Nikki looked up at the clock on the wall: 7.22 p.m. Williams was officially late now. Where the hell could he be?
She’d made an effort with her clothes tonight, and looked understatedly sexy in a pair of charcoal gray cigarette pants and a jade green silk blouse, low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage in her lace La Perla bra. Obviously not for Derek Williams’ benefit. As ridiculous as it sounded, as ridiculous as it was, Nikki wanted to look her best when she heard the full story about Lenka. It was as if Doug’s mistress were still alive, and in the room, and the two women were in some sort of stand-off or competition.
This ghost of a woman had robbed her not just of her happiness in the present, but of all her precious memories from a happy past. The opportunity to lay her to rest at last was a momentous occasion, one worth getting dressed up for.
Since her unexpected confession to Gretchen about Lenka’s pregnancy, and the real circumstances under which she’d learned of Doug’s affair, Nikki had had precious little time to question herself on why she’d chosen to conceal this information from Derek Williams. Was she embarrassed? Even now, after all this time and in the wake of so much tragedy? Embarrassed that another woman had so effortlessly provided Doug with the one thing Nikki couldn’t give him – a child – and that she’d been so terrified by that prospect, she’d done nothing whatsoever about it. Until the fates intervened …
Would Williams have uncovered the truth himself by now? Was that his big ‘news’? Or did he have other information, new information, something that might finally help Nikki make sense of Doug’s infidelity and all the terrible things that had happened since?
Impatient, she texted Williams’ number.
‘Where r u? Getting worried.’
Williams’ phone buzzed on the desk as he pulled on his pants, the fabric sticking to his legs still wet from the shower.
‘Coming,’ he typed back hastily to Nikki. ‘Sorry.’
He’d explain the rest later, at the hotel. For once he had an excuse to be late. What he’d learned from Tina Drayton, Mayor Fuentes’ former secretary, was so explosive he knew he needed to protect it, right now, before anything happened to Tina, or to himself. Even typing up a simple, bare-bones memo on the bald facts had taken longer than he imagined. And then he had to choose someone to mail it to as a backup, someone he could trust but who he would also be willing to be put at risk. Because there could be no doubt this information was potentially deadly. Knowledge was power, but it could also be lethal.
Pulling on his shirt and socks, Williams dashed over to his desk and, with a final, deep breath, hit ‘send’. ‘Don’t hate me, Alan,’ he whispered under his breath, imagining this bombshell email flying through the ether towards its unwitting recipient. Slipping his laptop into its case, he stuffed it into his suitcase and was just reaching for his shoes when his door buzzer rang.
Really? Now?
No one called on him at home any more. It was probably another summons from Lorraine’s lawyers. Those leeches never quit.
He finished tying his shoes and zippered up the case before wheeling it down the hallway. Opening the door he was surprised to see a familiar face smiling at him.
‘Oh! It’s you. What are you doing here? Look I’m sorry but I’m really in a rush right now. I’m late to meet …’
The first bullet pierced him in the heart.
The second and third, to the head and neck, weren’t necessary.
Williams fell where he stood, his eyes open, a look of profound surprise fixed eternally on his dead face.
Derek Williams wasn’t coming.
That left Nikki with three choices.
Take her bag, check into some anonymous hotel out of town as Williams had suggested, and lie low until he contacted her.
Go home and forget this crazy day ever happened.
Or stay here and order herself a real drink. Or two. Or three.
In the end it was an easy choice. After so much hope, so much expectation, the disappointment felt like a medicine ball to the stomach. She didn’t care about Luis Rodriguez, or drug cartels, or corruption at City Hall. She didn’t care that Brandon Grolsch was alive and that she needed to let Williams know it. All that mattered was that she would not learn the truth about Lenka tonight. She would not get closure, not now, maybe not ever. That small shred of comfort was to be denied her, after everything she’d been through, and was still going through. Why not drink?
It was ten o’clock by the time the barman touched her arm to rouse her. Nikki was so out of it, she must have nodded off at the bar.
‘Do you want to settle up now, miss?’ the barman asked kindly.
‘It’s OK. I’ve got this.’
