Sidney Sheldon's the Silent Widow

by Sidney Sheldon

  ‘No?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ she shook her head sadly. ‘It’s this new shit he’s been on. Krok. Do you know it? It’s the worst.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Williams admitted. ‘He scores it around here?’

  Suddenly, belatedly, the girl’s face clouded over with suspicion and fear. ‘Who are you, anyways?’ she asked Williams. ‘Why are you asking all these questions?’

  ‘I’m a friend of the boy that cop was asking you about,’ he replied, pulling a second twenty slowly out of his wallet and turning it over thoughtfully between his fingers. The poor girl stared at it, unable to disguise the longing in her eyes.

  ‘He was abducted, close to where we are now. Whoever took him tortured and killed him. They’d done the same thing to a young girl a few days before.’

  The girl shivered. ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Williams, still fingering the bill. ‘I don’t know if there’s a drug connection to what happened to him, but there might be. What can you tell me about the dealers that work here?’

  She shook her head. Williams could see the struggle inside her between her desperate need for the money and her fear. Fear was winning. ‘Nothing.’

  He pulled out a second bill, a fifty this time, and watched the girl’s eyes widen as if he were Jesus and he’d just fed the five thousand. Nikki Roberts’ expense account was already proving mightily useful. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said.

  ‘OK, look,’ she whispered urgently, beckoning Williams closer. ‘Westmont’s a war zone right now, but it’s also the place you can guarantee the Krok will be clean. You know what I’m saying?’ She reached out for the money but Williams held it back.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a Russian drug, OK? Everywhere else, all over LA, it’s Russian business. Those bastards sell cheap, but they cut their stuff with other shit. Like, really, really bad shit. A lot of people have died. A lot. Terry and I came here because we heard the Mexicans are running Krok in Westmont now. Don’t get me wrong, I hate those guys too. It’s not like they’re good guys. But their stuff is clean.’

  She reached again for the fifty. This time Williams let her touch it, but he kept his grip on the other end. ‘What Mexicans?’ He looked into her terrified eyes.

  ‘I don’t know, man. I don’t! They’re Terry’s dealers, not mine. I don’t touch Krok.’

  ‘I need a name, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘No one will ever know you told me, OK? I’m not a cop. I’m trying to help a friend.’

  The poor girl looked as if she might be about to explode with indecision. Eventually, she could stand it no more. Cupping both hands around Williams’ ear, she whispered into it.

  A name.

  Williams’ blood ran cold. He let go of the bill and she grabbed it triumphantly, stuffing it into the same pocket into which she’d dispatched the earlier twenty.

  ‘Thank you!’ she said again, as Williams turned to leave. ‘And good luck, you know. With your friend.’

  ‘Good luck to you too,’ said Williams.

  After what she’d just told him, they were both going to need it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Wiping the sweat from her forehead and underarms, Anne Bateman staggered out of her Soul Cycle class into the bright, Brentwood sunshine in a joyous mood.

  Her performance in the Stravinsky concerts had won rave reviews everywhere, and offers were flooding in to her agent on a daily basis. All of which meant she could enjoy her three-week hiatus from the LA Phil without needing to worry about money, or where her next gig was coming from.

  Everything was calm on the personal front too. Her husband had stopped bombarding her with texts and calls and flowers, a development that had caused her a brief, sharp pang of sadness followed by a profound flood of relief. Anne still loved him. Part of her would always love him. But Nikki had been quite right: in their case, love simply wasn’t enough.

  That was the other reason for Anne’s good mood this morning. She and Nikki were on good terms again. After their awful, painful fight in her dressing room the night of the concert, when her ex’s truckload of roses arrived, Anne had begun to fear it was the last she would ever see of her therapist and dear friend. Too embarrassed to attend her next therapy session, she’d skipped without calling to cancel, and then been so embarrassed about that she ended up skipping the next one too. She’d been expecting a call or an email from Nikki’s office warning her she’d be charged for the missed appointments, but there’d been nothing. She’d been on the brink of swallowing her pride and apologizing, despite the fact that, even now, in the calm light of day, she didn’t feel she’d been in the wrong to call Nikki on her behavior that night. But her life was too lonely and painful to lose the few close friends she had, so she had been steeling herself to make the call when Nikki unexpectedly stepped up. This morning a handwritten letter had arrived at Anne’s apartment, containing a brief but heartfelt apology.

