Harlan Coben

by Play Dead

Laura’s heart sank deep into her stomach. Whenever David had the time, he liked to put the date with his autograph because he read somewhere that it made it worth more to true collectors.

  “Then what happened?” Graham asked.

  “Like I said, he got in the elevator and went up. Didn’t say a word to anybody else. He was nice and everything, but I could tell he was distracted.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know. He just looked like he was in a trance or something.”

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Behind Billy, a group of tourists charged in noisily after a full-day boat trip to Green Island. “While Mr. Baskin was upstairs, I was working up the courage to talk to him when he came back down. I wanted to tell him that I thought he was the greatest basketball player in the world and that I loved watching him play. When he came down about an hour later, I was all psyched up to talk to him—until I saw his face.”

  “What was wrong with his face?” Graham asked.

  Billy shrugged. “Can’t say exactly. He was awful pale. That distracted face I was telling you about now looked pained—like somebody had danced on his guts with spiked heels. Or like he had just been told he had two months to live or something. I never seen such a change. He could barely walk when he got out of the elevator. I have to tell you, Sheriff, it was kind of scary.”

  Laura felt her pulse quicken. What had happened to David when he went upstairs? Had the bastards drugged him or beaten him or threatened him or … or what? What could they have done to make her David react like this?

  “Then what happened?”

  “Well, I walked up to him and I said, ‘Are you okay, Mr. Baskin?’ but he didn’t answer me. He just kept walking in a daze like a two-by-four had connected with the side of his head or something. I figured it was none of my business and I didn’t want to get in trouble for bothering him, so I just left him alone.”

  “Did he leave the hotel?”

  Billy scratched his head. “That’s the odd part. He wandered out and stumbled around the block a few times. He walked that way down the Esplanade. I watched him until he disappeared past that office building.”

  Laura swallowed. “What office building?”

  “The one on the next block.”

  “The Peterson Building?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Billy confirmed. “Anyway, a while later—I don’t know, maybe a half hour—he came staggering back into the hotel.”

  “Did he go back up the elevator?” Graham asked.

  Billy shook his head. “He just wandered around some more. Then he asked me where the nearest phone was. I showed him.”

  “A pay phone?”

  “No. He said he needed to call the States. I brought him to one of the hotel operators to place the call.”

  “Who was the operator?”

  “Old Maggie. She died last month. She must have been two hundred years old.”

  “What time was it by now?”

  “Let’s see. It must have been close to ten at night, I guess.”

  “Then what?”

  Billy took a deep breath. “He finished his calls—”

  “Calls?” Laura interrupted.

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t listening in, but I know he made at least two calls. I don’t know if both connected or not. Anyway, he finished his calls and then he started doing his zombie bit in the lobby again. I was beginning to think this was all a little strange by now, but like I said, it was none of my business. He took off around ten thirty.”

  Graham remembered that the call to the bank had been placed before midnight. “Did he come back?”

  “Can’t say for sure, but maybe. When I got off at eleven thirty, I spotted him standing all by himself on the Marlin Jetty. He just stood there and stared out at the water. No one else was around. I know the newspapers said he drowned accidentally, and I don’t want to ruin a man’s good name, but he wasn’t looking at that water like a man who wanted to take a casual swim, if you get my meaning.”

  Graham and Laura exchanged glances. They got his meaning.

  JUDY Simmons entered her apartment, dumped her luggage on the floor, and collapsed into a nearby chair. A silly smile remained frozen on her face. All right, maybe goofy smile was a better description. No, Judy told herself, let’s be honest about this. It’s been so long since you’ve had this particular smile (or any smile for that matter) that you’re forgetting what kind of smile this really is.

  Judy thought about it a moment before remembering the correct terminology. It was hardly the vernacular an English professor should use to describe a facial expression, but then again, it was succinct and appropriate for the occasion. Yes, the students of Colgate University would call it a “JustF–ed” smile—the sort of look that comes over one’s face after a particularly arousing session of sexual contact. To be more precise, a weekend’s worth. Three times a day. Who would have thought that Professor Bealy would have such stamina?

  She had started dating Colin Bealy, professor of geology, about a month earlier. He was around fifty, divorced seven years with three grown children. He was short with a heavy beard, dark brown eyes, and a slight paunch. Though Colin Bealy was one of the nation’s most highly respected geology experts, Judy had been worried at first about their intellectual compatibility. How, she wondered, could a woman who taught the art of the written word of Shakespeare and Tolstoy date a man who was fascinated by a bunch of rocks? It didn’t exactly have the romantic intrigue of a Gothic novel—more like a manual on how to install a garage-door opener.

  But she was wrong about both Colin and geology. He was well-read and closer to brilliant than very intelligent. As for geology, it was a far cry from a bunch of bearded men breaking rocks in search of an imprint from a seashell. Geology was truly the study of the planet Earth in all her natural glory, her history, and her future.

  Judy rewound her answering machine. The tape shrieked as it ran backward. She and Colin had been in New Hampshire for the past four days, so there were quite a few messages on the machine. It had been a glorious little getaway. Finally, after all these years, had she finally found a wonderful guy to call her own?