Sliding onto the stool next to Nikki, Detective Goodman handed over his credit card. ‘Could you put a couple of double espressos on there too? And a large glass of water, no ice.’
‘Sure thing.’
The barman left them alone. Slowly, Nikki turned her head towards Goodman and tried to process what it meant that he was here.
‘You’re not Derek,’ she slurred, trying to force his two, oscillating faces to merge into one.
‘No,’ Goodman agreed. ‘I’m not.’
He tried not to focus on Nikki’s half-open green silk shirt, disheveled hair, flushed cheeks and smudged make-up after what must have been a long night’s drinking. She was usually so controlled, so together. There was something incredibly compelling about this unraveled version of the professional Dr Roberts. But this wasn’t the time.
He cleared his throat. ‘Nikki.’
‘Where’s Williams?’ she interrupted him. ‘He d’in show up.’ Jabbing drunkenly at Goodman’s chest with her finger she leaned in towards him like a falling tree. ‘You shun’t be here, Lou. ’S after hours. You’re following me again, aren’t you?’
Their coffees arrived, not a moment too soon. Goodman waited until Nikki downed hers, wincing with distaste as the hot, strong liquid burned her throat and cut through the alcohol fog in her brain.
‘Nikki, I need you to focus.’ His voice was deadly serious. He pushed the glass of water towards her but she shook her head.
‘I’m OK,’ she told him, sounding less out of it than before. ‘What is it? Wha’s wrong?’
‘I’m afraid I have bad news. Derek Williams is dead.’
Nikki frowned, shook her head. ‘No. That’s not right. He just texted me.’
‘When?’ Goodman asked.
Nikki looked at her watch. ‘Tonight. About three hours ago.’
Goodman reached for her phone and she handed it over. He noted the times on their brief text exchange before passing it back to her.
‘He was shot in the head and chest, probably right after he sent this message. Outside his apartment, point-blank range. It’s only been a couple of hours but it looks like a professional hit. The killer’s gun had a silencer.’
A low ringing sound in Nikki’s ears grew louder. Soon it was deafening. She could see Goodman’s lips moving, but his words were lost to her, like he was shouting from the other side of a wall of soundproofed glass. Her vision changed too. She no longer felt the drunken bleariness of a few moments ago. Instead she saw some things with crystal clarity. The slice of lemon floating on the top of her untouched water, glowed an almost fluorescent yellow. The freckles on the back of her own hand also seemed strangely vivid suddenly. Hyper-real. And yet her wider surroundings – the bar, the hotel lobby beyond, everything outside of the small circle encompassing her and Goodman and this awful new truth about Williams – that was all gone. Not blurred or faint. Actually gone. Disappeared.
‘NIKKI.’
Goodman was shouting, shaking her roughly by the shoulders. She startled, and the mute button on his speech switched off.
‘Nikki, you have to tell me what Derek Williams knew. What has he told you? What was he meeting you about tonight?’
She shook her head, still reeling with shock.
‘It’s vital that you tell me ever
ything you know. I can’t protect you unless you help me.’
Poor Derek! He was a good man. A kind man. He was trying his best, to do his job, to help me, to get his own life back on track. And now he’s dead. He’s dead because he met me.
‘It’s me,’ she muttered dazedly to Goodman. ‘It’s because of me.’
‘What was tonight’s meeting about, Nikki?’ Goodman forced her to focus.
‘Lenka,’ she replied blankly.
‘Your husband’s mistress,’ said Goodman.
Nikki’s eyes widened. ‘You knew about that?’
‘Johnson found out,’ said Goodman. ‘He also found out she was pregnant the night she died. Why’d you lie to us, Nikki?’
‘I didn’t lie,’ she looked away. ‘I didn’t tell you, that’s all.’
‘Because?’
‘Because it had nothing to do with the case, and because I don’t have to tell you everything, OK? I don’t!’ Nikki’s voice was becoming more hysterical.
‘What if it did have something to do with the case?’ Goodman asked. ‘What if your husband’s accident and these murders are connected?’
