“But she’d been cruel for months,” Nikki said. “Claire hated her. And why not tell Jayston or the agency?” She hesitated. “Her mother said that Claire called from Capri—that she sounded frightened. She wanted to come home.”
A long silence. Nikki checked the connection. “Sonia?”
“What were you doing talking to Lydia Sexton?”
“I went to Claire’s memorial in London,” Nikki said. “I saw the notice—and it wasn’t far from where I was staying.”
Another pause. Nikki suddenly realized she should have reached out sooner.
When Sonia spoke again, her words were clipped. “You had no authority. No jurisdiction. Do you realize how badly this could hurt our investigation? At trial, they’ll say you were tampering with witnesses. And the British police won’t be happy when they hear you overstepped. What the hell were you thinking?”
Nikki was suddenly hot. She peeled off her hoodie.
“I’m not on the case,” she said. “So, I wasn’t under the authority of the Naples Police or Phoenix Seven. I acted as a private citizen. I was fully transparent with Lydia Sexton about this.”
“Did you talk to anyone else?”
Nikki told her about Sally Tate and Teddy Sexton. She was honest about the latter, painfully so—including the social media fallout.
Her mind replayed it, face and neck burning. She’d put herself in such a vulnerable position—hadn’t anticipated or prevented his attack. If she ever decided to interview a witness undercover again, she would be better prepared.
“I can write it up for you,” she offered.
Sonia exhaled. Her voice was dry. “The last thing I need is a paper trail. Theodore Sexton’s lawyer called the station this morning, demanding to know which Italian detective attacked his client. Of course, I told him he was mistaken. I didn’t believe for a moment you’d do such a thing.”
Nikki hadn’t expected Teddy to be so motivated to track her down, although she might have anticipated it if she’d thought more carefully about his sudden aggression in the empty after-hours London streets. He was a man used to winning. His violence had been reflexive, an instinct to restore his sense of control the moment he realized she’d lied to him.
He’d been fighting for his ego; Nikki had been fighting for her life.
“I didn’t attack him,” she said. “I defended myself.”
She could still feel his palm on her thigh, the warm alcohol taste of him, his tongue in her mouth. Pain and panic as he gripped her throat.
“I see that,” said Sonia. The edge in her voice vanished as quickly as it had come. “Did you give him your name?”
“My first name.”
“Did you file a police report about the assault?”
“No,” Nikki admitted.
Sonia didn’t say the other part, the part Nikki was thinking. Self-defense only mattered in a courtroom. It wouldn’t stop Teddy from filing a complaint. It wouldn’t stop an investigation, a suspension, or worse. And she definitely couldn’t afford a lawyer. Teddy Sexton could destroy her without ever throwing a punch.
At last, Sonia sighed. “Hopefully, I put him off. He may drop it.”
Nikki paused, then asked: “How badly did I hurt your investigation? Is Teddy a suspect?”
“His alibi checked out. He was in London when Claire was killed. I have to go. We’ll talk later.”
—
Iacopo arrived while Nikki finished her call. Sullen and silent, he didn’t bother explaining his lateness. After a few minutes, he stomped out, muttering something about coffee.
Clipping the duty phone to her belt, Nikki also left.
The air was cold and dry as she crossed the base’s central spine.
Her personal phone pinged. A text from Mac:I’d really love to buy you dinner.