  ‘I’ll understand if you feel you prefer a new therapist. Absolutely no hard feelings,’ Nikki wrote. ‘But I hope you don’t. Because I do genuinely feel that our work together has been helping you. And I think, deep down, you feel the same.’

  Anne wasn’t sure what she felt. Other than a happiness bordering on elation that Nikki had come back to her. And yes, she knew that wasn’t normal, but she didn’t care. It felt great! She’d accused Nikki of crossing the doctor–patient line, and that was the truth. But it was also true that she’d done the same thing herself. If Anne hadn’t seen that before, she saw it now.

  Crossing the street to the Coral Tree Café, she picked up an overpriced kale juice and jumped in her car, heading over to Nikki’s office. Her session wasn’t till noon, but she had nowhere else to be, and the desire to see her therapist’s face again was so strong she didn’t bother trying to resist it. Maybe, if she didn’t have a patient prior, the two of them could grab a coffee or have a quick chat before the session?

  Cranking up the radio and opening the roof, Anne let the rushing air cool the sweat from her limbs as she sped through the Wilshire Corridor, making a right at Beverly Glen. Palm trees swayed on either side of her to the strains of Justin Bieber and Wiz Khalifa, and above her a lapis blue sky seemed to glow with joy, reflecting Anne’s own happiness. Pulling up outside Nikki’s building, she was about to hand her keys to the new valet when a familiar voice behind her made her freeze.

  ‘Hola, angel.’

  And suddenly there he was. Her husband.

  Anne’s heart leapt into her mouth. She’d imagined this moment countless times since the day she left him. Him, coming to get her, showing up on her doorstep. In the beginning, those thoughts had been nightmares, loaded with dread that she would be dragged back to the cloying life she’d escaped. But as time passed and the distance between them grew, her physical fear faded. As her husband amped up the romantic gestures and loving, conciliatory rhetoric, she’d allowed the scenario to morph into something closer to a romantic daydream. A fantasy.

  But now it was real. He was here. He had come for her.

  All at once the terror was back.

  ‘Leave me alone! Get away!’ Instinctively, she edged closer to the valet stand with its small group of waiting drivers. Safety in numbers.

  ‘Anne.’

  Luis Rodriguez gazed at his beloved wife with wounded, reproachful eyes.

  ‘It’s me, my darling. It’s Luis. Why are you afraid?’

  There was no anger in his tone. Only sorrow. Anne felt her racing heartbeat start to slow marginally.

  He was immaculately dressed as usual in a Savile Row suit and silk tie, was newly shaven, and smelled of the Gucci aftershave he always wore, a scent that even now produced an involuntary response between Anne’s legs. In his left hand he carried a bouquet, much more simple than the lavish affair he’d sent to the concert hall. This was a modest, hand-tied posy of spring blooms, but it was full of Anne’s favorites: sweet Williams and irises and softly windblown peonies. He remembered
.

  ‘What are you doing here, Luis?’ she asked, softening but still suspicious.

  ‘I had some business in LA,’ he replied casually. ‘I’ll be here for a few days at least.’

  Anne’s eyes narrowed. ‘You told me you could never return to the US. That you can’t leave Mexico City.’

  ‘I try hard not to. But this … was very important.’

  She wondered whether ‘this’ meant the business or her. Despite herself, a part of her hoped it was the latter.

  She studied his face in silence as if trying to work out a puzzle, while a torrent of conflicting emotions raced through her. Was he telling the truth about having business here? Or had he really come for her? And if he had, what did that mean? Should she be flattered, or afraid?

  ‘You know I miss you, Anne.’ His voice broke, leaden with love.

  ‘I miss you too,’ she said truthfully. ‘But you can’t … you should have called.’

  ‘I don’t have your number.’

