by Harlan Coben
Gloria beamed. 'You certainly know how to greet somebody.'
He took her briefcase from her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. 'I missed you.'
'I missed you, too,' Gloria enthused. 'Mmmmm, what smells so good?'
Stan put the briefcase down and took her in his arms. 'I did a little grocery shopping and decided to cook us dinner.'
'You made dinner,' she asked, 'for me?'
He nodded. 'So how was work?'
'Good, but busy. Laura was away.'
'Where did she go?'
Gloria shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Estelle said she had some business to take care of somewhere and just decided to take off. What are you cooking in there? I'm starving.'
'Pasta Primavera.'
'Mmmm. I love pasta,' she enthused.
'It'll be ready in about fifteen minutes.'
Silently, Gloria took his hand in hers and led him onto the terrace. They sat on the love-seat together, their fingers still intertwined. Gloria closed her eyes for a moment and rested her head on his chest. 'I love this,' she said.
'What?'
'Everything about us. I've never been so happy.'
Stan gripped her hand. 'I feel the same.'
They sat back and just watched the Charles River. More than anything else about his relationship with Gloria, this part amazed Stan the most. They could just sit together without speaking, just enjoying the experience of being with one another. It didn't make any sense to him. Gloria was different from any woman he had ever known. She did not ramble on incessantly, trying to say something 'meaningful' or 'deep.' She did not pester him about not finding a job yet. She never even mentioned the one hundred thousand dollars he owed her. Gloria was content to just be with him. She demanded nothing of him and, as a result, he gave her more than he had ever given to a woman.
A few minutes later, Stan rose to get dinner ready. Gloria followed him into the kitchen. 'Laura left us a message,' she began.
I bet, Stan thought. 'Oh?'
'The Celtics are retiring David's number at the Boston Garden Saturday night. It's the Opening Game of the new season. She said she'd appreciate it if we were both there.'
'Both of us?'
Gloria nodded. 'You were his brother. I know you and Laura don't see eye-to-eye yet, but she'll come around.'
'Don't count on it.'
'I'd like to go, Stan. I think it's important that we're both there.'
Stan sprinkled a little Parmesan cheese over the pasta. 'Okay,' he said, 'tell your sister we would be honored to attend.'
'My parents will be there too. So will my aunt. It'll be a nice opportunity for you to meet them all.'
'I'd like that,' he said.
Gloria lit the candles and dimmed the lights. Stan watched her move about the room. Though he would never admit it to himself, he loved to watch her move, loved to watch everything she did. She was so goddamn kind and gentle that sometimes he wondered what she was truly up to. What was her angle on all this? What was she after? What did she want from him? Was her tenderness nothing but an unfamiliar ploy to lull him into an unprepared state, a state where she could get her hooks into him and take control?
Maybe.
But more important, what the hell was he doing? What was his angle? What did he want from Gloria? Laura had hit a raw nerve when she asked him about that. The truth was he was no longer sure what he was doing. He could score big bucks -- major, major bucks -- and hightail his ass out of here. He could score like he had never scored before and disappear into the sunset. But for some strange reason he stayed. He was out of money with the perfect opportunity to get his hands on plenty, but he chose not to.
Why?
What the hell was wrong with him? He should have dumped her already. He should have squeezed out every last dollar and been on his way, crushing Gloria's fragile spirit, leaving her crying or worse. But no, he had decided to stay around a while.
The phone interrupted their dinner. 'I'll get it,' Gloria said.
'No, it's probably for me,' Stan said. 'I'll just take it in the bedroom.'
Stan stood and moved into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He knew who was on the other end of the connection. Dread filled him. He swallowed and lifted the receiver. 'Hello?'
'Stan My Man, how are you?'
Stan recognized the voice instantly. His face sunk. 'Hello, B Man.'
'Is that how you greet a good friend?' B Man asked. 'I'm insulted, Stan, really I am.'
'We're in the middle of dinner.'
'Oh how sweet,' he said. 'How perfectly domestic of you. I'm really impressed, Stan. What are you going to do after you eat, go out back and mow the lawn?'
