What had happened to the official accident report?
And why had Nikki never brought this up, even when they’d discussed her marriage and her husband’s death? Even when she was opening up to him.
Johnson’s words haunted him now. ‘She’s playing you. Open your eyes.’
Was Nikki Roberts playing him?
Against his better judgment, Goodman dialed Nikki’s number.
In the dimmed lights of Disney Concert Hall, Nikki saw Detective Goodman’s personal cell number pop up on her phone screen. Tapping ‘decline’ she turned her phone off and slipped it back into her purse, a black satin clutch she’d bought especially for tonight. She’d also splashed out on the elegant, backless Balenciaga dress in floor-length black crepe that clung sensuously to her petite frame, earning her approving glances from many of the male concert-goers, and less approving ones from their wives.
Anne Bateman was coming to the end of the fourth movement of Stravinsky’s Violin Concerto in D, the finale of a two-hour-long medley of the composer’s works, and obviously the highlight. Nikki was no music buff, but even she had been blown away by the power of Anne’s playing, the sublime swell of emotion with which she interpreted each note and phrase, pulling the audience along with her.
The thought of a talent like that being wasted – of Anne returning to her jailer of a husband, locked in a gilded cage, never to perform again – was tragic. Scandalous. Nikki’s eyes welled with tears, although whether they were for Anne, or for the beauty of the music, or for her own life’s tragedies, she couldn’t say.
Last night had been a close call. With hindsight, she knew she’d been incredibly foolish. Reckless, even. She’d allowed herself to get drunk with one of the detectives in charge of the murder investigations. Worse, she’d come within a whisker of sleeping with Detective Goodman, battling a physical attraction stronger than anything she’d felt in a long time.
What’s wrong with me? she thought miserably. This isn’t me. I don’t do this. Get drunk. Almost sleep with a stranger. Put myself in danger.
Then again, in recent months Nikki had done all sorts of things she would never have done in her past life. Such as spending well over a thousand dollars on an outfit to impress a patient. A married, female patient. A patient she needed to detach from, badly, but whose presence in her life had helped her more than anything else to overcome her terrifying anger towards Doug.
Poor, dead Douglas. Gone, but not forgotten.
Nikki would never forget.
Anne lowered her bow, and with a flourish the conductor brought the concert to a close. After a split second’s silence, the crowd erupted in applause, rising to their feet and stamping and whistling their approval as the lights went up. Despite her hangover and the acute stabbing pain in her cranium brought on by the sudden noise and light, Nikki felt a warm rush of pride watching Anne stand to take her bow. She looked even tinier and more fragile than usual up on the stage, her pale skin like porcelain against the muted gray of her simple shift dress, a vision of grace and understatement. Like a child.
She needs my protection, Nikki thought. My professional support. I can’t let her down. I have to get a grip.
Flashing the pass Anne had sent her, Nikki slipped backstage while the encores continued. By the time Anne reached her dressing room, Nikki was already waiting.
‘Oh! Hello.’ Anne hugged her shyly, as if her presence were unexpected. Which was odd, and slightly irritating to Nikki after Anne had made such a big deal of asking her to come tonight and inviting her backstage. ‘You made it.’
‘Of course I made it.’ Nikki hugged her back. ‘I said I would, didn’t I?’
‘What did you think?’ Anne asked anxiously.
‘I thought it was incredible. You were incredible,’ Nikki replied truthfully. ‘I was blown away. The entire audience were.’
‘Really?’ Anne asked. ‘Was it truly OK?’
‘It was light years beyond OK,’ said Nikki.
Sometimes Nikki wondered whether Anne manipulated her, psychologically. Toyed with her, ‘playing’ the needy patient in order to feed Nikki’s ego. But in this case, Anne’s insecurity was obviously sincere. The standing ovation she’d just received wasn’t enough. She needed Nikki’s reassurance. It was flattering.
‘It’s such a rare thing, Anne, to have a talent like yours,’ Nikki told her. ‘If I had a fraction of your gifts I would die happy.’
Anne smiled. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve never met anybody more accomplished than you. You look beautiful tonight, by the way.’
The compliment was unexpected. Ridiculously, Nikki felt her cheeks flush with pleasure. ‘Thank you. So do you.’
A knock on the door interrupted them. Being closer, Nikki opened it, her eyes widening as a young man staggered in, completely engulfed by the largest bouquet of white roses Nikki had ever seen. The thing must have weighed as much as him, with literally hundreds o
f stems bound together at the base in a satin bow as wide as two outstretched arms.
‘For you, Ms Bateman,’ the boy panted, resting the floral monster on the ground beside Anne’s dressing table as there was nowhere else to put it. He handed Anne the card. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ Anne gasped. The bouquet was bigger than she was. ‘What on earth am I going to do with all these? Do you want any flowers?’ She turned back to Nikki. ‘Please, take some home with you. Or to the office, I can’t possibly …’