Sidney Sheldon’s The Silent Widow: A gripping new thriller for 2018 with killer twists and turns. Сидни Шелдон

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      ‘I was hoping you guys could tell me,’ Goodman sighed. ‘You’ve all known him longer than I have. Mick’s obsessed with Dr Roberts. He hates the woman’s guts, but he won’t tell me why.’

      ‘I might have an idea,’ Pedro Sanchez said quietly.

      Sanchez was a man of few words, unlike his partner Anna Baines. He rarely offered an opinion, but when he did it was usually worth listening to.

      ‘The Roberts woman used to get called as an expert witness from time to time.’

      ‘She gave psychiatric evaluations, you mean?’ asked Goodman.

      ‘Right. Usually on narcotics cases,’ said Sanchez. ‘She and her husband were involved with the junkies downtown – needle exchanges, counseling, all that shit. They were big-time bleeding-heart liberals.’

      Mick is ex drug squad, Goodman thought. ‘Did she testify in any of Johnson’s old cases?’ he asked Sanchez.

      ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask him. But I do know the lady wasn’t a big fan of the force in general, which wouldn’t have endeared her to Mick. You know what he’s like with holding grudges.’

      Without another word, Goodman left a twenty on the table and ran outside after Johnson. What Sanchez had told him was interesting, but it was another thought entirely that had just occurred to him.

      ‘Mick!’ he called into the darkness.

      Johnson turned around. Thankfully, he’d got no farther than the parking lot, where he was swaying drunkenly in the breeze, waiting for his Uber.

      Goodman cut straight to the chase. ‘Let’s say Dr Roberts is involved.’

      ‘She is,’ Johnson slurred. ‘I’m sure of it.’

      ‘But what if it’s not in the way you think. What if the Doc was the intended victim?’

      Johnson rolled his eyes. ‘Not this again. We’ve been over this.’

      ‘Lisa Flannagan was wearing her coat when she left the office that night.’

      ‘According to her,’ muttered Johnson. ‘Look, I was excited as you about that raincoat being a lead, but we’ve found nothing. All we have is Dr Roberts’ word for it.’

      ‘Yes, and why would she lie about something like that? Admit it, you can’t think of a reason.’

      Johnson grunted. It was true, he couldn’t. Yet.

      ‘It was dark. It was raining. Lisa was leaving Dr Roberts’ office, wearing her coat. They’re the same height. Same hairstyle. If the killer approached from behind …’

      ‘OK, OK,’ said Johnson wearily. ‘I get it.’

      ‘It’s possible,’ insisted Goodman.

      ‘Fine. It’s possible. But what about Treyvon Raymond? Your theory doesn’t work so well with him, now does it? Six foot two, male and black as your hat?’

      ‘Maybe Trey was killed because he was close to Nikki,’ said Goodman. ‘She used to testify on drug cases, didn’t she? That must’ve made her a lot of enemies. Her, and her husband.’

      Johnson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who told you about that?’

      ‘I’m a detective, dude,’ Goodman dodged. He didn’t want to land Sanchez in it. ‘I find shit out. Maybe a disgruntled dealer, someone Dr Roberts testified against, killed Lisa accidentally, thinking she was the Doc. And maybe Trey figured out who that dealer was.’

      Johnson raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘He was a detective too?’

      ‘Come on,’ Goodman urged. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it, Mick?’

      Johnson brooded silently. The last thing he wanted was to re-frame Nikki Roberts as a victim. But he had to admit Goodman’s theory was at least possible.

      ‘Can we keep an open mind on this? That’s all I’m asking,’ Goodman pleaded.

      ‘OK,’ Johnson conceded grudgingly. ‘But open minds gotta work both ways.’

      ‘Meaning?’

      ‘Meaning that we don’t know Roberts wasn’t behind this. She’s still a possible suspect,’ Johnson insisted. ‘How about this scenario? Roberts secretly hated Lisa Flannagan.’

      ‘Why?’ Goodman asked, genuinely baffled.

      ‘Lisa was a gold digger. A homewrecker. Maybe Roberts disapproved of her lifestyle.’

      ‘Come on, man,’ said Goodman. ‘That’s weak.’

      ‘Is it? We know Lisa aborted Baden’s baby. Roberts can’t have kids, remember?’ Johnson went on. ‘That’s a big deal for women.’

      ‘In your vast experience of female emotion,’ Goodman quipped.

      ‘Maybe she’s so jealous, so mad about the baby thing it drives her over the edge,’ said Johnson, ignoring him. ‘Makes her crazy. Homicidal.’

      Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Goodman decided to end the conversation before Mick’s conspiracy theories got completely out of control. ‘OK, OK, open minds on both sides. What do you say tomorrow we start talking to Dr Roberts’ patients? I’ll take half, you take half?’

      ‘Fine.’

      Johnson’s car finally pulled up. Goodman waited as he heaved his unfit frame into the back of the Toyota.

      Deciding to strike while the iron was hot in this rare moment of accord between them, Goodman stuck his head through the open window.

      ‘One last thing, Mick. Is there any personal history between you and Nikki Roberts?’

      Johnson grinned. The question seemed to amuse him.

      ‘Anything I should know about?’ Goodman pressed.

      Leaning back in his seat, Johnson closed his eyes, an amused smile still playing on his alcohol-flushed face.

      ‘Goodnight, Lou,’ he said, closing the window. ‘Sweet dreams.’

      Nikki drove for a long time after she left the police station.

      She didn’t want to go home, but she didn’t know where else to go, so she took the 10 freeway all the way down to the ocean and cruised blindly up the coast. Memories of Trey played through her head on a continuous loop.

      The first time Doug brought him home, whippet-thin and as dirty as a stray dog, shivering from withdrawal. Nikki’s heart had gone out to him right away, just as Doug had known it would.

      ‘Hey, Nik. This is a friend of mine, Treyvon. D’you think the chicken can stretch to three?’

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