Once the cab was clear of Abigail Nathan’s house, Lorraine reached carefully under her jacket and extracted the envelope. She took out a single sheet of folded airmail notepaper, with no address, simply the salutation ‘Dearest, sweetest Cherub-face’. The first few lines expressed hopes that she was sticking to a diet, using her exercise bike and not, underlined, eating too many cookies. He went on to say that he was abroad for just a few days, and from Germany he would be going on to Switzerland, but then underlined was, ‘No one must know, that also means do not’ underlined ‘tell even Nicky.’ He said he would explain on his return. He went on to say that within a few months he would be mega-rich, that he was on to something that would set him up for the rest of his life. The writing was slapdash, and looked as if it had been scrawled in a hurry: some was in cursive script, the rest in capital letters.
Lorraine replaced the note in the envelope and slipped it into her case. There had been no record of this trip to Germany and, most importantly, to Switzerland on Nathan’s official passport. This must be a clear lead to the secret bank accounts. She suddenly sat up. Germany! Sonja Nathan had said what? There was an exhibition of her work being shown in Berlin. Sonja was there now, and Lorraine did not doubt that it was in connection with the art fraud that she and Arthur had evidently been running with Nathan.
The net was closing, and Lorraine felt an almost ungovernable impulse to follow Sonja to Europe and run her to earth. She would have to act immediately — but the thought of telling Jake that she had to make just this one trip, follow this one lead, pushing his patience and understanding yet again was too much for her. She knew that next time he saw her, he wanted to give her a ring and make their engagement public. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to see him, Rosie, Rooney, Tiger. She had been away too long.
Chapter 19
Sonja stood in one of the airy, vaulted halls of the Hamburger Bahnhof in Berlin, the former railway station that had been stunningly restored as an art gallery. All the pieces she had executed during the past seven years were placed around her. People stood sipping drinks in front of them, but even more were gathered before her latest work, a huge rectangular structure draped in a black cloth, which was to be unveiled later in the evening. She scanned the unmistakably prosperous but vapid-looking crowd as she waited for Arthur to come back with her drink, and reflected that art snobs were the same all over the world.
Arthur returned with a glass of champagne for her just as she observed the two organizers of the exhibition bearing down on her. ‘Arthur, I think I’m about to be carried off.’
He knew that she wanted him to go and, glancing at his watch, saw that it was almost time for him to pick up the car that would take him to Kreuzberg.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I have to run. Good luck, Sonja.’
Outside, the car was waiting, and Arthur switched his mind to the negotiations, which had been complex, though on the surface not illegal — none of the paintings he was about to sell were known to be stolen, none had been reported as such. By the time that happened he and Sonja would be long gone, and if the Japanese buyer he had lined up took the bulk, he wouldn’t care. In Japan if a buyer of a painting could prove ownership for two consecutive years, the work became irrecoverably his or hers, and could be shown with impunity. This evening’s sale had taken years of planning, years of secret meetings and hours of his time forging the artists’ work. It was his own work now that he was thinking about: if this deal came off he would have the rest of his life to paint in luxury. If it went wrong, then he might spend it in prison. Either way, he mused, he’d be able to paint.
Because California time was two hours behind Chicago, it was only mid-afternoon when Lorraine got back to LA. She went straight to her office, eager to check Decker’s research, but it wasn’t until she was there that she remembered Rooney had it. She dialled Feinstein’s number. To her irritation, he was in court, so she left a message. Next she called Rosie and Rooney, and left a message asking Rooney to bring Decker’s carrier bags to her apartment as soon as he could.
At that moment Rosie and Rooney were with Jake Burton in his office. He had listened intently to everything Rooney had to say about Eric Lee Judd.
He had warmed immediately to the couple, knowing how highly Lorraine regarded them. ‘Did she mention anything to either of you about her brake cables being cut and that someone broke into her office?’
They shook their heads.
‘Well, whoever it was did some damage — didn’t steal anything but made their presence known by using acid to destroy some tapes.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be whoever it was had been hired by one of the suspects and discovered something else in the office.’
‘Like what?’ Rooney interjected, leaning forward.
‘That it was someone from her past who knew her, had a grudge against her,’ Burton said.
Rooney looked to Rosie. ‘I said there was some kind of hidden agenda, didn’t I?’
Rosie was chewing her lip. She felt very uneasy. ‘Do you think Lorraine knows?’ she asked Burton.
‘No, I don’t, but she must be told. Have you any idea when she’ll be back from Chicago?’
Rosie tried to recall exactly what Lorraine had said when they had last spoken. ‘I’m sure she said she’d be back in LA this evening.’ She looked up as Burton eased from his chair. He cracked his knuckles. He was obviously worried.
‘Is she in danger?’ Rosie asked.
‘Not for the moment but, all the same, I want you to go back to your apartment in case she makes contact. In the meantime, I’ll check out this Eric Lee Judd, maybe get someone to monitor what he’s up to.’ Burton put an arm around Rooney. ‘I appreciate all you’re doing for Lorraine, but don’t worry, I won’t let any harm come to her.’
Rooney coughed and stuck out his hand, which Burton clasped. ‘I wasn’t sure about you, not at first, but... we also appreciate everything you’ve done for our girl. She’s very special.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Burton said softly.
As he closed the door behind the Rooneys he stood in the centre of the room. He could feel an ominous tug in the pit of his belly because just the thought of any harm coming to Lorraine made him realize again how much he loved her and wanted to protect her.
It was almost six when Lorraine was dropped outside her apartment, paid off the cab, and checked all her luggage and parcels. She had quite a few, plus the painting from Nick Nathan, so her hands were full as she opened the street door and climbed the stairs. The apartment door was ajar, and she smiled, sure that Rosie was inside. She called her friend’s name as she pushed open the door with her case. ‘Rosie? Are you here? Rosie?’
She put down the briefcase containing the phone records Abigail Nathan had given her, her overnight bag and painting, and turned to close the door. She didn’t see or even hear her assailant, as the blow to the right side of her head had such force it lifted her off the ground. She tried to roll away, curling her body against the blows that continued to thud into her. One slammed into the small of her back and it felt as if her kidneys were exploding. She straightened out with a scream of agony, but the blows kept on coming, no matter which way she tried to fend them off. She couldn’t tell if she was being kicked or punched. The pain was so vivid it was as if she was on fire. She couldn’t cry out, she had no strength, and the last blow to the side of her head rendered her unconscious. Lorraine had not even glimpsed her attacker, who now, out of some reflex instinct for robbery, rapidly searched through her overnight bag. He found nothing of value, and as the briefcase was locked, he took it, throwing it into the back of his car before he drove off.