by Harlan Coben
Then something happened in late May that altered her outlook, something that made Judy react in a way that changed their lives forever:
May 27, 1960
My whole body is still numb. Even picking up this pen to write to you is an arduous, unfeeling task. I cannot comment on what happened today. I can only replay the events as they happened.
This morning, Mary called me in a panic. 'Can I come over? I really need to talk to you.'
'Of course.'
'I'll be there in an hour.'
I spent the hour straightening up my closet of a dorm room and taking some notes for my new short story. At exactly ten a.m., Mary knocked on the door. When she entered, I was struck anew by her beauty. I had lived with her all my life but her stunning looks still held me in awe. I knew that her beauty was a dangerous weapon. I just had no idea that it could also be lethal.
'I think I'm pregnant,' she said, her eyes tainted with fear.
'That's wonderful,' I naively replied. 'Gloria will have a little baby brother or sister.'
'You don't understand. The baby . . .'
'Yes?'
'It's not James's.'
I gasped. 'What? How can that be?'
She began to cry. Oh what a devastating weapon even her tears were. 'I'm having an affair.'
'You?'
Mary nodded. 'I never meant for it to happen. I was alone all the time with Gloria. James works so hard and he's never home. Along came this charming man ...'
She went on and on, making excuses for her carelessness and putting the blame on everything but herself.
'Have you told this man?' I asked.
'He wants me to get a test to make sure.'
'Sounds like good advice to me.'
Mary shook her head. 'I'll take the stupid test, Judy, but I know the truth. I know I'm pregnant. I can feel it.'
I poured us both a cup of tea and asked a casual question that came more from being nosy than concerned. 'Do I know the man?'
Mary's head shot up. 'My God, I forgot. You don't know . . .'
'Of course not,' I said with my smile still on my face. 'How should I know?'
'I thought maybe he told you.'
'Who?'
'Sinclair.'
I don't remember what else was said. My mind froze from that moment until the present. Everything around me collapsed when she said Sinclair's name and yet everything around me became clear. Mary's beauty. That was the alien force that had taken away first James and now my Sinclair. Why didn't I stop her long ago? Why didn't I destroy her ravishing beauty in its infancy? I slept beside it as a child, befriended it, and watched it grow. Now it was destroying me . . .
Laura read about the next day. Then she read it again and again, hoping that the words would eventually change. They did not.
'Laura?' Gloria called out.
'Yes.'
'What's it say? Read it to me.'
But Laura did not have the strength. She handed the book to her sister.
There were some habits of David Baskin's that Mark Seidman could not get out of his system. Early morning basketball was one of them. David had loved to go to the Boston Garden first thing in the morning, enter through a side entrance, and shoot baskets by himself for a few hours. It relaxed him, made him forget, let him remember.
No one else was around this early. Joe, the Garden's head custodian for twenty-some-odd years, did not come in until eight-thirty, so David was truly left alone with his thoughts and the legends that surrounded him. He took the basketball out of his bag and began to dribble on the parquet floor. The sound echoed throughout the arena, from the court to the rafters where the championship flags hung. Fifteen thousand empty seats watched him move up court, the ball dancing between his legs and around his back.
He stopped and jumped. His fingers gently lofted the ball into the air. It went through the hoop with a swish. His jumpshot. Having a unique jumpshot may be effective on the court, but it was a severe handicap in maintaining a new identity. According to Mike Logan of the Boston Globe, only one man had truly been able to duplicate David's jumpshot: Mark Seidman.
David shook his head. If Logan only knew the truth. If they all only knew the truth. But the fact remained that they would never guess because there was no reason to suspect that David Baskin might still be alive. Only someone who understood his situation would have any chance of figuring out the truth. For that person, David's unique jumpshot had led not only to danger but death.
Judy's death.
Like other sports fans, Judy had seen the similarity between David Baskin's shooting style and Mark Seidman's. Unlike everyone else, she knew enough about the past to realize that they were one and the same, that David had not really drowned in Australia, that he had faked his own death and taken on a new identity. From the beginning, David had recognized that there was a chance that she would figure out his secret. He had accepted that risk. After all, Judy knew that David and Laura were brother and sister. She would realize why he had pretended to die. She would not interfere.
'You don't understand anything, do you?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that you think you know what you're doing, but you don't. There are things about this whole situation that have been kept from you.'
Judy had been murdered, he was sure of it. But why? Was someone trying to prevent her from telling the truth, from exposing what had happened? Had Mary been afraid she might tell Laura the truth? Perhaps. But murder? Could Mary murder her own sister?
David did not think so.
He took some lay-ups and wondered what he should do next. He could not just pretend that Judy's death had been a coincidence, that the fire was unrelated to his disappearance six months ago. The whole situation was still one great big mystery. Nothing made any sense. Why had Judy called him in the first place? Why had she tried to bring them back together? Come to think of it, Judy had always encouraged their relationship -- even in the beginning. While Mary fretted and tried anything to separate brother from sister, Judy had been supportive of their love affair. Why? Why had she never tried to break them up?
A whole heap of questions. Absolutely no answers. David circled toward the basket, leaped high in the air, and dunked the ball hard through the cylinder. The whole backboard shook.
