The Silent Widow

The waitress raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Look around, Derek. You show me where it says “service with a smile”.’

Williams laughed loudly, an open-mouthed guffaw that shook his out-of-shape body like a giant jello. Andrea was his kind of girl. The kind who made single parenthood on eight bucks an hour funny.

‘A bachelor is a man who never makes the same mistake once!’ He blurted out the punch line. ‘Come on, admit it, sweetheart. That’s funny. I got another one for you too.’

Andrea rolled her eyes affectionately, tossing two menus down on the table.

‘What’s the definition of alimony?’

She started to walk away.

‘The high cost of leaving!’ Derek called after her retreating back.

That last joke was true enough, as Derek Williams knew to his cost. His ex-wife (witch, she-devil), Lorraine, was wringing him out like a wet dishcloth in the courts right now. Derek felt like a desiccated lemon who was somehow still being squeezed, long after the last drop of juice was gone.

‘I’m a private detective, Your Honor,’ Derek had pleaded at their last hearing, representing himself. (A mistake, but needs must.) ‘I’m not a lawyer or an investment banker or a silicon … computer … one of those San Francisco guys. I can’t even spell Palo Alto.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that,’ the female judge had replied, looking anything but sorry. Damned feminists. ‘But I trust you can spell J-A-I-L, which is where you’ll be going if you miss one more maintenance or child support payment to Ms Sloane.’

Ms Sloane. That irritated the crap out of him. Lorraine had gone back to her maiden name after the divorce, and had even had it added to their son’s birth certificate by court order. Hunter Sloane-Williams. What kind of a pretentious, dumbass name was that for an eight-year-old boy? Or any boy, for that matter? Lorraine was clearly dead-set on raising him gay. Not that Derek had anything against gays, if you were gay. But Hunter … aw, who was he kidding? He didn’t know shit about Hunter. Lorraine was right on that score at least. ‘You never spend any time with him, Derek. You wouldn’t know what to do with joint custody, and you know it.’

‘Mr Williams?’

Startled, Derek sat upright and promptly spilled scalding coffee all down his crisp white shirt. ‘Motherf—’ he cursed under his breath, pulling the burning, wet material away from his skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Andrea sniggering from behind the counter.

‘Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!’ The pretty, professionally dressed brunette looked aghast. ‘Was that my fault?’

‘No, no,’ Williams winced, dabbing at himself ineffectually with a handful of paper towels. ‘Not at all. I was miles away. Daydreaming. Actually, it was more of a nightmare. Day-mare. You must be Dr Roberts?’

‘Nikki, please. And thank you for agreeing to meet me so early.’

The woman extending her hand in Derek’s general, coffee-soaked direction was even better looking in person than she was on TV, where he’d seen her several times since the ‘zombie killer’ story made it into the mainstream media. Dr Roberts had called him at midnight last night, no doubt expecting to leave a message, but Williams had picked up and the two of them had had the beginnings of a conversation about her ‘predicament’. Half-cut on home brew and not at his sharpest, Williams had nevertheless agreed to meet her at the crack of ass this morning, partly because he desperately needed the money a new client might bring in, and partly because of the genuine desperation in Nikki Roberts’ voice.

In Williams’ experience, genuine desperation could usually be translated into up-front fees. Already familiar with the murder case, thanks to the breathless news coverage of Lisa Flannagan’s relationship with Willie Baden, twenty minutes of internet research into Dr Roberts’ own background told him the rest of what he needed to know. Lisa Flannagan’s shrink was a renowned West Side psychologist and the widow of a prominent doctor. In other words, this particular damsel in distress was seriously loaded. Nikki’s call was the ker-ching moment Derek Williams had been waiting for, the fee that might just keep him out of J-A-I-L. He hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances by spilling coffee all over himself like a freakin’ toddler.

As it turned out, Nikki Roberts’ own nerves were such that she seemed barely to notice his. Sliding into the booth opposite him, she pulled out a crisp manila envelope and handed it to him.

‘I wasn’t sure where to start, so I put a few notes together,’ she explained. ‘I need your help, Mr Williams. The police … well, as I explained last night, they’re really not making any headway with these murders.’

‘If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, Dr Roberts. Nikki.’ Williams leaned back, feeling more confident. Setting the envelope to one side he said, ‘I’ll take a look at this later. For now, why don’t you tell me in your own words what’s been going on?’

Nikki took a deep breath, surreptitiously using the pause to take stock of Williams’ appearance. Overweight. Sallow skin. Slow physical reactions. Yellow in the eyes. She swiftly put him down as a drinker, probably a divorcee, and struggling financially. Then again it didn’t take Einstein to figure that out. Not many wealthy professionals at the top of their game chose to conduct their breakfast meetings at I-Hop.

But, she reminded herself, Williams had outstanding reviews from past clients, as well as a reputation for being willing to push limits, legally, to get the evidence he needed. More than once he’d been in trouble with the courts. It was exactly the sort of risk-taking, get-it-done attitude Nikki was looking for.

‘Like I said, I’m not sure where to begin.’

‘Try the beginning,’ Williams said, beckoning Andrea back over to the table. ‘I’ll have the bacon platter please, sweetheart, with a stack of pancakes on the side. And for my friend?’ He looked at Nikki.

‘Oh, nothing, thank you. Just coffee.’

‘She’ll take the toast and eggs,’ said Williams. Then, turning to a bemused Nikki, ‘You need to eat, honey. Whatever’s going on in people’s lives, if they’re calling me, there’s stress involved. You need to eat and you need to sleep, period.’

It was presumptuous and bombastic, but at the same time endearing, perhaps because it was so kindly meant. Nikki found herself instantly warming to Derek Williams.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘If I’m starting at the beginning – the real beginning of all of this, for me – I guess that would be: My husband had an affair.’

Valentina Baden said a silent prayer of thanks as her G6 touched down at Cabo San Lucas International Airport.