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just came over the radio. Cindy Nathan’s been arrested for the murder of her husband.’
    Lorraine hurried into Reception and switched on the TV. There was Cindy Nathan, almost hidden by a battery of cameras, being hurried into the police department. Feinstein, her lawyer, his arms wide, was trying to protect his client. She looked tiny and frightened, in a simple white linen button-through dress and carrying her jacket.
    Lorraine sat on the edge of the sofa with Tiger at her feet. Then she shot up, tripping over Tiger as she snatched up a tape and rammed it into the video machine. At that moment Decker returned. ‘Quick! Video this, will you?’ She passed him the remote control. They recorded the coverage of Cindy Nathan’s arrest every time it was screened – a lot was repetitive but they learned that she came from Milwaukee and had left at fifteen after winning a beauty competition. A few modelling jobs followed, and then her short stint in the soap drama Paradise Motel in which she played a chambermaid, not very well.
    Harry Nathan was more handsome than Lorraine had expected, a tall, lean, muscular man with dark hair, worn quite long, and a dazzling, though somehow charmless smile. The still photographs of him were glamorous, mostly taken at society functions, premières, Oscar nights, with celebrities on his arm. His associates from the studio said in interviews that Nathan would be greatly missed by all who had ever had the pleasure of working with him, and his secretary, in floods of tears, was so distraught she could hardly speak.
    Lorraine continued to watch the news coverage at home. It said nothing new. There was no mention of where she was being held pending arraignment.
    Nathan was a self-made millionaire and renowned art collector, who had moved from making commercials to directing zany comedy movies, which had been a big hit back in the eighties. He had then turned his attention to producing rather than directing, and had moved gradually towards cheap, adult-oriented movies on the verge of porn.
    Lorraine was about to call it a night when, channel-surfing, she caught an exclusive interview with Harry Nathan’s second wife, Kendall. It struck her that there had been neither comment nor reaction from the woman who had been married longest to Harry Nathan, Ms Sorenson.
    Kendall Nathan whispered that she was deeply shocked by events, and also felt compassion for Cindy. She had been married to Harry Nathan for four years and knew better than anyone that he had been difficult to live with, but their divorce had been amicable, and she had continued to enjoy a deep friendship with her ex-husband. They had also remained business partners.
    Then she gave a tremulous smile, her voice breaking. ‘Harry was always an honourable man whose many friends will be devastated, as I am, by his tragic and untimely death.’
    Most people would have focused on Kendall’s performance as a grieving woman, but Lorraine was trying to ascertain whether it could have been Kendall who had called her agency.
    The morning newspapers were full of the update on the shooting, and as there were no other job prospects Lorraine and Decker cut out all the articles and pinned them together with the previous day’s.
    At twelve they had a call from a Mrs Walgraf asking for an appointment with regard to her divorce.
    At two o’clock another appointment was booked and, to Lorraine’s astonishment, a third call came in at four. The next two days were busy.
    After being held at the Cybil Brand Institute for Women in the female facility of the Los Angeles County jail, Cindy Nathan was duly arraigned on charges of murder, pleaded not guilty, and was released on bail, security set at three million dollars. No one saw her leave the courthouse, as she was taken out through a small back entrance because of the number of press waiting outside. Her lawyer read a statement on her behalf: she was innocent and begged to be left alone to mourn the loss of