  ‘You could have left a message with the orchestra. I’m not hard to find. You could have warned me, instead of ambushing me on the street like this.’

  ‘If I’d warned you, you might not have agreed to meet,’ Luis said simply.

  ‘Well, wouldn’t that have been my decision?’ Anne asked.

  ‘It would have been. If I’d warned you,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘This way, it’s my decision. I like that better.’

  Anne couldn’t help but smile back. This was classic Luis logic. He really was incorrigible, but somehow he always managed to combine his outrageous arrogance with enough charm to make it endearing. She had never met a man like him, and for all Nikki’s warnings, she knew she never would.

  ‘Have lunch with me.’ He proffered the flowers, trying to press his advantage.

  Anne took them and for a split second their fingertips touched. It was the first physical contact between them since the night before she bolted, and it was electric, charged with both desire and fear.

  ‘I can’t.’ Anne looked away. ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ Luis’s voice hardened. ‘Because she says so?’ He nodded up at Nikki’s building. ‘Your so-called therapist?’

  The cold fear crept back into Anne’s veins, as if someone had changed the drip.

  How did Luis know about Nikki? Come to think of it, how did he know I’d be here at all?

  Suddenly she thought back to the mysterious cars she’d been convinced were following her. The ones Nikki said were all in her head.

  ‘You’ve had people tailing me!’ She backed away again, farther this time. ‘Just like you did in Mexico. Spying on me!’

  Luis was unapologetic ‘The fact we aren’t together any more doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped being concerned for your safety, Anne.’

  ‘What do you mean, my “safety”? I’m perfectly safe. Why wouldn’t I be safe?’

  ‘Well,’ he responded, still smiling, ‘in case you haven’t noticed, my dear, people close to your therapist friend seem to have developed a nasty habit of showing up dead. I know the police warned you to be cautious, but what are they actually doing to protect you? And what are you doing to protect yourself? Nothing, as far as I could see.’

  ‘I don’t need your protection, Luis,’ Anne whispered, frightened by how quickly her own resolve was crumbling. ‘I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it.’

  Lunging forward, he grabbed her suddenly by the wrists. Anne struggled half-heartedly, waiting for a bystander to step in, but nobody seemed to notice or care.

  ‘You do need it,’ Luis whispered in her ear, pulling her close. ‘Trust me when I tell you, your Dr Roberts is not who she claims to be. Do you understand me, Anne? She’s no innocent in any of this.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Anne looked at him defiantly. ‘Nikki’s completely innocent.’

  ‘No.’ Luis shook his head urgently. ‘There are things you don’t know, my darling. Many, many things. She’s poisoning you against me, but it’s not me you should be afraid of. It’s her.’

  With one hard yank, Anne wrenched herself free from his grip.

  ‘Leave me alone, Luis!’ she shouted at him, loud enough that no one in the valet line could pretend not to hear. ‘I mean it. If I see you again, I swear I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Anne! Please!’

  But it was too late. Anne had already turned and fled, bolting inside Nikki’s building like a hunted rabbit.

  ‘Are you all right, miss?’ The elevator attendant came over, seeing Anne shaking and repeatedly pounding on the call button.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she lied.

  She didn’t believe what Luis had said about Nikki. Even so, his words seemed to have embedded themselves in her brain:

  ‘Dr Roberts is not who she claims to be. She’s no innocent.’

  What did he mean by that? And why would he say such a thing?

  Oh God! Why did he have to come here at all?

  Anne waited until she was alone in the elevator with the doors safely closed. Only then did she give way to tears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kim Choy held her breath and pretended to be typing something into her computer as Lana Grey emerged from Dr Nikki Roberts’ consulting room.

  A graduate intern at the UCLA Semel Institute for Neuroscience, Kim was Nikki’s newly hired assistant, a hasty replacement for poor Trey. Although both brilliant and beautiful, with perfectly smooth Asian skin, wide eyes and a long mane of silken black hair, Kim had been raised by strict Chinese parents and had led a very sheltered existence thus far in her twenty-four years on earth. As a result, she was utterly star-struck to see Lana, a famous TV star, walk right past her in the flesh!