'There are things about this whole situation that have been kept from you.'
But what are those things, Judy? What are they?
Gloria took the diary from Laura. 'Are you okay?' she asked.
Laura shook her head. 'I don't know what to do.'
'About what?'
She turned away, her features sagging. 'You'll see. Read.'
May 28, 1960
Revenge. Is that what I was after tonight? If so, I should have remembered that revenge can be a double-edged sword. I fear I have done something wrong. But alas, dear diary, you do not want my opinions. You want the facts. So here they are: When I woke up this morning (woke up? I never fell asleep) I knew what I had to do: exact my revenge. Mary had stolen two men away from me. It was time to start returning the favor. I visited James at the hospital today . . .
Gloria looked up. 'Oh Christ, she didn't. Tell me she didn't.'
'Keep reading.'
James met me in his new private office. It was all done up in typical, immaculate doctor decor with diplomas and medical journals. He was very proud of it. He boasted that he was the only resident who had his own office. No surprise really. I always knew James would be successful. I loved him at one time. I loved him from the moment we first started dating all the way through his marriage to Mary. I was crushed when he left me for her. I thought my heart would never recover. But it has. It started to heal the day I met Sinclair. He released James's hold on me, and now James seemed to me no more than a fine man, a very good catch for a husband.
Am I saying that I feel nothing for James anymore? Not exactly. But the truth is that I wanted to take him away from Mary more than I wanted him for myself.
&nb
sp; We began by chatting about this and that, but with James casual conversation does not last very long, especially when he has patients waiting. He quickly turned on his cool, calm exterior. His voice became as brisk and professional as his well-groomed appearance.
'You said you had to see me about something urgent?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I'm just not sure how to tell you.'
'How to tell me what?'
I took a deep breath then and feigned looking confused. 'I just feel so bad.'
'About what?'
'I hate to see you play the chump, James.' I reached across the desk and took his hands. 'There was a time when you meant a great deal to me. Do you remember?'
'Yes of course,' he said impatiently. 'Now what is it?'
That was when I did it. I told James everything. I told him his wife was having an affair. I told him that Mary was sleeping with Sinclair Baskin. I told him that she was carrying his baby.
At first James did not react. He merely played with the pencil between his fingers. Then his jaw set. His face turned red. His hands clenched, snapping the pencil in half. Suddenly books were flying, then chairs, then furniture. He was a man out of control, completely crazy. I tried to calm him down, tried to warn him that someone would hear him, but he did not pay heed. He tore apart the office he so loved until his rage finally gave way to exhaustion. He crumpled back into his chair (it was the only thing still standing except me) and dropped his head into his hands.
I circled around the desk. 'Don't worry, James. I love you. I'll take care of you.' I reached his seat and put my hands on his shoulders. He winced in repulsion. My hands flew back to my sides as if his shoulders were on fire. Slowly his head rose. He glared at me with a twisted look, a look of intense hatred.
'I don't want you,' he said. 'I want Mary.'
Gloria looked up. 'Dad knew?'
Laura nodded.
'And he never said anything? He just raised you as his own?'
'I don't know but I think we should read on.'
'Why?'
'This was written on May 28.'
'So?'
'Sinclair Baskin died the next day.'
May 29, 1960
Help me. God, what have I done? The whole situation has become too much for me to handle. It's completely out of control now. It's taking on a life all its own, and I don't know where it will lead. I fear the worst, but what else could possibly happen?
Mary just called me. The pregnancy test came back positive. Though James has kept up a good facade up till now, jealousy has already nibbled away at his ability to reason. What is he going to do now that speculation has become fact?
Mary is on her way to Sinclair's office to tell him the news. Sinclair, my beloved, what have you done? I understand the power of Mary's beauty, the sensuous spell she can cast over a man. But wasn't our love strong enough to fight it off? Wasn't our love powerful enough to deflect her physical charms harmlessly into space? Will you grow tired of her and come back to me eventually? Yes, I am sure you will. I must wait.
Later:
My life is over. The moment I saw the blood on James's shirt I knew what had happened. I said nothing. My face showed no emotion. But inside someone was screaming until the vibrations wore through me.
'I didn't mean to,' he said to me, his voice bordering on hysterical. 'I just meant to confront him, to confront them both.' His hands were shaking. 'It just happened.'
'Just happened,' a voice echoed. I guessed it was mine.
'I was listening in at the door of his office, my ear pressed against the wooden frame. I could not believe what I heard. Mary wanted to leave me. She wanted to run away with that son of a bitch.'
I still said nothing.
'But the bastard wouldn't listen to her. He threw her out. He was so cold to her, so heartless. He knew he had impregnated a married woman and the son of a bitch reacted by tossing her out of his office like yesterday's garbage.'
'What did Mary do?' I asked.
'She was in shock. She could not believe he was just going to abandon her like this. She called him a bastard and ran out. I ducked in an empty doorway down the hall as she sprinted past. The next thing I remember the gun was out of my pocket and in my hand.'
'No,' I cried, while my mind kept shouting, 'Sinclair is dead, Judy, James may have pulled the trigger but your jealousy killed him.'
