Play Dead

16

‘Qantas flight 182 departing for Honolulu and Cairns is now boarding at gate 37. Those passengers with children or who need special care may board now.’

Laura glanced at her watch and saw that her flight was going to take off on time. No small miracle. LAX airport in Los Angeles was packed with travelers today. Laura watched the stone-faced passengers pace through the long corridors, striding purposefully and consistently in that way that only people in airports do. There were no Hare Krishnas in airports anymore. Linden LaRouche was the new air-terminal religion, the presidency being his holy grail. A man was selling bumper stickers – what one was supposed to do with a bumper sticker at the airport was beyond Laura – asking people to save the whale or harpoon Jane Fonda or some other nonsense. Another man sat behind a sign saying:

Roses are Red,

Violets are Blue,

I’m a Schizophrenic,

And So am I.

Laura shook her head. Los Angeles. The last time she had been in LAX airport, she was on her way to David’s funeral; the time before that, she and David had stopped for one night as they headed toward their honeymoon. Funny how life works that way. She remembered how excited they had been, how they had rushed out of Los Angeles’ immense airport and headed into the City of Angels to get their blood test at a nearby hospital.

‘I hate needles,’ David had told her.

‘Chicken.’

‘Needles and insects,’ he said. ‘When we’re married, do you promise to kill all the household insects?’

‘I’ll put it in our vows.’

When the nurse handed Laura the results an hour later, David asked, ‘Did we pass?’

Laura smiled as she read the report. Both of them had been deemed healthy by the State of California. They could get married with the state’s blessing. ‘Passed.’

‘Not even a touch of V.D.?’

‘Nope. Do you want to see it?’

‘Blood test results? No way.’

‘Whatever you say. We better get back to the airport. Our plane will be taking off soon.’

‘Question.’

‘What?’

‘Do you know how long the flight is?’ David asked.

‘No.’

‘I do,’ he answered.

‘Great. So why did you ask me?’

‘More than thirteen hours,’ he pronounced.

‘So?’

‘More than thirteen hours strapped into an airplane.’

‘The point being?’

‘Well, that’s a long time, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘So we have a little time before we have to head to the airport, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, I think it would be good for both of us if we made a quick pit-stop in a nearby hotel for rest and rejuvenation – strictly for health reasons, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘Well?’

‘No,’ Laura said firmly.

‘No?’

‘Stop pouting. I said no.’

‘But thirteen hours is such a long time. I know you, Laura. I’m not sure you can hold out that long without…’

‘Without what?’

‘You know what I mean, Laura. I’m only thinking of you.’

‘Your concern is touching.’

‘So?’

She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately. ‘Who needs a hotel room?’ she murmured in his ear. ‘I always wanted to try it in one of those little bathrooms…’

His eyes lit up. ‘You don’t mean…?’

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Right over the Pacific.’

‘God, I love this woman.’

‘Qantas flight 182 now asks all economy-class passengers to begin boarding.’

Laura stood and made her way to a pay phone, the happy memory melting down to a dull ache. She dialed the operator and charged the call to her credit-card number. The operator put the call through.

‘Heritage of Boston,’ a voice answered.

‘Richard Corsel, please,’ she said.

‘Hold on, please.’ She heard a ringing. Then another voice came on. ‘Mr Corsel’s office.’

‘This is Laura Baskin. I would like to speak with Mr Corsel please.’

There was a moment of hesitation. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Baskin. Mr Corsel is not in at the moment.’

‘I called earlier. I was assured he would be in by now.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Baskin. Would you like to leave a message?’

‘Yes. Please tell him it’s urgent that I speak with him. I’ll call him tomorrow at ten in the morning.’

‘Fine. I’ll give him the message.’

Eleanor Tansmore put the receiver down and turned toward Richard Corsel. His face was white.

Laura slowly hung up the phone. Something strange was going on again. Richard Corsel was ducking her. But why? She looked toward the long line of passengers boarding the Boeing 747. There were still a few minutes left before take-off. She quickly placed another call.

‘Hello?’

‘Serita?’

‘Laura, honey, where are you?’

‘Los Angeles airport. I have to board in a minute. I need you to do me a favor.’

‘Name it.’

‘Corsel is avoiding me. Could you go over there and see what he’s up to?’

‘What makes you think he’s avoiding you?’

‘I’m getting the run-around when I call. They claim he’s not in.’

‘So? Maybe he’s not.’