  That’s not true. I almost had the best. Twice.

  The tape stopped and turned itself on.

  I almost had the best. Twice.

  The first two calls were hang-ups. She hated those. Why couldn’t the caller at least have the courtesy to say something? The next message was from one of her students, asking for an extension on a paper due tomorrow.

  Twice. I had the best twice.

  With great effort, she pushed the tormenting thought away. That was when her sister’s voice came on the machine.

  “Judy, it’s Mary. Please call me right away. It’s very important I talk to you.”

  Judy’s silly/goofy/Just-F–d smile vanished. The panic in Mary’s voice would have been picked up by a deaf-mute. Judy pictured her sister making the call, the cord twisted around her arms, her beautiful eyes wide with alarm and fear. Something else must have gone wrong. Judy prayed it did not involve hurting Laura again. But how could it not? Laura was now enmeshed in the sins of the past as though she had partaken in them. She was entangled in a way she could never hope to escape. The combination of evil and the past made up an awesome foe—one that could cripple, mutilate, kill.

  There were two more similar calls from Mary, each more pleading than the one before. Then Judy heard Laura’s voice on the machine.

  “Hi, Aunt Judy, it’s me. I’m going away for a couple of days but I wanted to let you know that next Saturday the Celtics are going to retire David’s number at the Boston Garden. I know how busy you are but I would very much appreciate it if you could be there. Bring Colin if you’d like. I’m anxious to meet him. I love you and I’ll speak to you soon.”

  “I love you, too,” Judy said out loud. She wiped away a stray tear. Evil and the past
. For David the pain was over. For Laura it had become a constant companion. Judy wondered how many great works of literature had taught her that life was not fair, not even remotely close to being an evenhanded contest. Life was random, choosing to coddle some and destroy others without plan or justification. That was just how things worked. Accept it and move on.

  Laura’s message was the last one on the machine. Colin had a seminar on Saturday and would probably not be able to join her, but of course Judy would go to the ceremony. She had been very fond of David from the beginning, and to Laura’s initial surprise, Judy had even been a big fan of his.

  “You’re dating David Baskin?” Judy had said to her niece. “I think he’s the greatest player I’ve ever seen.”

  “I never knew you liked basketball.”

  “Love it. When I lived in Manhattan, I had season tickets to the Knicks games. I’ve followed your boyfriend’s career since he was a Michigan Wolverine. You don’t like basketball?”

  “I do now.”

  Judy laughed. “Well, tell that handsome superstar that he better get me some tickets.”

  “Will do. When you coming down this way?”

  “In two weeks.”

  “Will you stay with me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then, Aunt Judy.”

  “Good-bye, Laura.”

  Judy took a deep breath. Poor Laura. Poor David. She reached for the phone and dialed Mary’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mary.”

  “Where have you been?” Mary nearly shouted. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  “So I gathered. I went away for a few days.”

  “Don’t you call in for messages? Suppose somebody had to reach you in an emergency?”

  Judy closed her eyes. “I was distracted. I forgot. Now what’s the big problem?”

  Mary did not answer right away. “Stan Baskin.”

  “David’s brother?”

  “Right.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s living with Gloria.”

  Judy almost wanted to laugh. “So?”

  “So?” Mary shot back. “Don’t you realize what this means?”

  Judy sighed deeply. “Why don’t you try being happy for Gloria, Mary? Hasn’t she suffered enough? The situation is hardly the same as it was with David and Laura.”

  Mary paused. “I know,” she said quietly, “and I want to do what’s best for my daughter.”

  “Is Stan Baskin a nice guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary admitted. “I haven’t even met him yet.”

  Judy nodded. Now she understood why her sister was so upset. “You’re going to have to if they stay together.”

  “I know. I’m just so scared. Suppose he recognizes—”

  “It’s been thirty years,” Judy cut in. “And anyway, it’s a risk we’ll both have to take. For Gloria’s sake.”

  “Both?”

  “Are you and Laura still speaking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she told you about the ceremony at Boston Garden on Saturday. I’m sure Stan Baskin will be there. So will I.”

  “You’re coming down for it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so grateful, Judy. I need your support so badly.”

  “I’m not coming down for you,” Judy said coldly. “I’m coming down for Laura and to pay my respects to David.”

  “Judy?”

  “Yes?”

  “It will never end, will it?” Mary began. “Every time I think it’s over, it comes back to haunt me. Was it that awful, Judy? Was what I did so terrible that it should harm my children like this? Was it that unforgivable?”

  Judy thought for a moment. In truth, it was not so unforgivable. But sometimes this indiscriminate world did indeed have a pattern—a pattern like a set of dominoes. We knock down one small tile, and without realizing it, we trigger a reaction that topples countless others. Had this particular chain reaction finally reached the last tile and stopped? Had David’s death marked the end of this destructive chain? Judy hoped so.

  But she doubted it very much.

  17

  T.C. drove back to his office. Serita was good, damn good, but T.C. had been up against better. She was lying. No doubt about it. And she didn’t feel good about doing it either. If she had been sure lying was the right thing to do, T.C. doubted her poker face would have revealed anything. Even now T.C. was not nearly as confident as he pretended to be. But what else could he do? If he assumed she was telling the truth, it left him with nothing to go on. If he assumed she was lying, ah, well, that was a different story.