James was in a trance now, his eyes wide and dreamy. 'I stepped out of my hiding spot,' he began, 'and moved slowly down the hall. When I reached his door, I peeked into his office. He was just sitting in his chair looking out the window. His back was to me. I crept closer. My hand gripped the gun. I had not held a weapon since I was in the service, but it felt so right in my palm. As he began to swivel his chair toward the door, I placed the gun against his forehead. He froze for a split second. His eyes, so full of fear, locked onto mine, and I think he knew then that he was about to die. I called him a bastard and then I pulled the trigger . . .
'Dad?' Gloria asked, though she knew the answer. 'Dad killed Sinclair Baskin?'
Laura felt herself slowly slipping into a shock. 'And Judy,' she managed, 'and even Stan ...'
'NO! Not Dad! He couldn't!'
'Who else? Didn't you say Stan saw the murder take place, that he remembered the killer's face? He must have recognized Dad when he saw him at the game.'
'It can't be.'
'And Judy,' Laura went on, 'was going to tell me everything.'
'But I don't understand. Why did Judy wait so long to say something, Laura? Why didn't she tell someone years ago?'
'I'm not sure,' Laura said, 'but she was probably scared out of her mind. She blames herself for what happened to Sinclair. If she had not betrayed her sister's trust, he would still be alive. She might have seen herself as an accomplice. And what would have been the point of saying something anyway? It was over. Telling people would not bring Sinclair back.'
'So what made her change her mind after all these years? Why did she finally say something?'
Laura thought for a moment. 'David's drowning,' she concluded. 'When David died, she must have realized that the past could not just be wished away.'
Gloria shook her head. 'It still makes no sense. David drowned six months ago. Why did she wait all that time to tell you? And there are other questions. What happened to David's money? And how did someone get hold of his ring and put it in your apartment?'
Laura stopped. 'I don't know. But there may be a way of finding out.'
'How?'
Laura went to the closet and got her coat. It was six thirty in the morning. They had been reading the book all night. 'You stay here and finish going through that diary. See if there's any more about what happened.'
'Where are you going?'
She grabbed her keys and headed to the door. 'To talk to Dad.'
Gloria turned the page. The next day was May 30th.
James drove very fast. He had never been afraid of being stopped by the police for speeding. After all, he was a senior staff member at Boston Memorial. He would just tell them that there was an emergency at the hospital. A matter of life and death. How that phrase grabbed people: a matter of life and death. People stopped and listened when you said it. For a fleeting moment, they considered their own mortality.
He reached the apartment building on the outskirts of the city. It was a run-down neighborhood, but then again cops were not the highest-paid people in the work force. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Six thirty in the morning. T.C. would probably still be asleep. James would have to wake him. After all, this was an emergency. This was a matter of life and death -- for all of them.
James stepped out of the car. He had known from the moment Laura first called him from Australia six months ago that Mary had once again lied to him, that she had gone to Australia instead of California, that she had been responsible for David's sudden disappearance. The dread that coursed through him at that moment was black and cold. Why had he been so foolish? Why hadn't he s
een it coming? Why hadn't he found a way to stop Mary before she had the chance to say something to David?
If only he could have stopped her. If only David had not listened to her. If only David had ignored Mary's every word and run back to Laura. If only. Those two words stretched back thirty years to the moment when it all began: if only Mary had been a faithful wife instead of a cheap whore.
But alas, none of that had happened. Thinking of what might have been cannot change what has already occurred. James had to go on. He had to make the best of the situation. He had to salvage what he could from the tiny fragments that were still left. There was no time to cry over the past anymore. Too much time had passed. Too many people had already died.
He knocked on the door. The gun was in his pocket just in case T.C. did not cooperate. He hoped that he would not have to use it quite yet. All he wanted from T.C. was one small piece of information: Where was Mark Seidman?
When he found Mark Seidman, then the gun would be put to use.
James knocked again. Why hadn't David drowned in Australia? If he had, this whole episode would be unnecessary. But David was alive and, as a result, he was still a threat to James's family. James had come too far to lose everything now. Just one more little pull of the trigger. Just one more bullet searing through a skull. Then it would all be over.
T.C. came to the door. It was obvious from his appearance that he had been asleep. He pushed open the screen door and squinted through sleepy eyes.
'Dr Ayars?'
'Can I speak to you a moment?' James asked. 'It's very important.'
T.C. stepped back. 'Come on in.'
'No, this will only take a second.'
'Okay,' T.C. said. 'What can I do for you?'
James licked his lips. 'I need to speak to David.'
'Huh?'
'Please don't play dumb with me. I know that David and Mark Seidman are one and the same. I've known for quite some time.'
'I don't know what the hell -- '
'Listen to me. I know David's drowning was a fake. And I know why he did it. I don't want to cause any trouble. I just want you to tell me where I can find him.'
T.C. said nothing.
'It's a matter of life and death,' James urged. 'Laura's life is in danger. I have no interest in revealing his secret. I only want to talk to him.'
T.C. shrugged. 'David is dead, Dr Ayars -- '
'Damn it! Judy has already been murdered. Stop playing games -- '
