CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      ‘Tell me please, Mrs Roberts. How long did you take off work after your husband passed away?’

      Beneath the interview room table, Nikki dug her fingernails hard into her palms and counted to ten. I must not let this man get under my skin. I must not let him provoke me. That’s giving him what he wants.

      ‘Again, Detective Johnson, it’s Doctor Roberts.’ She used her softest, most patronizing tone to correct him. ‘You seem to be having a tough time remembering that. Have you always had trouble with your memory? Or is it something age-related?’

      Johnson’s jowly face reddened to an ugly puce as his partner suppressed a giggle. Unlike Dr Roberts, Goodman noticed, Johnson showed no self-control when provoked, rising to Nikki’s bait like a starving fish.

      ‘Oh, I’m not having a tough time remembering anything, lady. I merely choose not to dignify your bullshit profession with a title that actually means something to some people. We both know you aren’t a real doctor.’

      Mick looks like an overcooked hotdog about to burst out of its skin, Goodman thought, wincing at his partner’s crassness. Johnson had issues around women in general, but for some reason this particular woman seemed to bring out the absolute worst in him.

      Goodman couldn’t understand why. In his opinion, Dr Roberts was looking particularly beautiful this afternoon, in a taupe pencil skirt and matching silk shirt. The outfit was the same color as her tanned skin, giving an exciting, if fleeting, impression of nakedness. Her calm, collected manner was attractive as well, at least in Lou Goodman’s eyes. He liked a woman who could handle herself.

      ‘Answer the question. How long were you off work?’ Johnson snapped.

      ‘Around six weeks,’ said Nikki.

      ‘Seems a long time.’

      ‘Does it?’ Nikki deadpanned.

      ‘Yeah, it does. Then again, most of us need to work to live. Unlike you. You just dabble as and when you please, don’t you, Mrs Roberts? You had no money problems after your husband died. He left you a wealthy woman.’

      Despite herself, Nikki stiffened. What was this bozo implying?

      ‘I was perfectly well off when Doug was alive, Mr Johnson. His death didn’t change anything.’

      ‘Hmmm,’ Johnson grunted dismissively. ‘And when did Treyvon Raymond start working for you?’

      Nikki sighed sadly. She hadn’t had time yet to process the reality of Trey’s death, and she certainly didn’t relish talking about him with this slob of a policeman.

      ‘I don’t remember exactly.’

      ‘Was it after you came back to work, or before your husband’s accident?’

      ‘It was not long after,’ said Nikki. Turning to Goodman she added, ‘I don’t understand what any of these questions have to do with the murders. Shouldn’t you be out there trying to find who killed Lisa and Trey, instead of grilling me about employment dates?’

      ‘That’s exactly what we are trying to do. Find the killer,’ snapped Johnson. ‘Working on the theory that it’s the same perpetrator, first thing we need is a link between the two victims. And guess what? We have one.’ Leaning back in his chair, he jabbed a pudgy finger at Nikki. ‘You, Doctor Roberts.’

      ‘You think I killed Lisa? And Trey?’

      Nikki addressed the question to Johnson, who’d already opened his fat lips to respond when Goodman jumped in, cutting him off.

      ‘Of course not,’ he said evenly. ‘But you are a link. A common factor, if you will. There’s a good possibility, a likelihood even, that this killer has some connection to you personally or to this practice. A former patient, perhaps? Or even a current one? In your line of work, you obviously come across some deeply disturbed people. Might one of them have become obsessed with you and those around you? Perhaps violently so?’

      Nikki conceded it was possible, theoretically. But nobody leapt to mind. Unlike many of her colleagues and peers, she’d never had a patient attack her, although one or two had probably formed unhealthy romantic attachments. Fantasies about one’s therapist were incredibly common. Rarely, if ever, did they result in two mutilated corpses and a homicide investigation.

      ‘We’re going to need your patient records, past and present,’ Goodman informed her gently.

      ‘Right,’ Nikki muttered, lost in thought for a moment.

      ‘All of them,’ Johnson added aggressively. ‘No editing. And no “doctor–patient confidentiality” bullshit either.’

      ‘Although it may not be a patient,’ Goodman said quickly, before things descended into a slanging match between his partner and their most crucial witness. ‘Do you have any enemies you can think of, Doctor? Anyone who might want to hurt you or people close to you?’

      ‘No.’ Nikki rubbed her eyes, like someone trying to wake up from a bad dream. ‘No. I really can’t. I mean, that’s ridiculous. What sort of enemies?’

      ‘Former lovers?’ Goodman proposed tentatively.

      Nikki shook her head, not offended but firm.

      ‘No. There was only ever my husband.’

      ‘Disgruntled business associates?’

      ‘No!’ she said, frowning. ‘No offense, Detective, but someone’s out there torturing people to death with a hunting knife. That’s not a business deal gone wrong. That’s a psychopath.’

      ‘Who said it was a hunting knife?’ Johnson, who’d sat quiet as a mouse since Goodman cut him off suddenly came back to life.

      Nikki hesitated for a moment.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘You must have, I suppose. Or maybe I heard it on the news.’

      Johnson looked knowingly at Goodman but said nothing.

      Goodman continued with his good-cop routine, asking Nikki more questions about her relationship with Trey Raymond. She answered confidently and naturally, explaining how first Doug and Haddon, and then she, had taken the boy under their wing. And how proud they all were of the way Trey had turned his life around.

      ‘Especially Doug,’ Nikki added, tears stinging her eyes for the first time since Haddon had broken the awful news of Trey’s death. ‘We couldn’t have children, you see, my husband and I.’

      Goodman’s kind blue eyes seemed to invite confidences. Nikki appeared to have forgotten Johnson was even in the room.

      ‘I think Doug looked on Trey as a surrogate son. After Doug— When he died, I tried to keep the connection going. That’s when I offered Trey the job here, in the office. He was good at it,’ she added, with a sad smile.

      ‘OK,’ said Goodman. ‘Thank you, Dr Roberts. I think that’s all we need for now.’

      ‘Don’t leave town,’ snarled Johnson, as Nikki slipped on her coat.

      She didn’t dignify the comment with a look, let alone a response.

      ‘One last thing,’ Goodman said casually, walking Nikki to the interview room door. ‘Did you