Stan closed his eyes. 'What's up?'
'Not much,' B Man said. 'That's why I was calling you. Your contact tells me you haven't placed a bet in three days.'
'So?'
'So you're only two thousand down,' B Man continued. 'I usually don't cut you off until you reach the forty thousand mark.'
'I just haven't seen anything I've liked lately.'
'Save it, Stan,' the blonde bookie snarled. 'This is B Man you're talking to. You haven't missed a day of betting in ten years.'
'So I've decided to take some time off. What's wrong with that?'
B Man laughed. 'You don't get it, do you, Stan? You just can't up and quit.'
'Who said anything about quitting?'
'Come on, Stan. Don't bullshit a bullshitter. Guys like you don't take time off. You're trying to quit.'
'And what if I am?'
'Why waste your time, Stan? You know you can't do it.'
'Why do you say that?'
B Man sighed. 'Stan, I've known plenty of guys like you. You're an addict. You can't quit. I understand what you're trying to do. You met this chick. You kind of like her, right?'
'You don't know what you're talking about,' Stan said. 'She's just another bimbo.'
'Sure, right. Whatever you say, Stan. Anyway, you're starting to like the simple life. You want to move out of the fast, dangerous lane for a while. But Stan, you're not the type. Eventually, you'll move back into the dangerous lane and pow! You'll smash your car. You're a screw-up, Stan. You can't change.'
'Leave me alone, B.'
'I will, Stan, because I know you'll be back. You'll look in tomorrow's paper and see a horse in the third that's a sure thing. Or you'll find a football game with a point spread that's just too juicy to pass up. Then the itch will come back and it will be so bad that you'll have to scratch. And once you scratch, you'll scratch again and again --
'Shut up!'
' -- and I'll be right there to help you tear away at your skin, Stan. Your old buddy B Man will be waiting with open arms and sharp claws.'
Stan's upper lip quivered. 'Just shut up!'
'I don't like being yelled at,' B Man warned, his voice low. 'I don't like it at all. Maybe I'll have to teach you a little lesson, Stan.'
'No, B -- '
'Maybe I should pull your broken finger right out of the socket,' B Man continued. 'Or maybe I'll just grab your little blonde girlfriend, tie her down to a bed, and let Bart and a few of his buddies take turns on her. How does that sound?'
Stan's eyes flew open. 'I . . . I'm sorry, B Man. I didn't mean any disrespect.'
B Man's laugh chilled him. 'I know, Stan, I know. Give me a call when you feel the urge. In the meantime, enjoy your brief moments of joy. People like you don't get to experience this very often. When you're ready to go back to your home in the gutter, we'll be waiting to assist you.'
The phone went dead. Stan turned. Gloria was standing in the doorway. 'Is everything okay?' she asked.
He went to her and held her closely. 'Everything is fine,' he said.
She looked up at him. 'You've really given up gambling, haven't you?'
'Yes,' Stan said, and though it was the truth, he knew that B Man was right, that eventually it would be a lie.
Chapter 18
It had been the Garden o
f Eden. Then it became Hell. The transformation had been sudden. One moment, the Reef Resort Hotel was an idyllic honeymoon hideaway; the next, it was death. Staring at it now, the Reef Resort Hotel became hazy and unreal to Laura, as though she was seeing it in a dream. The building and grounds were all so familiar. She saw the bush, the gardens, the lobby -- even the sunburned receptionist behind the desk. Laura remembered him well. He had handed her the last note David had ever written.
'Mrs Baskin!' the sunburned man cried out when he saw her. 'How nice to see you again!'
Laura smiled through her daze and shook the man's hand. 'Nice to see you.'
'Will you be staying long?'
Graham stepped between them. 'Only a few minutes.'
'How you doin', Sheriff?'
'Very well, Monty. You?'
'Can't complain,' he replied. 'Something I can do for you?'
Graham must have been a foot taller than Monty. He stared down at the smaller man. 'Do you remember the day David Baskin disappeared?'
'Yeah, sure,' the receptionist answered. 'What about it?'
'He handed you a note before he left, right?'
