The Silent Widow

‘Naturally.’

‘But no one was there?’

‘No one other than my regular household staff, no. That’s the uncanny thing.’ Carter twisted the cufflink again, so violently he was in danger of ripping it off.

‘So.’ Johnson asked the obvious question. ‘How do you suppose this “warning” was placed in your room?’

Carter looked irked. ‘I have no idea. You’re the detective. You tell me.’

‘Well, if no one else showed up on the footage, then it had to be put there by a staff member, didn’t it, sir?’ Johnson said, with a patience he didn’t feel.

‘That’s not possible,’ Carter insisted with a shake of the head. ‘I trust my household employees. They’ve all been subject to exhaustive background checks – and I mean exhaustive. There’s no way—’

‘Perhaps you can show me the rat, sir?’ Johnson interrupted, standing up. ‘I’ll have it removed and we can run some tests.’

‘Show you? Oh no, I can’t show it to you.’

I knew it, Johnson thought. Delusional is right.

‘And why’s that, sir?’ he asked wearily. He had no idea how therapists like Nikki Roberts dealt with this shit on a daily basis. Didn’t they ever want to punch these people’s lights out?

‘Well, I found it late last night, as I explained,’ Carter began defensively. ‘My housekeeper doesn’t arrive until eight in the morning and naturally I couldn’t leave the thing lying there till then. God knows what diseases it might carry. So I took it out to the trash myself.’

‘You disposed of the evidence,’ said Johnson.

‘I had to.’

‘And did anyone else see this rat, before you threw it out?’

‘Well, no. Like I say, it was late—’

Johnson got to his feet.

‘Where are your trash cans, sir? Might it still be out there?’

At least Carter Berkeley had the decency to blush.

‘I’m afraid they’ll be empty by now. The garbage men came early this morning. I guess I should have considered that …’

It took Johnson over an hour to drive back to headquarters, in heavy rush-hour traffic. He arrived in a foul mood. His visit to Carter Berkeley had confirmed the banker’s mental instability, but not much else. There’d been no new leads relating to either murder – Carter didn’t know Lisa, had barely interacted with Trey and had never heard of Brandon Grolsch. Not that he was a suspect, but he also happened to have cast-iron alibis for both crimes. In other words, the trip had been a complete waste of Johnson’s time.

His spirits weren’t improved when Goodman cornered him the moment he walked into the building and announced they’d been summoned to the chief’s office for a progress report.

‘Now?’ Johnson groaned.

‘Right now. In fact,’ Goodman looked at his watch, ‘he’s pissed you’re late.’

‘Late? How am I late?’ Johnson protested. ‘He only just called the meeting! I was in here at seven thirty this morning, for Christ’s sake. Which reminds me, where the hell were you?’

‘Sorry,’ Goodman mumbled. ‘I had a late night. Something came up.’

Something had come up, last night at the bar with Nikki Roberts, and again this morning as Goodman lay in bed alone, thinking about her warm, slender, needy body and what might have been yesterday evening, if only he’d allowed himself to give in to it. He wanted to. God knew he wanted to, wanted her, Nikki, more than was good for him, or for this investigation. Despite her opening up to him about her husband’s death and her struggles with grief, Goodman had resisted the temptation to take things further – for now. But in terms of new leads the fact was he had nothing concrete to show for last night’s investigative efforts beyond his still-raging hangover.

‘Goodman! Johnson! Anytime today!’ Chief Brody’s booming voice echoed down the hall, slicing into Goodman’s aching head like a meat-cleaver.

‘Sir.’

Both men shuffled obediently into their boss’s office, taking the seats he indicated.