Sidney Sheldon's the Silent Widow

by Sidney Sheldon

  ‘Is that heroin?’ Nikki whispered in Haddon’s ear. ‘Poor things. They look like they have blood poisoning.’

  Haddon led her into his office and closed the door before answering.

  ‘It’s not heroin,’ he told Nikki. ‘But it’s similar. It’s a desomorphine derivative called Crocodile – or Krokodil in Russian. The Russians are the ones bringing it over here.’

  ‘Because of what it does to the skin?’ Nikki asked.

  Haddon nodded. ‘It’s pretty horrific. Did Doug ever talk to you about this?’

  Nikki shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s sort of the “new new thing” in LA right now,’ Haddon explained. ‘The Russians are basically making a big push to maneuver the Mexicans out of the drug business here, or at least to set up some viable competition. It’s a trade war, and those kids you saw out there are the victims. Krok’s the dealers’ latest weapon of choice.

  ‘It’s a problem, because it can be easily home-made, which means the supply gets contaminated with all kinds of shit: paint thinner, hydrochloric acid – you name it. It’s been huge in Russia for a long time, but it’s still relatively new here. Gaining ground though.’

  ‘Are you seeing more kids like that?’ Nikki couldn’t get the image of the two green-skinned boys out of her head.

  ‘Oh yeah. Every week,’ Haddon confirmed grimly. ‘Like I say, it’s a trade war. So the Russians came in and wowed everyone with this stuff, which has a bigger high than meth, by the way. But now the Mexican cartels are pushing back with their own brand of Krok, supposedly cleaner than the Russian product – which wouldn’t be hard. The Mexican stuff is more expensive, but still cheap enough to be accessible. So yeah, long story short, it’s cheap, it’s unbelievably potent and it’s everywhere.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’ Nikki asked.

  Haddon was touched.

  ‘Not really, sweetheart.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Although I appreciate the offer. Right now I’d say you have more than enough to deal with without throwing this chaos into the mix.’

  He waved around vaguely, a gesture meant to encompass the drop-in center, drug addiction generally and all that went along with it.

  ‘Doug always tried to protect you from the worst of it, you know. I know he’d want me to do the same, especially now, with what happened to Trey and the Flannagan girl and everything. Have the police made any progress, by the way?’

  ‘No.’

  All of a sudden her tone was harsh and abrupt. In an instant, something had changed in Nikki, like a light switch going off. Haddon had seen this reaction before. The mere mention of Doug’s name at the ‘wrong’ time could do it. Nikki’s face would harden and her muscles tense.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Haddon said gently. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Nikki lied, fighting back tears. ‘I’m fine.’

  They made it through the rest of the tour without incident. Nikki met the staff and volunteers, shaking hands and enduring the many reminiscences and condolences about Doug. Half an hour later she left. To Haddon’s surprise, she hugged him tightly in farewell.

  ‘I’m sorry again, about before,’ she said. ‘It was when you said something about Doug “protecting me”. It made me think about all the things he kept from me. All the secrets. You know? It’s hard sometimes.’

  ‘I know it is,’ said Haddon, hugging her back. ‘You don’t have to apologize, certainly not to me. Just try to focus on yourself, Nikki, and on the future. Look forward, never back.’

  Nikki smiled. ‘OK, Dr Defoe. I’ll try.’

  Haddon watched her walk back towards her car, until she turned the corner out of sight. He said a silent prayer that she would find the strength to take his advice and let go of the past. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about, for any of them.

  Dr Haddon Defoe knew better than most that some doors should never be opened.

  His friend Doug Roberts had protected his wife from more than she knew.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The sun had already started to set by the time Lou Goodman arrived at Avenue of the Stars. The towers of Century City looked dreamlike, bathed in the pinkish-orange light of a perfect LA evening, and the palm trees along the avenue swayed drunkenly in the warm breeze.

  Badge in hand, he approached the front desk.

  ‘Detective Louis Goodman, homicide. I need access to suit 706,’ he told the Latina receptionist, in the firm-but-friendly tone he always employed when winging it without a search warrant. ‘I assume you have a key?’