Nikki shrugged listlessly. She couldn’t think about this now. Derek Williams was dead. Dead. That single, awful reality took up every inch of emotional space in her brain.
Goodman struggled to hide his impatience. ‘Nikki, please focus. I need your help. Williams had a bag packed when we found him. You do too.’ He looked down at Nikki’s feet accusingly. ‘Where were the two of you going?’
‘Away,’ she mumbled, adding hastily ‘Not together. We were going to meet here and then take off. Separately. Williams said we weren’t safe in LA. I guess he was right.’
‘Did he say why you weren’t safe?’
‘Something about a ring … the drug cartels bribing city officials and a bunch of other people. I don’t know,’ Nikki mumbled.
‘I know you’re in shock,’ said Goodman, taking Nikki’s hands in his and forcing her to look him in the eye. ‘But that’s not good enough. I need names. I need details. I need something I can use.’ Goodman’s voice was rising. Other drinkers at the bar were looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Derek Williams was executed tonight,’ he whispered, lowering his volume but not the urgency of his tone. ‘You could be next, if you don’t help me.’
‘I guess I could,’ she replied, without a hint of emotion.
He was losing her. Somehow he had to reach her, to make a connection. Get her to talk to him, to open up. In desperation, he leaned in and kissed her, passionately, on the lips.
Nikki didn’t resist. But neither did she respond, not really. It was as if someone had hit her ‘off’’ switch. As if her entire emotional, inner world had shut down, short-circuited. As if Derek Williams’ death had been one trauma too many.
At last, Goodman pulled away. ‘A name?’ he asked again, softly.
‘Luis Rodriguez.’ Nikki sighed. ‘Anne Bateman’s ex-husband. Derek Williams believed he might be involved, in the murders and in this “ring”. He thought the Badens might be connected too, but Rodriguez was his big obsession. Those are the only names I have.’
Goodman frowned. ‘Luis Rodriguez is a developer and a philanthropist. He probably gives more money to anti-drug charities than anyone else in Mexico.’
‘I know,’ said Nikki.
‘Gives to the police too,’ said Goodman. ‘Why on earth would Williams think he’s involved?’
Nikki sighed again. ‘Derek was convinced he ran a massive illegal drug operation. He said the LAPD and FBI knew all about it but turned a blind eye.’
‘That’s baloney,’ Goodman retorted angrily. Then he reminded himself that Derek Williams was dead, and it no longer made sense to pick a fight with him. ‘And the Badens?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nikki rubbed her eyes. ‘I know he thought Valentina’s charity was some sort of front for illegal activity. And that maybe Willie was helping Rodriguez in other ways here in LA. But, like I said, it was Rodriguez he really cared about.
‘He said he had new information and he was going to tell me more tonight,’ said Nikki. ‘Something to do with Rodriguez and the Russians and this new drug Krokodil and corruption. According to Williams, City Hall was involved, and some investment banks. Even charities, like the Badens’ Missing. Oh, and the cops,’ she added. ‘Corrupt cops. From the drug squad.’
‘But he never told you any names?’
‘He never got the chance, did he?’ Nikki observed bitterly. ‘I can think of some corrupt guys in your drug squad, if you’re interested. Or ex-drug squad. One person in particular springs to mind.’
Mick Johnson’s name hung unspoken in the air between them.
‘OK.’ Goodman leaned back on his chair. Apparently satisfied for now, he signaled to the barman and signed the tab for both of them. ‘Was there anything else? Anything at all you can remember that might help us figure out who killed Derek Williams and why?’
Nikki contemplated telling him about the phone call she’d received earlier from Brandon Grolsch. She’d been going to tell Williams, but now Williams was gone. Somebody should know, surely? Somebody should be investigating it, trying to find Brandon, to help him. Why not Goodman? Goodman who flirted with her and rescued her and shouted at her and kissed her. Goodman who she could have loved, in another life.
But something held her back.
Derek Williams had never trusted Goodman. And Nikki had trusted Derek Williams. He’d been the only one left she did trust completely. And now he was gone too.
‘No. There’s nothing,’ she told Goodman.
Reaching down, he picked up her overnight bag.
