newscaster’s voice droned on in the background as Nikki came back downstairs. She half tuned in.
‘A young woman’s body was found this afternoon, partially hidden in undergrowth close to the 10 freeway,’ the anchor was saying. ‘Initial reports suggest that the victim, a white woman in her late twenties, was stabbed multiple times, possibly even tortured.’
Was it Nikki’s imagination, or did the newscaster seem to be lingering over the gruesome details?
‘According to police, the injuries to the victim’s face are so severe that no formal identification has yet been made.’
Nikki winced and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. Christ. There are some psychos out there.
‘Sports news now, and in a major setback for the LA Rams …’
Nikki tuned out. Opening the door, she ran out into the still bright evening light.
She’d almost reached Sunset Boulevard when her phone rang. She stopped and answered, panting.
‘Hello?’
It was Trey. He was crying, sobbing so violently it was hard to make out his words. Nikki slipped into doctor mode.
‘Try to breathe, honey. Slow it down.’
Two long, rasping breaths shuddered down the line.
‘Good,’ said Nikki. ‘Now can you tell me what’s happened?’
‘Lisa!’ Trey blurted. ‘Lisa Flannagan.’
Trey had always had a soft spot for Lisa. Nikki could tell. The way he stared at her when she walked down the hall to the restroom, the shy smile he gave every time she came to his desk to pay for a session.
‘What about Lisa?’ Nikki asked kindly. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it can’t be that bad, Trey.’
‘She’s dead!’ Trey sobbed.
A low ringing had started in Nikki’s ears. She watched the traffic crawl past her as if in a dream.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean she’s dead. Murdered!’ Trey started to weep uncontrollably. ‘I heard it on the news.’
Nikki’s knees buckled beneath her. She’d seen Lisa yesterday, alive and well and full of plans for her future. This couldn’t be right. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive. Oh God, Doc, it’s awful. Some sicko cut her to pieces! Dumped her by the side of the freeway.’
Nikki gasped. The news report she’d heard earlier! About the young woman dumped off the 10. That was Lisa?
‘Dr Roberts? Dr Roberts, are you still there?’
Trey’s voice whined out of her earpiece but Nikki didn’t answer.
Guilt crept over her like a spider. While she’d been envying Lisa’s hope and youth, while she’d been judging her, Lisa had been … Oh God.
She tried not to think about it, but the horrifying images crowding into Nikki’s brain wouldn’t stop.
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Trey,’ she rasped, and hung up.
A new nightmare had begun.
‘We’re looking for Dr Roberts. Dr Nicola Roberts. Now it’s a simple question, son. Is she here or isn’t she?’
The two cops hovered menacingly in front of Trey Raymond’s desk. At least, it felt menacing to Trey. Then again, they were cops, and Trey was black and a former meth-dealer from Westmont, South LA’s ‘Death Alley’, so the three men weren’t ever going to be friends.
‘She’s with a patient right now.’
One of the cops, the shorter, fatter, older one with big, wet, larva-like white lips, regarded Trey with unadulterated contempt.
‘In there?’ he asked, nodding towards Nikki’s office door.
He wasn’t wearing uniform and he hadn’t showed Trey his badge. Neither of them had, for that matter. But he spoke with the innate, entitled authority of a police officer. It didn’t occur to Trey to question him.
‘Yes, in there,’ Trey confirmed. ‘But like I said, Dr Roberts is with a patient. She can’t be disturbed while she’s in session.’
‘Is that a fact?’ The fat cop smiled unpleasantly, moving towards the door.
‘Leave it, Mick.’ His taller, younger, more attractive partner put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘We can wait.’
‘Wait?’ Larva Lips looked furious, but his partner ignored him, smiling at Trey and taking a seat on the Italian leather couch in the waiting room. Picking up a copy of Psychology Today, he asked casually: ‘It’s fifty minutes, right? A therapy session? I remember from when my wife left me.’
‘Which one?’ Larva Lips snarled, obviously not best pleased to have been ‘reined in’ in front of Trey.
‘All of them,’ his partner grinned. ‘I was a wreck every time.’
Larva Lips didn’t smile back but sat down, lowering his ample backside into an armchair where he simmered belligerently. Trey had encountered scores of LAPD like him growing up: knee-jerk racists, Blue Lives Matter assholes who shot first and thought later. Or not. Dude might as well have had a swastika tattooed on his forehead, so obvious were his prejudices. For all Trey knew, his partner might be every bit as rotten inside, but he was better educated and he hid it better. Maybe he thought he’d get more out of Dr Roberts if he played nice with her office staff?
Trey Raymond figured he’d learned a lot, working in a psychologist’s office.
‘How much longer?’ Larva Lips demanded, glaring at the clock on the wall as if it were to blame for his impatience.
‘The session ends in fifteen minutes,’ said Trey. He assumed the police were here to ask about Lisa, which only made him feel worse. The thought of these bozos, picking through Lisa’s private life like vultures pecking at a carcass, made him feel sick.
Trey had seen a lot of death growing up. A lot of murder too, but that was different. That was shootings, gang violence, and where Trey grew up that was a fact of life. Sad, for sure. But not shocking.
Not like this. Lisa wasn’t part of that world. She was white and rich and beautiful, part of a white, rich, beautiful world where shit like this didn’t happen. Dr Roberts came from the same world. Trey didn’t, but he’d been invited in by Dr Roberts’ husband, Doug, before he died. More than invited. Welcomed. Like a son.
These son-of-a-bitch cops had no business here, bringing their dark world into this bright one.
‘Can