'Sure did,' Monty confirmed. 'Christ, that note was a regular riot. You remember it, Mrs Baskin? I read it to you over the phone when you called in. I was never so embarrassed in my life.'
'Then what happened?' Graham asked.
'What do you mean?'
'Did David return to the hotel?'
Monty nodded. 'Yeah, like I told Mrs Baskin. He came back for a little.'
'And then he left again?'
'Right.' Monty said.
'How long was he back?' Graham asked.
'Oh, I don't know. About an hour.'
'What time did Mr Baskin leave the hotel the second time?'
Monty thought a moment. 'Can't say for sure. Mr Baskin took off right after he got a phone call.'
Graham and Laura exchanged glances. 'What phone call?' Graham asked.
Monty shrugged. 'Don't rightly know really. I was doing the switchboard when a call came in for him. I just transferred the call to his room. Mr Baskin came down and rushed out of here a few minutes later.'
Graham wetted his lips. 'Can you tell me about the voice of the caller?'
'About the voice?'
'Sex, accent, anything.'
Monty thought a minute. 'Well, I don't remember the voice all that well. It was a long time ago. The only reason I remember it at all is because Mr Baskin was a celebrity and after I let the call go through, I kicked myself for not screening it for him. I mean, it could have been some reporter or obnoxious fan. But anyway, all the person said was "Mr Baskin's room, please." But I kinda remember the voice was hushed. Was it a man or a woman? Can't say for sure. But it was a Yankee accent all right. You can't hide that, no matter how hard you try.'
'Anything else?'
Monty shook his head. 'Oh, wait. One more thing. The call was local.'
'How could you tell?'
'The lines in this hotel are terrible when a call comes from overseas. But there was no static on the line. The call had to have been made from right around here.'
Graham thanked Monty and then he steered Laura toward a bamboo chair in the corner of the lobby. She sat silently, her bleak eyes staring out toward the pool and beach.
'Laura?'
Her head slowly swerved toward his voice. 'Yes?'
'You okay?'
She ignored the question. 'Somebody called him.'
'Seems that way,' Graham agreed. 'Let's try to put this little puzzle together and see what we come up with, okay?'
She nodded.
Graham began pacing in a tight circle. 'First step: you go to your meeting at the Peterson Building in Cairns. David gets dressed and goes outside for a little swim and basketball. Step two: you call the hotel. David is still out. He has left you an amusing little note. Step three: David comes back to the hotel. He goes up to his room. He receives a phone call from an American who was staying in the area -- '
'That rules out T.C.,' Laura interrupted. 'There is no way he could have made that call locally and gotten back to Boston in time for my phone call.'
Graham pondered that for awhile. 'Seems logical to me. But that doesn't really tell us much. Just because he didn't place the call doesn't mean he wasn't involved in Mr Baskin's drowning. Now where was I?'
'David received a phone call.'
'Right. David receives a local phone call from an American. Then he quickly writes you a rather cryptic note and leaves the hotel. We can probably assume that he went out to meet the caller. That takes us to step four: David went to the Pacific International Hotel in Cairns.'
'Maybe a taxi driver remembers taking him,' Laura said.
'A long shot, but I'll check it out. Anyway, we have a witness who placed David at the hotel at about the right time so let's pick it up from there. Step five: David arrives at the hotel. He's a little distracted, probably from something the mystery caller said to him. He goes upstairs for about an hour, presumably to meet the caller. When David comes down, he's disoriented. Something happened upstairs that has upset him.'
'But what?' Laura asked, speaking more to herself than Graham.
'No idea,' the big man replied. 'David then takes a walk around the block. He may have even gone into the Peterson Building where you were having your meeting. Then he comes back to the hotel and places a couple of calls to the United States. Who did he call? I don't know. Maybe he didn't get through and decided to call later. He takes another walk around for a couple of hours. We have a witness who saw him standing by the beach at the Marlin Jetty at approximately eleven thirty at night. From here, we have a blank space. The next time anyone saw him, he was dead. Your banker friend Corsel claims to have heard from him at midnight. Could be. Or could be David was already dead by then and the caller disguised his voice.'
