He’d explain the rest later, at the hotel. For once he had an excuse to be late. What he’d learned from Tina Drayton, Mayor Fuentes’ former secretary, was so explosive he knew he needed to protect it, right now, before anything happened to Tina, or to himself. Even typing up a simple, bare-bones memo on the bald facts had taken longer than he imagined. And then he had to choose someone to mail it to as a backup, someone he could trust but who he would also be willing to be put at risk. Because there could be no doubt this information was potentially deadly. Knowledge was power, but it could also be lethal.
Pulling on his shirt and socks, Williams dashed over to his desk and, with a final, deep breath, hit ‘send’. ‘Don’t hate me, Alan,’ he whispered under his breath, imagining this bombshell email flying through the ether towards its unwitting recipient. Slipping his laptop into its case, he stuffed it into his suitcase and was just reaching for his shoes when his door buzzer rang.
Really? Now?
No one called on him at home any more. It was probably another summons from Lorraine’s lawyers. Those leeches never quit.
He finished tying his shoes and zippered up the case before wheeling it down the hallway. Opening the door he was surprised to see a familiar face smiling at him.
‘Oh! It’s you. What are you doing here? Look I’m sorry but I’m really in a rush right now. I’m late to meet …’
The first bullet pierced him in the heart.
The second and third, to the head and neck, weren’t necessary.
Williams fell where he stood, his eyes open, a look of profound surprise fixed eternally on his dead face.
Derek Williams wasn’t coming.
That left Nikki with three choices.
Take her bag, check into some anonymous hotel out of town as Williams had suggested, and lie low until he contacted her.
Go home and forget this crazy day ever happened.
Or stay here and order herself a real drink. Or two. Or three.
In the end it was an easy choice. After so much hope, so much expectation, the disappointment felt like a medicine ball to the stomach. She didn’t care about Luis Rodriguez, or drug cartels, or corruption at City Hall. She didn’t care that Brandon Grolsch was alive and that she needed to let Williams know it. All that mattered was that she would not learn the truth about Lenka tonight. She would not get closure, not now, maybe not ever. That small shred of comfort was to be denied her, after everything she’d been through, and was still going through. Why not drink?
It was ten o’clock by the time the barman touched her arm to rouse her. Nikki was so out of it, she must have nodded off at the bar.
‘Do you want to settle up now, miss?’ the barman asked kindly.
‘It’s OK. I’ve got this.’
Sliding onto the stool next to Nikki, Detective Goodman handed over his credit card. ‘Could you put a couple of double espressos on there too? And a large glass of water, no ice.’
‘Sure thing.’
The barman left them alone. Slowly, Nikki turned her head towards Goodman and tried to process what it meant that he was here.
‘You’re not Derek,’ she slurred, trying to force his two, oscillating faces to merge into one.
‘No,’ Goodman agreed. ‘I’m not.’
He tried not to focus on Nikki’s half-open green silk shirt, disheveled hair, flushed cheeks and smudged make-up after what must have been a long night’s drinking. She was usually so controlled, so together. There was something incredibly compelling about this unraveled version of the professional Dr Roberts. But this wasn’t the time.
He cleared his throat. ‘Nikki.’
‘Where’s Williams?’ she interrupted him. ‘He d’in show up.’ Jabbing drunkenly at Goodman’s chest with her finger she leaned in towards him like a falling tree. ‘You shun’t be here, Lou. ’S after hours. You’re following me again, aren’t you?’
Their coffees arrived, not a moment too soon. Goodman waited until Nikki downed hers, wincing with distaste as the hot, strong liquid burned her throat and cut through the alcohol fog in her brain.
‘Nikki, I need you to focus.’ His voice was deadly serious. He pushed the glass of water towards her but she shook her head.
‘I’m OK,’ she told him, sounding less out of it than before. ‘What is it? Wha’s wrong?’
‘I’m afraid I have bad news. Derek Williams is dead.’