  ‘May I schedule another appointment for you, Miss Grey?’ Poor Kim’s heart was pounding so fast it was hard to get the words out. She’d never interacted with a ‘celebrity’ before. Evidently her new part-time job was going to bring her into contact with a whole new world, a side to Los Angeles that she’d heard about but never seen, beavering away at the library on UCLA’s Westwood campus or spending late nights cramming in the neuroscience department. It was all too exciting for words!

  Lana looked at the slim, attractive Asian girl behind the desk in Dr Roberts’ lobby and felt envy choke her like a golfball lodged in her throat. As if the therapist’s smugness weren’t bad enough on its own, with Nikki rubbing her perfect life and beautiful figure and barely lined skin in Lana’s face at every session, now the bitch had gone and hired some teenage beauty queen to run the office.

  There was no way she wasn’t doing it on purpose. She wants my self-esteem on the floor, so she can keep me coming back for more therapy at three hundred dollars an hour. You couldn’t trust anyone these days.

  Leaning over Kim’s desk threateningly, Lana snarled: ‘If I wanted to schedule another appointment, I’d say so, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Oh.’ Kim blushed to the roots of her hair. She’d put her foot in it somehow, made a mistake. Was she not supposed to speak to clients, or ask about appointments? ‘I’m sorry, Miss Grey. I just thought …’

  ‘Yes, well don’t. I won’t be coming back,’ Lana announced, sweeping out of the office and slamming the door behind her.

  Hearing the commotion, Nikki emerged to find her poor receptionist close to tears.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Dr Roberts,’ Kim blurted. ‘I think, somehow, I must have offended Miss Grey. I asked about scheduling another appointment and she … she … well, she became very angry with me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kim, it wasn’t your fault,’ Nikki said reassuringly. ‘I’m afraid Lana’s been very angry for a long time. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘She said she wouldn’t be coming back,’ Kim admitted nervously.

  ‘Yes,’ Nikki smiled. ‘She says that a lot too. You’ll get used to it. You can send Carter Berkeley in as soon as he arrives.’

  Back inside her consulting room, Nikki closed her eyes an
d began her own breathing exercises, the ones Doug had taught her years ago as a way to calm her emotions and that she still relied upon to this day.

  First, breathe. Nikki could hear Doug’s voice in her head, as if he were standing next to her. Then separate your thoughts out one by one, slowly and calmly, as if you were laying out individual leaves on a table, or seeds in a tray.

  Thought number one: Lana was getting worse, not better, and edging into psychosis. Every prettier, younger woman was a threat, an enemy. The time had come to gently guide her towards another therapist. In all honesty, she probably ought to see a psychiatrist too. But would Nikki be able to get her there?

  Breathe.

  Thought number two: No one else had been killed, or hurt, since Trey and the threats to Nikki had also stopped, for now. Was the person trying to kill her done? Or merely biding their time, toying with her like a cat with a cornered mouse? If so, would Derek Williams be able to catch them before they struck again? Everything had gone ominously quiet on the police front, which she took to mean that Johnson and Goodman were no further forward. It was Williams or bust.

  Breathe. One step at a time, Nikki. Focus on your patients. Focus on the now.

  Thought number three wasn’t a thought, so much as a series of faces. Doug’s. Anne’s. Goodman’s. And a fourth, hidden face, still obscured by shadows: Lenka, Doug’s mistress. Would Williams succeed where Nikki had failed, and find out something, anything, about the woman whose death had ripped apart Nikki’s life?

  The ‘patient waiting’ light on Nikki’s wall suddenly turned red. Carter Berkeley must be here. Nikki found sessions with Carter difficult at the moment. His paranoia, always a problem, seemed to be escalating out of control. Ever since Lisa Flannagan’s murder, he’d become so jumpy, so wildly suspicious of everybody, it was tough to get any effective work done in treatment. I’m failing him too, just like I’m failing Lana, Nikki thought miserably. I wasn’t a good enough wife, I couldn’t even get pregnant, and now I’m failing as a therapist too.