‘OK.’ Chief Brody laid his palms down on the desk in a gesture meant to indicate the conversation was over, at least for the moment. ‘It’s a theory, and I’m open to it.’
‘Chief!’ Goodman protested, but Brody cut him off.
‘Just like I’m open to the frankly insane idea that someone stole a corpse in order to pin these murders on some “missing” junkie. OK, Detective Goodman? I’m an equal opportunities employer. But what I need now isn’t theories. It’s facts. I need hard evidence. I need an arrest, boys.’
‘Sir,’ Johnson mumbled submissively.
‘Mick, until you get me that evidence, Goodman’s right. You gotta stop harassing Nikki Roberts and her patients.’
‘Harassing?’ Johnson bridled. ‘Who’s harassing?’
‘I’ve had three complaints, Detective. Four official complaints. One from Dr Roberts, one from the mother of Treyvon Raymond, one from Carter E. Berkeley III, and one from Willie Baden. All of them described you as rude, belligerent …’
Goodman watched in amusement as his partner’s complexion turned from white to red to something close to purple. To Goodman’s surprise, however, Johnson managed to regulate his tone when he replied.
‘With respect, Chief, Nikki Roberts is a psychopath, Carter Berkeley is a fantasist with well-documented psychological problems, and Willie Baden’s an old-fashioned asshole—’
‘He’s also a rich and powerful asshole, Detective,’ said Brody, leaning back in his chair. ‘As is Carter Berkeley. You may not be aware, but Willie Baden donates six-figure sums to the LAPD benevolent fund every year, and Carter Berkeley’s bank has given us over a million dollars.’
Johnson frowned. ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’
‘Me neither,’ chimed in Goodman.
‘And is that supposed to buy them something, sir?’ Johnson asked archly.
‘You can lose the insolent tone, Detective,’ Chief Brody snapped back. ‘Yes, it’s supposed to buy them something. It’s supposed to buy them this department’s time, and understanding and respect. These men aren’t criminals. They aren’t suspects in a crime. Nor is Dr Roberts, for that matter. Not yet.’
Johnson looked fit to explode. ‘They could be. They all could be. Roberts lied to us about her husband’s affair. Carter Berkeley deliberately wasted police time today, and lied during a murder investigation. And as for Baden, the guy didn’t so much as fart in his interview without checking with his lawyer first! If he’s not guilty of something, Chief, then I’m Shirley Temple.’
‘I don’t wanna hear it.’ Chief Brody held up a hand. ‘Stop pissing off donors, Johnson. And stop alienating witnesses. And you needn’t look so smug either, Goodman,’ he added caustically. ‘You better find this Grolsch kid’s body, or that missing accident report, or something that looks like evidence, or I’m taking you off this case. That goes for the both of youse.’
The two partners shuffled out. As soon as the door to the chief’s office closed behind them, Goodman quickened his pace, striding away from Johnson as if the older man were an unexploded bomb.
‘I meant what I said in there!’ Johnson shouted after him. ‘She’s got you totally blind to what’s happening. Ask her about her old man’s affair.’
Goodman kept walking, pushing open the double doors that led out to the parking lot.
‘Ask her!’ Johnson followed him. ‘You were with her last night, weren’t you?’
It was a guess, a try-your-luck shot across the bows. Goodman wasn’t stupid enough to answer it. Instead he climbed into his car.
‘She never said a word about the husband’s affair, did she? Not a word. She’s using you, man! She’s playing you. Open your eyes.’
Goodman sped away, with Johnson’s words ringing in his ears.
A few blocks from the station he pulled over and took three deep breaths.
Johnson’s revelations in Chief Brody’s office had unnerved him. For one thing, his own attraction to Nikki Roberts was clearly a lot more obvious than he’d thought.
Mick was right about one thing, though. He was getting too close to her, too close for his own good. But was that closeness clouding his judgment?
He tried to think dispassionately about Mick’s specific accusations. Namely, that Nikki knew her husband had been having an affair, and had somehow rigged his accident while he was with his mistress, then covered it up. And that she’d then gone on to mastermind the murders of Lisa Flannagan and Trey Raymond.
On the last point, Goodman had no doubts: Nikki didn’t kill Lisa or Trey. That much he knew. But as for murdering her husband and his lover … was it possible? He wanted to believe not. That Johnson was way off the mark on this, as on so much else. But right now there were too many missing pieces for Goodman to form a clear picture.
Who was Doug Roberts’ mistress?
Why had her name, and existence, been withheld from press reports on the accident?