  The girl smiled back helpfully. This cop was handsome, not like the usual Columbo lookalikes. ‘I do have a key, but you won’t need it,’ she told him. ‘Dr Roberts came in about an hour ago. I’m pretty sure she’s still up there. Second bank of elevators, on your left.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Goodman, hiding his momentary sting of disappointment. He’d hoped to snoop around Nikki’s office alone. What’s she doing here, this time of day? But he quickly regrouped. Perhaps, after all, Nikki being here was an opportunity? Johnson had been so rude to her at the station this morning, he’d shut her down before she’d been able to tell them anything really useful. Now might be the time to rectify that.

  Taking the elevator up to the seventh floor, he padded along the hallway to Nikki’s suite. The door to her waiting room was ajar. Goodman slipped in, unheard, his footsteps muffled by the sound of a shredder.

  Nikki stood with her back to him, utterly engrossed in what she was doing. A large, almost empty cardboard box sat at her feet. Reaching into it, Nikki began feeding the remaining documents into the greedy mouth of the machine. Goodman watched as it spat out confetti at the other end, into a tray already full to overflowing.

  ‘Hey there.’

  Nikki spun around with a gasp, her face flooding with color.

  ‘Oh my God! You scared the life out of me!’

  ‘Sorry.’ Goodman raised a curious eyebrow at the sheaf of papers still in her hand. ‘What have you got there?’

  ‘Oh, nothing exciting,’ said Nikki. ‘I’m just tidying up.’

  Regaining her composure, she slipped the remaining papers into the machine. ‘Long overdue housekeeping. Don’t worry,’ she added. ‘It’s not vital patient records or anything like that. Before your partner comes up with yet another reason to distrust me.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Goodman smiled. It was easy to play good cop with a woman as attractive as Dr Nikki Roberts.

  ‘So what brings you here on a Saturday night, Detective?’ Nikki asked, switching off the machine.

  ‘Actually, I came to apologize. About this morning.’ The lie tripped off Goodman’s tongue. ‘Detective Johnson had no right to talk to you the way that he did.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Nikki. ‘Although I think that’s his apology to make, not yours. Don’t you?’

  Goodman shrugged. ‘We’re partners. And honestly, apologies are not Mick’s strong point.’

  Nikki laughed. ‘Now why am I not surprised?’ She liked Detective Goodman and found him remarkably easy to talk to. ‘I’m not lying, you know,’ she added, more seriously. ‘Someone really did try to run me down the other night. Someone who knows where I live.’

  ‘I believe you,’ said Goodman, truthfully. ‘For what it’s worth, I think Johnson believes you too. Our techs found plenty of evidence to back up your story.’

  ‘Really?’ Nikki frowned, perplexed. ‘Then why was he accusing me of being a fantasist? What has he got against me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Goodman, seizing the moment. ‘But I’m hoping maybe together we can figure it out. Can I buy you a drink, Dr Roberts?’

  He took her to the bar at Dan Tana’s, possibly the least private place in the whole of Los Angeles. Nikki ordered a Jack Daniels, straight up, which she downed in one gulp. Encouraged, Goodman gestured to the barman to leave them the bottle.

  ‘Do you think whoever tried to kill me the other night was th
e same person who killed Lisa and Trey?’ Nikki got straight to the point.

  ‘Either the same person or someone connected to them. Yes, I do.’ Goodman sipped his drink. ‘I actually believe you may have been the target all along.’

  He explained his theory about the raincoat Nikki had loaned Lisa Flannagan the night she died potentially leading to a case of mistaken identity. Combined with Tuesday night’s overt attempt on her own life, as well as the fact that Nikki was the only known link between Trey and Lisa, the evidence was mounting.

  ‘Let’s say you’re right,’ Nikki responded calmly. ‘Let’s say this person has been after me all along. What do you think their motive could be for wanting me killed?’

  ‘Right now, I don’t know,’ Goodman admitted. ‘But the fact that whoever killed Lisa and Trey tortured both of them first suggests maybe it has something to do with information. People torture victims to get them to talk, right?’

  Nikki thought about it. ‘I suppose so. Either that or because they’re sadists. Because they enjoy it.’