‘Not likely. I had him checked out by my office. He hasn’t missed a day in three years and he never works outside of the office.’

‘Laura, you’re sounding a bit paranoid. He contacted you, remember? Why would he be trying to avoid you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Laura admitted, ‘unless somebody… Serita, did you tell anybody about our visit to the bank?’

‘Why would you ask that?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe someone found out we were there and scared him off.’

Serita remained silent.

‘Did you tell someone, Serita?’

‘Laura…’

‘Tell me.’

‘I only told T.C.,’ Serita said. ‘And I did that for your own good. You’re scaring me with all this murder talk. I’m afraid you might be getting into something over your head.’

‘Final call for Qantas flight 182…’

‘Is he the only person you told?’

‘The only one. I swear. But call him, Laura. Please.’

‘Does he know I’m going to Australia?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t tell him. Whatever you do, don’t tell him.’

‘You don’t think T.C. has something to do with all of this? He loved David.’

‘Just don’t tell him where I am,’ Laura repeated. ‘I have to go now. I’ll call you soon.’

Before Serita could protest, Laura hung up and boarded the plane.

Mark Seidman stared at T.C. wild-eyed. ‘You did what?’

‘I had no choice,’ T.C. replied.

‘Had no choice? I thought you said no one else would get hurt.’

‘I didn’t hurt him. I just scared him.’

‘You threatened his children, for chrissake.’

‘Look, Mark, Corsel was your responsibility. You said he’d back us.’

‘I misjudged him.’

‘And in doing so, you risked everything. First he caved in and told Laura the money had been moved to Switzerland. Now he’s told her that the transfer was made after Baskin’s death.’

‘But that’s all he knows,’ Mark countered. ‘He can’t tell her anything else.’

T.C. shook his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Corsel is a bright guy. He’s moved up the company ladder rather swiftly. He promised Laura he’d check into it. He feels responsible.’

Mark Seidman began to pace, his fingers toying with his blond locks. ‘There had to be another way. Christ, you threatened him at knifepoint.’

‘I don’t like it any better than you do,’ T.C. snapped, ‘but I had to stop him. Suppose he kept digging, Mark? Suppose he found out what happened to Baskin’s money? The whole plan could be jeopardized.’

‘But to threaten his kids…’

‘Time was short. It was all I could think of. And even threatening his family wasn’t enough.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Corsel already told Laura that Baskin called the bank hours after the drowning supposedly took place. Now there is no way Laura will quit searching until she finds a satisfactory way to explain that.’

Mark turned away from T.C. and looked out a window. ‘There’s something else I don’t understand, T.C.’

‘What?’

‘How come Laura hasn’t come to you for help in all this?’

T.C. shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That’s another part of our plan that has gone astray. I’m not sure she completely trusts me anymore.’

‘But she can’t suspect you have anything to do with the drown – ’

‘Maybe she does,’ T.C. interrupted. ‘Maybe she does.’

Richard Corsel sat in his office. He stared at the two pens jutting up from the marble holder on his desk. He had been doing that for most of the day. Try as he might, concentration would not come to him for even the briefest of moments.

Lack of sleep, he thought. The previous night had seemed endless. He wandered through his house, went downstairs and finished off the Shop-Rite All Natural Vanilla Ice Cream, reread the newspaper. He walked back up the stairs and quietly opened the twins’ door. Roger and Peter were both asleep, their breathing steady and deep. Richard tiptoed over to Peter’s bed. Peter still had his Red Sox cap on his head. Richard had bought the twins Red Sox caps when they went to Fenway Park last month to watch the Sox play the Detroit Tigers. What a day that had been. Peter almost caught a fly ball; Roger had eaten so many hot dogs he came home with a stomach ache. Corsel smiled at his sleeping children. He gently took the hat off of Peter’s sleeping head and laid it on the night table, next to the Garfield the Cat lamp.

He took a Sominex, counted sheep, even read boring bank newsletters. Nothing worked.

‘Mr Corsel?’ his intercom shrieked.

‘Yes, Eleanor.’

‘There’s a call for you on line four.’

‘I’m not taking any calls.’

‘It’s a Mr Phillipe Gaillaird from the Bank of Geneva. He said it’s urgent.’

‘Tell him I’m not here.’

‘But – ’

‘Just tell him I’ll call him back,’ he said firmly.

There was a moment of silence. ‘Yes, Mr Corsel.’

