The Silent Widow

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.