  Goodman gazed into his drink. This was also a possibility.

  ‘Is it true they found dead human skin cells on Lisa’s body?’ Nikki asked bluntly.

  Goodman looked shocked. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I read it online,’ said Nikki. ‘There’s a whole bunch of nonsense on the net about “killer zombies” roaming the streets of LA.’

  Goodman groaned. That was all they needed. Once an investigation started getting leaks, especially a case as ‘juicy’ as this one, it was only a matter of time before it became a tabloid free-for-all.

  ‘Is it true?’ Nikki pressed him.

  ‘That Lisa and Trey’s killer is a zombie?’ Goodman quipped. ‘No. That’s not true.’

  ‘That they found dead skin cells?’ said Nikki.

  ‘I can’t talk about specifics,’ Goodman deflected her. ‘But I will say all those conspiracy theories are a waste of time. The question you asked me before was a better one. About motive. And while you’re right about sadists being out there, my guess is that whoever is behind this believes you know something. Something that Trey or Lisa might also have known. Now I don’t know whether that “something” is about a patient of yours? A secret somebody wanted to stay hidden? Or maybe someone your husband treated, in one of his clinics? But my guess is …’ Goodman took another long sip of bourbon, ‘… you do know.’

  Nikki looked at him despairingly. ‘You’re wrong! I have no idea. My God, if I knew what this was about, if I knew anything, don’t you think I’d tell you? I cared about Trey. And I cared about Lisa too, although in a different way.’

  ‘Did you?’ Goodman raised an eyebrow archly.

  ‘Yes!’ Nikki insisted. ‘Professionally, as her therapist. Yes, I cared. But more to the point, I care about myself. Do you think I want to be murdered? That I want to be run down outside my own house? Believe me, no one’s more motivated to catch this maniac than I am, Detective Goodman.’

  ‘It’s Lou.’ Goodman poured them both another drink. ‘And no, of course I don’t think you want to get hurt. I’m not suggesting you know consciously what it is the killer is after. Only that I suspect that, deep down, you hold the key to this riddle. And that in the end, only you can unlock it.’

  He sipped his liquor, and Nikki did the same. She was starting to feel a definite buzz now, which, mingled with the recent chain of bizarre and traumatic events, was having a distinctly disinhibiting effect. She wasn’t sure whether he reached for her hand, or if it was the other way around. Either way, she felt a rush of blood to her groin as their fingers entwined. After months of wrestling with her complex feelings for Anne Bateman, it was almost a relief to experience straightforward sexual desire. Whatever it was Nikki felt for Anne, it wasn’t this. When her eyes met and locked with Goodman’s, it took a real effort of will not to lean in and kiss him, to give herself up to a sensation she hadn’t felt in so long.

  Goodman obviously felt it too. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with desire.

  ‘Why did you become a psychologist?’

  It was the last question Nikki had expected. She wasn’t sure she had an answer. ‘I don’t know, exactly. Lots of reasons, I guess. I knew I didn’t want to do anything boring, like being a lawyer or an accountant. Medicine kind of appealed. But I’ve never been good with blood, so surgery was out.’

  ‘Really?’ Goodman was amused. ‘You’re squeamish?’

  ‘Kind of.’ Nikki blushed. ‘Why did you become a cop?’

  ‘Ah.’ Goodman sat back, his mood and expression visibly changing. ‘That was … I liked the idea of stopping bad guys I guess. Sounds stupid, right?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Nikki.

  ‘When I was a kid, some guys ripped off my dad,’ Goodman went on. ‘Common fraudsters really, nothing sophisticated. But they suckered him into some deal and he lost everything. Our house. His marriage to my mom. I hated those guys.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Nikki nodded, listening closely. The liquor had loosened his tongue, but this wasn’t the drink talking; the emotions pouring out of him were real. ‘Did your dad ever re-marry, or get his life back on track?’

  Goodman laughed awkwardly. ‘Unfortunately not. He killed himself a week before my tenth birthday. Gassed himself in our garage. The house and the car were repossessed the next day.’