Richard leaned forward and lowered his face into his hands. He stood and crossed the room. He moved down the hallway and into the executive lavatory. The door swung onto an empty and silent bathroom. He walked over to the mirror and splashed cold water onto his face.

Richard realized that he would have to call Phillipe back. If not, Phillipe would keep calling the bank and that was no good. The psycho with the knife would not like that. No, Richard would have to reach Phillipe and tell him to forget the whole thing, to forget about tracing the Baskin account. The question was how. The psycho with the knife was clearly a pro with powerful connections. If he had learned all those things about Richard’s family and his conversation with Laura Baskin, he might also have placed a bug on Richard’s phone. The psycho might even have someone tailing him. And if the psycho gets the wrong idea and thinks that Richard is still trying to trace David Baskin’s account…

He let the thought hang in the air.

Richard had considered the possibility of calling the police or going to his superiors, but what could he say? His superiors would want to know why he had passed confidential information on to Laura in the first place; the police would be powerless in protecting his family from the well-connected psychopath who knew all about Naomi’s new job and about Roger and Peter’s school. But Richard also knew that as long as that guy was out there, the danger to his family would continue to exist. And what about Laura Baskin? Could he just turn his back on her without even giving her a hint about what kind of people she was up against? True, he had only met her twice, but he was convinced she would not give up easily on all this. Laura Baskin would push and push until…

He decided to let that thought hang in the air too.

What the hell should he do?

He went back to his office, grabbed his briefcase and went up to one of the bank clerks. He handed the young girl a twenty-dollar bill.

‘I need change. All quarters.’

‘All quarters?’ the clerk repeated. ‘Why?’

‘I’m taking a long drive on a toll-infested road,’ he said wearily. ‘Just let me have them, please.’

With a shrug, the clerk counted out the quarters. ‘There you go. Eighty quarters.’

He put them in his briefcase and headed outside. He grabbed a taxi, took a subway, changed trains and lines three times, and ended up near the Bunker Hill Monument. He found a telephone booth. No way he could have been followed and no way the call could be traced – not when you used quarters from a telephone booth.

He placed the first group of quarters in the slot. Then he dialed Phillipe Gaillaird’s private line at the Bank of Geneva in Switzerland.

‘Gaillaird,’ Phillipe answered.

‘Phillipe? It’s Richard.’

‘How are you, my friend?’ the accented voice asked. Gaillaird had been born in Paris but had lived in Geneva since he was seven. Two years ago, Phillipe Gaillaird had made a mistake transferring funds to the wrong bank in the United States. A big, multi-million-dollar mistake. The kind of mistake that could ruin a Swiss bank. Richard had traced the money down and gotten it back for him. Phillipe Gaillaird owed Richard Corsel for that favor and he was anxious to repay. Gaillaird did not fancy being in someone’s debt. ‘I tried to reach you earlier.’

‘I got the message.’

‘Where are you calling from, Richard? The connection is very poor.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Usually your bank lines are so clear.’

‘I’m not calling from the bank.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, I have some information for you.’

Richard closed his eyes. ‘Just forget it, Phillipe.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Forget I ever asked you about that account. I don’t need to know anymore.’

‘Are you sure, Richard?’ Gaillaird asked. ‘I have the name right here.’

‘Positive.’

Phillipe paused. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Just leave it alone.’

The Swiss banker’s voice grew serious. ‘You’re calling from a pay phone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Listen, Richard, I’ve been working for Swiss banks all my life. I don’t know what’s going on over there, but I have my suspicions. Someone has got to you. That’s okay. Don’t confirm or deny it. It’s none of my business and I don’t want to know. But let me give you a piece of advice. You’re at a phone booth. No one is going to know what is being said. You might as well find out who has the money from the Baskin account. If you never use the information, no one will be the wiser. If the tables turn, knowing the truth may save your hide.’

Richard’s hand gripped the receiver tightly. His eyes darted madly. What Phillipe said made sense. ‘Okay. Give me the name. But after this call, I don’t think we should talk again.’

‘I understand,’ Phillipe said.

Laura handed the Australian official her quarantine form, located her luggage, and made her way through customs. She started to drag her suitcase toward the taxi stand when a large hand reached out and picked it up.

‘Sheriff Rowe,’ Laura exclaimed, ‘this is a pleasant surprise.’

Graham smiled through his beard. He lifted the suitcase as if it were a candy bar. ‘You called me, didn’t ya?’

