As they pulled away from the hotel, there was a hard slam on the brakes and the car squealed to a halt. Nikki’s seatbelt cut painfully into her skin and her neck snapped back against the headrest. A man, wild-eyed and obviously terrified, had jumped into the road in front of them. Nikki caught a glimpse of him tearing off in the direction of Santa Monica Boulevard, oblivious to the beeping horns and yelled insults behind him.
Am I seeing things? she thought. Or was that Carter Berkeley?
‘Are you crazy?’ the driver yelled through the window at the man’s retreating back, in a heavy Jamaican accent. ‘You could ’ave been killed, man!’
Turning back to Nikki, the driver made his apologies and they once again got on their way.
That was Carter. I’m sure of it, Nikki thought, as they passed the serried rows of palm trees swaying like drunken sentries along the Wilshire Corridor. What was he doing here? And what was he so afraid of?
The wind was back with a vengeance now. It wasn’t the Santa Ana – it felt too cold for that, chill and menacing. Nikki tried to marshall her racing thoughts in the back of the cab, but nothing seemed to make sense. Then all of a sudden, she started to laugh.
It doesn’t matter! None of it matters!
Who cared what Carter Berkeley had been running from, or that Haddon Defoe had declared his love for her, or that Luis Rodriguez had failed to turn up? Only one thing mattered in the entire world, and that was Doug.
Doug, her Doug, was dead.
He was never coming back.
Pulling out her phone, Nikki tapped out a text to Williams, her fingers misspelling the words wildly as the screen swam before her eyes. ‘Any wrd n Lenka?’
Williams’ response was immediate and succinct. ‘No.’
Seconds later, a second reply arrived.
‘Let me know when you’re home safe.’
Nikki was touched. The gruff, abrasive PI actually cared about her. And she cared about him. Unlike everybody else in her life, from her patients to Haddon Defoe to Lou Goodman, Derek Williams had no ulterior motive for his kindness. Yes, Nikki paid him. But she’d have paid him anyway, and he knew it. His concern for her was genuine.
‘He’s a good man,’ she said to her phone, blinking back tears.
Doug had been a good man too. Just a bad husband, as it turned out.
Defeated by grief, Nikki closed her eyes and sank instantly into very deep sleep. The last thing she remembered was thinking what a relief it would be if, this time, she never woke up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kevin Voss sat in the cafeteria at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in West Hollywood, tapping his fingers nervously on the plastic tabletop and glancing for the umpteenth time at his phone.
The PI, Williams, had asked to meet here at six a.m. It was six ten now … six eleven … and Kevin was starting to wonder whether he’d been punked. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone called out of the blue offering ‘hundreds of dollars’ for ‘anything you can tell me about Dr Doug Roberts and his girlfriend’. The truth was, Kevin didn’t really have much to tell. Most of it was hearsay, gossip among the nurses, both male and female, many of whom had fancied Dr Roberts. What Kevin Voss did have, unfortunately, was debts. Credit card, personal, tax-related, you name it. Kevin’s last boyfriend, Enzo, had bled him dry before he left, milking poor Kevin’s modest charge-nurse’s salary for a lot more than it was worth.
‘Kevin?’
A large, panting man who looked like a walking coronary, burst loudly into the cafeteria and marched over to Kevin’s table, extending his clammy hand by way of introduction. Thankfully, the place was almost empty, because this fella was anything but discreet.
Looking around them anxiously, the nurse nodded, shook Williams’ hand as briefly as he could and gestured for him to sit.
‘What’s good to eat around here?’ Williams boomed. ‘I had a late night, and I could use a decent breakfast.’
Like a hole in the he
ad, thought Kevin, eyeing the sweat patches under the PI’s arms with distaste. ‘You said you wanted to talk privately,’ he whispered, sotto voce.
‘I do. And we are,’ Williams grinned, striding up to the counter and ordering two blueberry muffins and a large latte before returning to his seat and telling Kevin, ‘No one’s interested in us, believe me. Besides, you’re not doing anything illegal, you know. All we’re doing is talking about an old friend. No law against that, is there?’
‘I guess not.’ The nurse forced a smile. He couldn’t help but wonder how much of a ‘friend’ of Dr Roberts this Williams guy really was. But he needed the money too badly to dwell on the issue.
‘I can’t say we were close,’ he admitted, picking at his own oatmeal while Williams cheerfully devoured the first of his treats. ‘But we worked together sometimes, Dr Roberts and I, and I liked him. Most people liked him. He was one of the good guys, but I’m guessing you know that already.’