The Silent Widow

front page.’

‘All the more reason not to read,’ said Gretchen, folding the paper under her arm.

‘He looks so gaunt,’ said Nikki. ‘He must have aged ten years.’

Gretchen frowned. ‘I hope you’re not feeling sorry for him? My God, Nik. After everything Haddon Defoe did to you? All the lies? Not to mention those poor people whose lives got ruined by that terrible drug.’

‘I know,’ Nikki said sadly. ‘You’re right.’

‘You bet I’m right!’ Gretchen said indignantly. ‘First he profits from their addiction, then he swoops in and acts like their savior. Think how much value all that good PR added to his surgical practice, on top of the millions he got paid by Rodriguez!’ She shook her head bitterly. ‘He betrayed Doug as well as you, you know. I hope they throw away the key.’

Nikki nodded, too depressed to respond in words. Everything Gretchen said was true, and sometimes she felt the same. But at other times it was hard, changing your opinion and feelings about a person 180 degrees overnight. It wasn’t like Lucas, flipping upside down then right side up on his bicycle, as deftly and easily as a fish gliding through the water. Nikki had known Haddon for years, decades, not just as a friend but as a good man. And while it was true that his recent clumsy come-ons towards her had dented that image somewhat, now she was being asked to accept that he was a bad man, that he had been all along. How did one do that? How did one begin? Facts were facts and could change on a dime, but feelings? Feelings were another story.

It had been hard enough with Lou Goodman, who she’d only known for a few months and never gotten truly close to. Goodman had put a gun to her head and would have killed her like a stray dog if Johnson hadn’t come along. Killed her for money.

That was a fact.

He’d also murdered Derek Williams in cold blood.

That, tragically, was another fact, one that the police victims’ liaison officer had had to explain to Nikki days after she left the hospital: ‘There’s no doubt, I’m afraid. We found the silencer in Detective Goodman’s belongings, and blood splatters belonging to Mr Williams in fibers of his clothing.’

But Nikki’s feelings still hadn’t caught up to the new reality. As irrational as it was, part of her still grieved Goodman’s death, still pitied him for his painful childhood and the demons that drove him so powerfully. She couldn’t seem to let go of the man she’d imagined him to be, any more than she could re-cast Johnson in the role of hero, simply because the ‘facts’ demanded it.

‘Come on,’ said Gretchen, sensing Nikki’s thoughts spiraling back into a dark place. ‘Adam’s on set all day today so I’m taking the kids to Pasadena. I thought we’d do the Huntingdon Gardens and get a late lunch at the pagoda in the Chinese Garden. You can help me wrangle the three of them.’

‘I’m OK,’ said Nikki. ‘I think I’ll stay here and rest.’

‘Oh, it’s not a request,’ Gretchen said firmly, dropping a bottle of suntan lotion and a map of the botanical gardens into Nikki’s lap. ‘You’re coming.’

Without breaking stride, she turned towards the lawn and yelled, ‘Lucas! Get off that bike before you break something – and help me find your brothers! I need you in the car in five minutes!’

The botanical gardens at the Huntingdon were stunning, but punishingly hot. Less than twenty miles from Beverly Hills, the temperature had somehow soared almost fifteen degrees, pushing the thermometer to almost a hundred as Nikki, Gretchen and the boys weaved their way through the acres of roses, desert blooms and oriental gardens complete with carp ponds, bridges, and miniature temples alive with countless species of butterflies.

Nikki, who still walked slowly and with the help of a cane thanks to the bullet Luis Rodriguez had fired into her lower left leg, struggled to keep up with Gretchen and the kids. Sweat poured down her face and between her breasts, leaving her sticky and uncomfortable. Worse than the heat were the stares and whispers of strangers, many of whom Nikki was sure recognized her from the newspapers or the TV news.

In New York, I’ll be anonymous again, she thought, trying to focus on the positive. It’ll be cooler too. With seasons.

She’d missed seasons.

Spotting a stone bench in the shade of an acid-green willow, she sat to catch her breath and take a sip of water. The ding ding of a text on her phone surprised her. Who could that be? No one called her these days. Nikki had long since grown distant from family and friends, apart from Gretchen. The police investigation was over, and her practice shut down. Her phone had pretty much become a camera with which to record the exploits of the Adler children.

Looking down at the screen in her palm she felt her stomach lurch. She recognized the number immediately, even though she’d long since deleted its owner’s contact from her phone.

Detective Johnson’s text was typically brief, self-important and rude.

‘Meet me tomorrow. Denny’s Pico/34th.’

That was it. No ‘please’. No ‘How are you?’ No explanation as to why Nikki should meet him or what the meeting was about, still less any thought as to whether the time and place were convenient for her.

She contemplated texting back ‘Forget it,’ before deciding on balance that complete silence would send the same message more effectively. Glancing up she saw Gretchen walking towards her and swiftly deleted the text.

‘Everything OK?’ Gretchen looked suspiciously at the phone. ‘You’re not watching coverage of Haddon’s trial are you?’

‘Nope,’ said Nikki. ‘Scouts honor.’

She imagined Mick Johnson sitting at Denny’s alone, confidently waiting for her to arrive, only slowly realizing that she wasn’t coming. Not now. Not ever.

He no longer had any power over her at all. She smiled.