‘I’m taking you home,’ he said firmly.
‘I can’t go home,’ she protested. ‘It’s not safe.’
‘Not your home,’ said Goodman. ‘Mine.’
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment Nikki allowed herself to imagine what her life might be like if she let this happen. If she let Lou Goodman step in and take care of her, take over. Let him make the decisions, keep her safe, slay the dragons and banish the demons.
It was a lovely idea. Like most fairy tales.
But it wasn’t to be.
It was far too late for all that.
‘You’re very sweet,’ she said, kissing him on the lips, with feeling this time. ‘But I can’t.’ Gently but firmly she prized her bag from his grip.
‘Why not?’ he asked, his fingers still touching hers.
‘Because a long time ago, I gave my heart to my husband,’ said Nikki. ‘And he broke it. I’m sorry, Lou. There’s nothing left to give.’
Anne Bateman drove carefully, blinded by her own tears as well as by the rain that was lashing down across her windshield.
It never rained in Los Angeles in May. But tonight the heavens had made an exception, as if the gods were watching the tragedy unfold below. Not Anne’s personal tragedy. She wasn’t arrogant or delusional enough to think that her own, small life counted for much. Her dashed hopes, her broken dreams, her loneliness. But the bigger tragedy, the one that seemed to emanate out from her in ripples, as if she were a stone dropped into a calm, clear lake. That, surely, was worthy of celestial attention. All she’d ever wanted to do was make music. And yet somehow pain and suffering seemed to cling to her, an unwanted smell she could never quite wash away.
And now here she was, again, turning to Nikki Roberts for help, for advice that she already knew in her heart she wouldn’t have the strength to take. And yet Anne Bateman still needed Nikki. She needed the adulation, the adoration. The way that she, Anne, looked through the lens of Nikki’s admiring, understanding, forgiving eyes. On some level, what Nikki gave her had replaced what Luis used to give her. Because he’d adored her too. If she could hold on to that fact somehow – choose good over evil, the future over the past, Nikki over Luis – then maybe, just maybe, the ripples would stop?
It was late, almost eleven o’clock, and the hour combined with the heavy rain meant th
e roads were practically empty. A full moon flickered in and out of the moving clouds. It bathed Brentwood’s slick streets in a silvery glow, giving the grand homes and lush gardens an air of magic. Heading up Tigertail towards Nikki’s house, Anne felt as if she were driving through an enchanted kingdom, a land where everything was clean and shiny and beautiful, where happy children slept soundly in their beds and bad things didn’t happen.
What if I’m the bad thing? What if I’m the monster, sneaking through the night, ready to pounce, to destroy, to devour?
In her calmer, more rational moments, Anne knew that she wasn’t intrinsically a bad person. It was Luis who’d brought the chaos into her life, Luis who’d made everything so very hard. But at other times, like tonight, she was gripped with a terrible self-loathing.
Why couldn’t she break free, cut the ties for good? When Luis had failed to show up for the End Addiction Ball, why had she felt so desolate, so abandoned, so hurt? She’d complained to Nikki countless times about Luis refusing to let her go. But tonight it struck her for the first time that perhaps she was the one clinging on? That when she ran, there had always been a part of her that had expected – hoped – Luis would come running after.
And now he had, and with him, it seemed, the hounds of hell.
Anne needed Nikki. Not for advice this time but for something much more profound. For absolution.
Pulling up outside the house, she stepped out of her car into the rain. The downpour was less dramatic than it had been a few minutes ago, but still heavy enough to make a loud rat-tat-tat rhythm on the roof of Anne’s car and the newly tarred street. The double gates were locked, but a wooden side door next to them opened easily, despite its slippery handle. Soaked to the skin, Anne stood in Nikki’s forecourt looking up at the house. It was a gorgeous property, romantic and charming with its shutters and balconies and climbing roses, giving it an old world, European feel. All the lights were off – unsurprisingly, given the lateness of the hour – but Nikki was home. Her car was parked out front, raindrops bouncing off it in the moonlight like tiny silver bullets.
Sidney Sheldon's the Silent Widow Page 30