‘Yes of course, but I didn’t expect you to pick me up.’

The mammoth sheriff shrugged and began to lead her toward his squad car. Laura noticed that everyone around her was wearing shorts. The heat was oppressive, even by the normal standards of tropical Cairns. But then Laura saw the beauty of the place: the bright sun, the trees that looked as if they had been freshly painted green, the pure blue ocean, the golden-sanded beach. Memories rolled over her heavily.

‘Slow day,’ Graham explained. ‘I had a choice of picking up a lovely young lady, or issuing fishing licenses to a bunch of hicks with no teeth. It wasn’t an easy choice, mind you. The missus preferred I stay with the hicks.’ He smiled again. ‘She’s seen your picture in the magazines.’

Laura returned the smile. ‘Thank you for coming.’

He put her suitcase in the trunk and opened the passenger door. ‘Where are you staying, Mrs Baskin?’

‘Laura,’ she corrected. ‘I’m staying at the Pacific International, Sheriff.’

‘Graham,’ he corrected back. ‘Now, Laura, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’

During their time off, most models cannot wait to trade in their exotic work wardrobe for a comfortable ripped pair of jeans and tattered sweatshirt. Serita was not one of them. She liked designer clothes – the more outlandish, the better. Right now, she was buttoning up a skin-tight white jumpsuit. When it came to clothes, white was her favorite. She liked the way it contrasted with her ebony skin tone, and judging by the reaction of most people who saw her, her preference was also theirs. On some women, Serita’a outfit might draw a few interested glances; on Serita, it drew mouth-dropping gapes.

And, of course, she loved that.

I should go into acting, Serita thought with a smile. I’m a big enough ham for it.

So she liked being noticed – what was wrong with that? The way the media played up her outgoing personality you’d have thought she started wars in the Middle East. Yes, she was brash, but so what? She never hurt anybody. She never bothered anybody. She was having fun and if they had a problem with that, if they were pissed off because she didn’t want to be quiet and subdued and pristine and boring, then fuck them.

She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door. Laura. Her headstrong friend. What the hell was she doing running halfway around the world? Laura could be so goddamn stubborn sometimes. She was searching, investigating, but for what? The truth? What good could that do? Suppose there had been some foul play. Suppose David’s death was not accidental. Would that really change things? Would that make Laura’s bed warm or bring David back to life? Would that make the agony searing through Laura somehow let up?

No.

Serita knew that Laura would not stop searching until she was satisfied that she knew all the answers. And Laura was not easily satisfied. And, more to the point, this had become an almost welcome distraction for Laura, a way of diverting herself from the pain of reality. But the reality was still there. The reality would come back with a vengeance. When all this was over, David would still be dead…

… and if the drowning was not an accident, so might Laura.

Serita had visited the Heritage of Boston Bank earlier this morning. Corsel was nowhere to be found. Now she was heading for a four o’clock shoot by Quincy Market for a jeans company. She grabbed her coat off the hook, reached for the knob and opened the door.

‘Hi, Serita.’

Serita jumped back, startled. ‘T.C., you scared the hell out of me.’

‘Sorry,’ T.C. said. ‘I guess I should have called first.’

‘That’s okay,’ Serita replied. ‘Something I can do for you?’

T.C. bit off the end of his cigar. He put the Dutch Masters in his mouth but did not light it right away. ‘I was looking for Laura. Do you know where she is?’

Serita shrugged. ‘She’s not at Svengali?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘I spoke to her secretary… what’s her name again?’

‘Estelle.’

‘Right, Estelle. I spoke to Estelle. She told me Laura is out of the city for a few days. She said Laura is on some kind of sales trip.’

‘And she didn’t tell you where?’

‘She claims she didn’t know. Maybe Canada. She said it was a big fashion secret or something.’ T.C. took out his lighter and flicked it on. He placed it on the end of the cigar. The flame rose and fell in rhythm to his puffing for a few moments until the end of the cigar lit. ‘I was hoping you could tell me where she went. I’m worried about her, Serita.’

‘Worried? Why?’

T.C. took a deep breath. ‘You know how you told me she’s suspicious about David’s death being a simple accident?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And how she even thought that I suspected the same thing?’

‘Right.’

‘Well,’ T.C. said, ‘she was right. I do suspect the same thing.’

Serita’s eyes widened. ‘You mean – ’

‘I mean that there is a very good chance that David’s drowning was not accidental.’