  Okay, T.C. thought, let’s assume Serita is lying. What does that mean? T.C. tried to organize the facts in his head. Fact 1: Laura had seen Corsel. Fact 2: She now knew about the timing of the money transfer. Fact 3: She had discovered that David’s call had come from the Pacific International Hotel in Australia. Partial conclusion: Knowing all of the above, Laura would never just give up and forget about it. Query: Where would she have gone next?

  T.C. did not buy Estelle’s story about Laura on some secret fashion trip. What kind of crap excuse was that? He could understand trying to hide a certain excursion from your competition, but from her family and friends? Hardly Laura’s style. She trusted her friends. She would tell them, especially now when so many people were worried about her.

  But she doesn’t trust me.

  Sad to say but T.C. had to accept the truth. Somewhere along the way, Laura’s trust in him had disintegrated. She had not told him about her second visit to Corsel’s office; she had not told him what she had learned about David’s death. And if Laura had still trusted him, she would have. If she had still trusted him, Laura would have wanted his help.

  T.C. shook his head. Those damn suspicions of hers just made everything all the more difficult. But all of this was an aside—an aside that was bringing him nowhere in a hurry. He had to find out where Laura was and what she was up to. He had questioned Laura’s parents, her sister, her best friend. Nothing. Could Laura have really gone somewhere without telling anyone? And if so, why? Unless she wanted to protect them. Unless she was doing something that could prove dangerous to her family and friends. Unless …

  He stopped his car and sprinted to a nearby phone booth. He put a quarter in and dialed the unlisted number. It was picked up after the second ring.

  “Sherman’s Paper Supplies.”

  “Stu, it’s T.C.”

  Stuart Sherman repeated, “Sherman’s Paper Supplies.”

  “Damn you FBI big shots and your codes. Who the hell remembers? Can’t you do a voice print or something?”

  “We have a special on yellow paper today.”

  T.C. thought. “Oh, right. Do you have any yellow paper with pink and aqua lines?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Hey, T.C. Long time no speak. What’s happening?”

  “Not much. Don’t you ever get sick of playing spy with all those codes?”

  “Nah,” Stu replied. “It’s the reason most of us join.”

  T.C. laughed. “And the reason I only work with you on special occasions.”

  “What phone booth you at?”

  T.C. squinted. “The number is 617-555-4789.”

  Stuart typed the number into his computer terminal. “Okay, it’s clean. What do you need?”

  “Quick request. Can you tell me if Laura Baskin traveled on any flights from the United States to any city in Australia? She may have used the name Laura Ayars.”

  “No problem,” Stu said. “When do you need it by?”

  “Right away. I’ll hold.”

  “Okay, but it’ll take a few minutes. Say, how was the coroner we found for you in Australia?”

  “He worked out well, but he was from Townsville, not Cairns.”

  “Townsville?”

  “It’s about an hour flight from Cairns,” T.C. said. “I had to fly him in.”
/>   “Ah, what the hell, T.C.? This business wouldn’t be any fun if there weren’t a few bugs in the system. How about Hank? How did he do for you?”

  “He’s still the best surgeon around.”

  “And the most discreet,” Stu added. He paused a second. “Oh, and don’t worry, T.C. I’m not going to ask you what this is all about. It’s none of my business, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Besides I’m not a Celtics fan anyway.”

  T.C. sighed. “All right, Stu. I owe you one.”

  “A big one,” Stu corrected. “Hold on a sec. Let me check on this for you.”

  T.C. listened to the hold music. He wondered what sort of subliminal message the FBI special branch put in its hold music. Something mind-warping no doubt. Stu was right. T.C. did owe him a major-league favor. If the company ever learned what T.C. had been up to, they would both be in serious trouble. But then again, T.C. had stuck his neck out for Stu plenty of times—especially the time when Stu had worked undercover for the Bandini family.

  The Bandinis were a particularly vicious group of drug dealers who enjoyed torturing and executing those they did not like. And the Bandini family did not like feds much. The last time they had discovered a fed in their employment, the Bandinis tied him to stakes spread-eagle on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. Then they poured a bag of rats onto their helpless victim. The poor guy writhed in agony as he watched the vermin eat away at his stomach, his groin, his cheeks—watched until the rat’s claws and small, sharp teeth shredded his eyes. When T.C. viewed the carcass a few days later, he had become physically ill for the first and only time in his career. The thought of that rotting cadaver still made him shudder.

  Anyway, one of T.C.’s sources learned that the Bandinis had discovered Stuart Sherman was a fed and were preparing an encore execution for his benefit. The FBI was able to pull Stu out just as he was heading to what would have been his final meeting with the Bandinis. After that, Stu Sherman decided he preferred the computer-and-research end of the business. He no longer did fieldwork.

  Stu came back on the line. “Got it, T.C.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “She’s using the name Ayars,” Stu said. “She left two days ago on a Qantas Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Cairns.”