  Nikki gasped. ‘Oh my God. How terrible! I am so sorry, Lou.’

  He waved an embarrassed hand, as if to brush the conversation aside. ‘It’s OK. I mean, it was terrible, but it motivated me, in lots of ways. Not only becoming a cop. It taught me the importance of money, of financial security. And never letting anyone else scam you, or control you. I’m master of my own destiny, you know?’

  Nikki nodded, although she wasn’t sure she did know. The sad truth was she’d never felt fully in control of her own life. Less so now than ever, in fact.

  ‘Can you think of anything unusual or surprising or strange that happened in the months leading up to Lisa’s murder?’ Goodman asked, bringing the conversation back into safer, less personal waters.

  Nikki closed her eyes and squeezed his hand again, more tightly this time. She felt closer to him now, since he’d trusted her with one of his own, painful secrets.

  ‘Happened to Lisa, or to me?’

  ‘Either.’

  ‘Well …’ Nikki swallowed. Her whole throat suddenly felt dry. ‘Lisa left Willie Baden. I guess you could call that surprising.’

  Goodman nodded. ‘How about you?’

  Nikki opened her eyes and gazed directly into Goodman’s.

  ‘The most surprising thing that happened to me,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘was losing my husband.’

  Raising her hand to his lips, Goodman kissed it.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ he urged Nikki softly. ‘Tell me everything.’

  At the very back of the bar, alone in a corner booth, a man looked on unnoticed while Dr Nikki Roberts and Detective Lou Goodman leaned into one another like limpets.

  She’s got him where she wants him, the man thought, watching Nikki’s lips part as Goodman’s hand toyed with her hair, his blue eyes fixed on her green ones. Whatever sob story she was telling him, it was working. She was reeling him in like a credulous fish. Fool.

  The man nursed his beer discreetly as Goodman paid the check, then he and Dr Roberts walked out onto Santa Monica Boulevard, hand in hand like a pair of teenagers. It was frustrating, being an observer, unable to act. He liked to think of himself as a man of action. But the past few weeks had taught him that patience was also a virtue. He wouldn’t have to stay passive for long.

  Soon the time for watching would be past.

  Very soon …

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Detective Mick Johnson watched as Carter Berkeley fiddled with his shirt, picking anxiously at the platinum Tiffany cufflinks with a perfectly manicured fingernail. It struck Johnson that everything about Nikki Roberts’ rich banker patient was ‘mani
cured’, from the neatly trimmed lawns of his Holmby Hills estate, to the gleaming collection of vintage Jaguar sports cars in his garage, to the immaculately furnished interior of his home office, where the two men now sat. Even the words Carter chose to explain what had happened seemed carefully chosen.

  Last night while he was out at dinner, according to Carter, a rat – a dead, poisoned, rat – had been left at the foot of his bed as a mafia-style ‘warning’.

  ‘There was no note or anything like that,’ he told Johnson, twirling the cufflink between finger and thumb. ‘But obviously it was intended to intimidate. And it hit the mark, Detective. I don’t mind telling you, I was terrified. I am terrified. Especially after the other two murders. It was rather a stroke of luck that you were already in my schedule today, or I’d have been calling you out here.’

  Johnson nodded, looking again around the room with all its polished wood and neatly arranged books, shelf after shelf of self-help and business manuals. Everything around this man was controlled and ordered, the result of careful thought and planning. Everything was perfect, on the outside. Inside Carter Berkeley’s head, however, it was a different matter.

  Johnson had read Nikki’s notes earlier: ‘Neurotic. Delusional. Convinced he is being pursued by Mexican criminals but presents no evidence to support this belief. Long history of anxiety. Childhood trauma?? (Spent time in Mexico as teen/young adult. Did something happen?) Regressive/immature in intimate relationships. Excessively controlling.’

  It pained Johnson to agree with Dr Roberts on anything, but her assessment of Carter Berkeley chimed with his own. Although he would probably have added ‘attention-seeking’ to the list. Perhaps Dr Roberts couldn’t see that because she suffered from it herself? Carter’s rat story was obviously an invention, a deliberate attempt to place himself at the center of the drama surrounding the two murders.