Serita felt her body spasm. She moved back into the house and beckoned T.C. to follow. He closed the door and they both sat down. ‘He was murdered?’

‘May have been murdered,’ T.C. corrected, ‘or something else. We’re talking theory here, remember?’

‘What do you think happened?’

He scratched his neck and then looked forward. ‘I don’t know exactly. It could be that a few bad boys discovered they could get their hands on David’s loot by knocking him off.’

‘Do you have any idea who?’

‘None. But whoever it was is well-connected and powerful. No amateur could pull this off. We’re talking about some very nasty people here, people who wouldn’t mind killing somebody who snoops around in their business. That’s why I want to find Laura.’

‘You think she’s in danger?’

‘Think?’ he repeated. ‘Serita, this is Laura we’re talking about. She’s not a trained detective and let’s face it, subtlety is not her strong suit. She’s going to go busting around like a bull in a china shop. Very nasty people don’t like that. Very nasty people have a way of making people like Laura disappear without a trace.’

Serita stood. ‘I need a drink. You want something?’

‘No.’

She grabbed the bottle of vodka she kept in the freezer and poured herself a shot.

‘Serita,’ T.C. began, his words coming slowly, ‘did Laura say anything to you that might give us a clue to where she went?’

Tears worked their way into Serita’s eyes, but she forced them back down. She was scared, but she had made a promise to Laura and, come hell or high water, Serita would stick to it. Besides, T.C. had raised a few interesting points. If David had been murdered, the killer was indeed well connected. He or she had learned David’s confidential bank number and where David and Laura were honeymooning. He or she had the capability of pulling off a murder and executing a complicated money transfer through Switzerland. Not too many people fit that description. Not too many people could pull off such a crime. Serita only knew one person who could do it. Right now, that person was sitting in her living room wanting to know where Laura was.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not a word.’

Laura told Graham Rowe the whole story. She started with the house being broken into, the open calendar on the desk, the missing photograph, the missing money, Richard Corsel, the money transfer to Switzerland – everything. By the time she finished, they were settled into the plush chairs in the sitting room of her suite at the Pacific International Hotel.

Graham began to pace back and forth, his head nodding as he listened to her words. He petted his beard with his hand. ‘That’s certainly a strange story, Laura.’

‘I know.’

‘Very strange,’ he repeated, as though clarifying the notion in his own mind. ‘You say that nobody knew David’s bank number except the two of you?’

‘Right.’

Graham peered at her. ‘That would make you a pretty good suspect, wouldn’t it?’

‘No,’ Laura said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m the wife. I would have inherited everything anyway. There would have been no reason for me to go through the whole money-transfer scheme.’

He nodded at her. ‘I didn’t mean – ’

‘Please don’t apologize,’ she interrupted him. ‘We have to explore every possible avenue. We might as well get rid of that one first.’

‘True enough,’ he replied. ‘Now let me make another observation which you may find a tad more insightful than my first: you suspect your husband’s mate T.C. may have something to do with this.’

Laura stood. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Simple,’ Graham said. ‘If you still trusted him completely, he’d be here with you. He was the first one you called when David disappeared. By your own definition, he’s a good cop who was David’s best mate. So why isn’t he here investigating all of this?’

Laura glanced out the window. Down the block stood the Peterson building. Why had she gone to that damn meeting with the Petersons anyway? Why hadn’t she just stayed with David? ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve always trusted T.C. and so did David. They were very close. I can’t believe he would do anything to hurt David. He loved him. And yet…’

‘Yet?’

‘He’s been acting so weird lately.’

‘In what way?’

‘There’s been a lot of things. He keeps disappearing all the time. He tried to stop me from putting pressure on Corsel at the bank. He shoves away all the strange happenings as coincidence. And that’s not like the T.C. I know. The T.C. I know would go through hell to trace down any clue, especially if it involved David.’

‘So then he doesn’t know you’re here?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

Graham sat back down. ‘Well then, what do you say we get this investigation started?’

‘What should we do first?’

‘Do you have a photograph of David?’

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a photo of him she took last February. David’s cheeks were red from the wind, his breath visible in the bitter winter morning. But his smile flashed brightly through the harsh weather. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

‘The call to the bank came from this hotel, right?’ he said.

‘So?’

‘So,’ Graham answered, ‘we’re in the hotel already. Let’s see if any of the staff remember seeing David.’

