fine thanks.’
‘You can get me a Coke,’ the fat one replied, without looking up from his phone. An unspoken ‘boy’ hung in the air.
Beneath the desk, Trey’s fists clenched. He longed to refuse, to tell the man they were all out, sorry. But a deep-rooted survival instinct kicked in. Don’t mess with cops. Not to their face, anyway.
Inside Nikki’s office, Anne Bateman recrossed her slender legs beneath her long linen skirt. All her movements were so graceful, so thoughtful and composed. Like a ballet dancer, thought Nikki admiringly. Only last night Nikki had dreamed about Anne again, dreams that were not overtly erotic but that certainly had something obsessional about them, something voyeuristic. Perhaps being a virtuoso violinist isn’t so dissimilar to being a ballerina? Nikki thought. Whatever the reason, Anne appeared to dance through life to the tune of some inner music, some rhapsody of her own creation.
‘She was your patient, wasn’t she? Like me,’ Anne asked.
‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ Nikki said gently.
Like everybody else, Anne had seen the grisly reports of Lisa Flannagan’s murder on the TV news. She’d been distressed by them, and understandably wanted to talk.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said quietly, staring down at her lap. ‘I know. I’ve passed her in the corridor a hundred times. Poor woman.’
‘Yes,’ said Nikki. She felt bad herself. Lisa had been so full of hope in their final session together, so focused on her future. A future that, as it turned out, didn’t exist.
It was too late to help Lisa Flannagan now. But Nikki could still help Anne Bateman. Beautiful, intoxicating Anne. In fact, Anne was the one patient who Nikki felt she was helping, consistently. A violin prodigy with a coveted position at the LA Phil, at only twenty-six years old Anne was already wildly successful. Although childlike in some ways, in others she had already lived a life far beyond her years. As a teenager she’d traveled and performed all over the world, eventually marrying young to an extremely wealthy, charismatic, and much older man.
Anne was an attractive girl, in a tiny, fragile, doll-like way. Shy and meek in everyday conversation, with a violin in her hand Anne transformed into a frenzied, passionate woman, utterly lost in her own talent. Many men had been drawn to her on stage, to her alabaster skin and enormous, chocolate brown eyes, as well as to the intensity of her playing. But her husband had coveted her with an obsessive desire. After they married he had carried her off to his vast estate like a fairytale princess, showering her with gifts and clothes and attention and adoration, rarely letting her out of his sight.
It had taken immense courage for Anne to leave him and move back to her native Los Angeles. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. But she’d married so young, and she’d changed, and her music was calling to her, its call becoming more and more insistent with each passing day. The collapse of her marriage was what had prompted Anne to start seeing a therapist, and she and Nikki had quickly formed a strong bond. Over the last three months, Anne had come to rely heavily on Nikki’s support and advice in almost every aspect of her life.
‘You mustn’t feel frightened,’ Nikki told her now. ‘What happened to Lisa was terrible, but it had nothing to do with you. Don’t internalize it. The fact that you happened to see her in this office doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t tie the two of you together.’
‘No.’ Anne smiled shyly. ‘You’re right. I’m being silly.’
‘Not silly,’ said Nikki. ‘Death is a traumatic event. Especially violent death. But you’re still processing your own trauma, Anne. Try not to take on anyone else’s, that’s all I’m saying.’
Their time was up. Reluctantly, Nikki opened the door to the corridor to show Anne out. Most patients shook Nikki’s hand at the end of a session, but Anne always hugged her, squeezing tightly like a child leaving its mother at the school gate. It was too intimate a gesture really, not appropriate between a patient and a therapist, but Nikki didn’t have the heart to put a stop to it. The truth was that Anne’s dependence on her felt good. Everything about Anne Bateman felt good.
This time, however, Nikki stiffened the moment Anne embraced her.
Two strange men were heading towards her from the waiting room, watching intently.
Extricating herself swiftly from Anne’s arms, Nikki ushered her patient out before turning to the two men.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked curtly.
One of the men, the younger one, stood up and extended his hand politely.
‘Detective Lou Goodman, LAPD. This is my partner, Detective Mick Johnson.’
Nikki shook Goodman’s hand. ‘I assume you’re here about Lisa? Such a terrible thing.’ She offered her hand to his partner as well, but the short, heavyset man jerked angrily away.
‘Not here,’ he barked rudely, with a sidelong, distrustful glance at Trey. ‘In your office.’
Nikki bristled. What’s his problem? She had the vague sense of having seen him somewhere before, but she couldn’t place it. ‘All right,’ she said briskly, walking both men into her consulting room and offering them a seat, before closing the door behind them.
Back in the waiting room, Trey waited until he could hear the three of them talking before he picked up the phone.
‘There’s two cops here!’ he whispered down the line. He was close to tears. ‘What do I do? I’m scared, man.’
The voice on the other end of the line began to talk.
Trey listened, and nodded, trying to calm himself down.
They don’t know.
Nobody knows.
Be cool.
Detective Mick Johnson watched and listened as Dr Nikki Roberts answered his partner’s questions.
When did Nikki last see Lisa Flannagan?
The day she died.
Had Lisa mentioned anything in that session, or prior sessions, about being threatened, or having any fears for her safety?
No.
Did Nikki know of anyone who might have a reason to target Lisa, or hurt her?
No.
Goodman asked all his questions politely, and accepted all Nikki’s one-word answers without question or comment, writing each one down in his little notebook like a schoolboy taking notes from a teacher.
Johnson watched in silent disapproval. He didn’t trust Nikki and he didn’t like her. The arrogant bitch didn’t even remember him! But he remembered her. He would always remember her. Watching her now, poised and cautious, sweeping her shiny dark hair back out of her eyes as she talked with Goodman, he could feel the anger burn his chest like battery acid.
‘Dr Roberts, you may have been the last person, other than her killer, to see Miss Flannagan
