carefully. The police were keeping everyone from going upstairs, and preventing non-residents from entering the hotel. She was just about to ask one of the officers what had happened, when she overheard the pretty girl say, ‘I just can’t believe it, he was talking to me earlier. I got his autograph for my mother, and I served him lunch, and...’
Lorraine was about to go over to her, when the manager appeared. ‘I’m so sorry about this, Mrs Page.’
‘What happened?’ she asked.
The manager’s fingers were shaking as he touched his collar. ‘Mr Vallance... Raymond Vallance committed suicide.’
Lorraine looked upstairs, and the manager clasped her elbow, lowering his voice. ‘No, it didn’t happen in the hotel, but in that poor woman’s car.’
Lorraine glanced at Vallance’s companion, whose thickly applied make-up had now smeared over her face. ‘How did he do it?’ she asked quietly.
‘He shot himself,’ the manager answered.
He had shown no suicidal intentions when she had seen him earlier. It seemed too much to believe that he had killed himself, particularly as he had been talking of going to see a woman who had said she would shoot him. Lorraine had seen Vallance just before he went downstairs, and the waitress said she had served him lunch. How could Sonja have driven into town, caused Vallance to get up from the lunch table and go and sit in someone else’s car so that she could shoot him, unobserved by anyone — and then drive back to the Springs: Hadn’t Arthur said he was going straight back to the house? She would have to call them and make some more enquiries in the hotel too, Lorraine thought, but she was determined not to get too far drawn into the Nathan murder again. She was going back to Jake and LA that evening. But she had time, she figured. She’d just have to catch the later bus.