The women with Claire Sexton’s mother had apparently left their post. Nikki was about to approach when Lydia seemed to gather herself and, with a look of desperation, slipped from the room. Nikki followed her—down the stairs, into the pub, and through the front doors.
Lydia Sexton stood alone in the cold outside, without a jacket, facing traffic on the noisy street. She dug through her purse for a packet of cigarettes and lit up, staring into the distance.
Nikki approached cautiously, sensing something fragile in that lost expression.
“Hi, Lydia,” she said. “I’m Nikki. I wanted to say…I’m sorry for your loss.”
Lydia nodded, seeming to make an effort to come back into the present.
“Thanks. Thanks for coming. It’s nice, isn’t it? Everybody here for Claire. It was decent of the agency to arrange this.”
“Was Claire your only…?”
“My one and only. She was something special, you know? Just brightened up my world. My angel. That’s what I called her. My angel.”
She was crying, but didn’t seem aware of it. Tears slid down her cheeks and dripped off her chin.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” said Nikki honestly. She wondered how much Lydia knew about the way Claire had died.She thought of Monica’s hair painted in Claire’s blood and, in her mind’s eye, saw the photographs of the gruesome crime scene.
“How did you know her?” asked Lydia.
Nikki had considered a cover story, but the thought of lying to this grieving woman suddenly repulsed her.
“I didn’t know her when she was alive,” she confessed. “But, from everything I’ve heard, she sounds like a kind and caring person. My name is Nikki Serafino. I work for a unit called Phoenix Seven—we help the police sometimes. I was involved in the investigation of Claire’s death in Naples. I’m not involved anymore, but I happened to be in the neighborhood and I wanted to understand…the person she was.”
Lydia looked stunned, then she stirred as if waking up. Her eyes were suddenly intense.
“You aren’t with the press, are you?”
“No. As I said, I’m with Phoenix Seven. I’m really sorry for intruding. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I know this is a special event.”
“Do you have identification?” Lydia asked.
Nikki took out her ID and showed it to her, bracing, ready for her anger.
Lydia examined the card and seemed to consider. “No. I want you to stay. That’s all I want, you know? Someone to give a damn that she’s gone. Someone to care enough to find out…why anyone would do this to my baby. What do you want to know about my Claire?”
“I’m not on the case anymore,” Nikki said. “I’m not able to formally investigate.”
“But you want to investigate? You want to find out what happened to her?”
Nikki met Lydia’s gaze. It was unexpectedly alert and determined.
She nodded. “I do.”
“That’ll do for me,” said Lydia. She pulled a crumpled tissue from her purse and wiped her nose. “Tell me what you want to know.”
“Okay.” Nikki took a deep breath. “The police will already have asked you these questions, so I may repeat them.”
“That’s fine.”
“Did Claire talk to you about her work?” Nikki asked.
“Some of it. She’d signed these business deals that tied her hands, couldn’t blab about her work, but she still spilled to me.”
“How often did you two talk?”
“A few times a week. We were tight. She’d drop me an email when they were out at sea—and then she’d ring up whenever they docked.”