Laura fidgeted in her seat. 'That no longer seems very likely, does it, Graham?'
Graham shook his head. 'Possible, yes. Likely, no. I think David came back to the hotel and placed a call to the bank. Why? I don't know. I think it had something to do with whomever he met in the Pacific International. Anyway, we'll know where David placed his calls for sure once Gina finds those phone bills. Also, we'll have to question the night porter and maybe the receptionist at the Peterson Building. They may also have seen David. This is just the beginning, Laura. A full investigation is not made in a single day.'
'So, what's next?'
Graham shrugged. 'How long are you planning on staying?'
'I have to leave tomorrow night. There's a ceremony being given in David's memory in Boston on Saturday.'
'Okay, no worries. What we have to do next is fill in those important gaps. We have to find out who David visited when he got to the Pacific International.'
'That's the real key, isn't it?' Laura asked. 'The identity of the mystery caller.'
'Sure seems that way to me,' Graham agreed.
'And what about this coroner?'
Graham checked his watch. 'Too late to call Dr Bivelli now. We'll reach him first thing in the morning.'
Laura swallowed and lowered her eyes. 'Graham, what do you think happened to my husband?'
Graham placed a large hand on her shoulder. 'I don't know, luv, but we'll find out.'
'Now?' Mark asked.
T.C. glanced at the clock behind Mark's head. 'Now.'
With a sigh, T.C. stood and walked over to the telephone. He dialed thirteen numbers and waited for the call to connect.
Mark began to pace. 'She's never going to buy that Baskin drowned anymore.'
'I know,' T.C. said. 'I'm working on it.'
After three rings the phone was picked up and an accented voice said, 'Bivelli residence.'
'Can I speak to Doctor Bivelli, please?'
'May I ask who's calling?'
'My name is Terry Conroy.'
'Hold on a moment, Mr Conroy.'
A few seconds later, Dr Bivelli picked up the phone.
'T.C.?'
'Yeah, Aaron, how's it going?'
'Not bad, mate. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon.'
'Yeah, well, things have come up.'
'What sort of things?'
'I need another favor.'
'You know I don't do favors,' Bivelli said. 'Stu told you that before you ever contacted me.'
'I know, Aaron. You're a true mercenary. But I've already paid you for this job.'
'You mean the Baskin drowning?'
'Bingo.'
'I thought everything went smooth as silk.'
'It did,' T.C. said. 'But now we've run into a minor obstacle. I just wanted to let you know that some people may come around asking questions.'
'After all this time?'
'Yep.'
'Well, that's just part of the job. No charge.'
'Just letting you know.'
'Appreciate it, T.C., but don't worry.'
'Good.'
'But,' Bivelli added, 'one of these days, I'd love to know the whole story.'
T.C. half smiled. Bivelli knew a little piece of what was going on. Stu another little piece. Hank still another. But none of them knew enough to put the whole story together. 'One of these days,' T.C. repeated.
Graham reached Dr Bivelli the following morning and set up an appointment for later that same day. Since all the flights between Cairns and Townsville were sold out, Laura chartered a small plane to take them into Townsville. At noon, they arrived at Townsville Memorial Hospital. The office of Aaron Bivelli, M.E., was, of course, on the basement level next to the morgue.
'Can I help you?' Dr Bivelli asked with solemn enthusiasm, as befitted his somewhat gruesome occupation. He was a short man in his late fifties, completely bald, a protruding paunch testing the buttons on his gray vest. His face was kind and reserved with a bright, trusting smile.
'My name is Graham Rowe. We spoke on the phone earlier.'
'Oh, yes,' Bivelli said. 'The sheriff of Palm's Cove.'
'And this is Laura Baskin.'
Dr Bivelli turned toward Laura, his face grim. 'I'm very sorry about your husband, Mrs Baskin.'
'Thank you.'
'Please,' Bivelli said with a wave of his hand, 'make yourself comfortable.' He walked around to his side of the desk. 'I reread your husband's file after I spoke with Sheriff Rowe this morning, Mrs Baskin. I truly hope I can be of some service.'