They spent the next several hours interviewing the staff. Most were not even on duty on that fateful day in June; others did not recognize the man in the photograph.

‘Now what?’ Laura asked.

Graham thought a moment. ‘Let’s go to the bar on the second floor.’

‘You think the bartender might have seen him?’

‘Very doubtful,’ the sheriff replied. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of having a drink. Man is not a camel, you know.’

She followed him up the stairs. They sat on stools and waited for the barmaid to serve them. Laura looked at the woman behind the bar. She was young, not more than twenty-three or twenty-four. Very attractive in an Ivory Soap girl sort of way. Outdoorsy-looking. Well-toned body and long, auburn hair. The color of her hair reminded Laura of her aunt Judy.

‘What can I get ya?’ she asked Graham.

‘A couple of Four Xs.’

‘Coming right up.’

Laura nudged Graham. ‘Four X?’

‘It’s a local beer. You like beer, don’t you?’

She nodded. ‘What do we do next, Graham?’

‘Not sure yet. If no one recognizes him then it could be your banker Corsel was right. Someone disguised David’s voice and called from here. The question is, who?’

The pretty bartender came back with two huge mugs filled with Four X beer, the foam spilling over the sides. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thanks, luv.’ Graham took a sip. ‘Mind if I ask you a question?’

‘Not at all,’ the bartender said. ‘What can I do for you?’

Graham tossed the photograph toward her. ‘Have you ever seen this man? He may have been in the hotel sometime in June.’

‘June, you say? No, can’t say I recognize him. Has he done something wrong? He’s awful handsome for a criminal.’

Graham took back the picture. ‘No, nothing wrong. We just need to know if he was in the hotel.’

‘Handsome man,’ she repeated. ‘What’s his name?’

‘David Baskin.’

‘The basketball player who drowned up the coast?’

Graham nodded. ‘This is his widow, Laura.’

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am. Really I am.’

‘Thank you,’ Laura said.

‘But if you have any questions about him being here you oughta ask my Billy.’

‘Who is Billy?’ Graham asked.

‘My beau. He’s a big fan of American basketball. He watches it on the telly every week and once he starts watching, a crocodile gnawing at his leg can’t get his attention.’

‘And he saw Mr Baskin?’

‘That’s what he said,’ the bartender continued. ‘I didn’t believe him at first. I mean, what would a basketball star be doing here? I said, “Billy, you’re just making it up.” So he says, “Oh, yeah,” and hands me an autograph he got. Then I believed him.’

‘Where is Billy now?’

The bartender checked the clock behind her. ‘Should be arriving any minute now. He’s a bellboy. You should be able to find him in the front lobby. Tall, skinny guy.’

Laura had already tossed money on the bar and was walking out of the bar when Graham thanked the girl and joined her.

‘Billy?’

The tall, gangly youngster spun toward Graham’s voice. He was as skinny as a poster child and Laura wondered where he found the strength to lug suitcases. He was an average-looking boy, red-faced from the sun and covered with the last remnants of what must have been bad acne. ‘Yes?’

‘Billy, my name is Sheriff Rowe. I’d like to ask you a few questions.’

The boy’s eyes darted about the lobby. ‘Have I done something wrong, Sheriff?’

‘No, son. I just need to ask you a few questions about David Baskin.’

‘David Baskin? What can I…? Wait a minute. You’re Laura Ayars, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘You’re even prettier in person than on the telly. I know all about you. I was your husband’s biggest fan – well, his biggest fan in Australia anyway.’

‘Billy,’ Graham said, ‘did you see Mr Baskin in this hotel?’

‘Sure did.’

‘When?’

‘On the day he died. He came right through these doors.’

‘You’re sure?’

Billy nodded. ‘I got his autograph to prove it. He was a very nice fellow. I saw him come in and head straight for the elevator. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, the David Baskin right here in this hotel. I play a little basketball myself but there was no one like White Lightning. Nobody. He was the greatest. So I sprinted over to the reception desk and grabbed a pen and piece of paper and asked him for his autograph. He said, “Sure, kid. What’s your name?” I told him and then he signed it for me. He even scribbled the date.’

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 has 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 at 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 College would call it a ‘Just F- – -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 ago. He was around fifty, divorced seven years with three grown children. He was short with a heavy beard, dark brown eyes and 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 sea shell. 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- – -ed 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 chord twisted around her hand, 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 even-handed 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.’

‘Goodbye, 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.