Play Dead

30

The bitter cold slit through the night like a sharpened razor, but Mark did not really notice. He stood in the present yet his mind was somewhere in the past, untouched by the icy surroundings and frosty blasts. He flashed back to June 17, to their honeymoon in Australia. He smiled sadly. How perfect life had been on that day.

And how quickly it had changed.

He could still hear the phone ringing in their suite, could still remember picking it up, could still remember the panic in Mary’s voice.

‘I have to see you, David. I have to speak to you right away.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in Cairns. The Pacific International Hotel. Room 607. Come right away.’

More confused than frightened he agreed to go. He left a fun note for Laura with the receptionist, walked down the dirt path to the main road, hailed a cab (the only car on the road) and headed into the city of Cairns.

He stood by the Charles River now, half a globe and a full lifetime away from the warmth and joy of his honeymoon bliss. Had he known back then what was about to happen to him? Had Mary given him any clue? No, not really. There was just a slight trembling in his heart, a faint stab of fear in his chest. But David had no way of knowing that the taxi was taking him from Heaven to Hades, that he was heading into an emotional ambush without a single weapon of defense. The familiar pain rushed through him as he remembered hearing the awful truth.

‘I don’t care if it’s a sin. I love your daughter.’

‘You can’t mean that. Laura is not just my daughter, David. She’s your sister. Think about her for a moment. She’s always wanted to have children, a family. You can’t give her those things.’

Because of his father. Damn him, that callous son of a bitch. David had been an infant when Sinclair Baskin killed himself. He did not remember his father at all, not even a blurry image of what he might have been like. He had spent much of his childhood wondering what sort of man his father had been, what had driven him to kill himself, what kind of a man could pull a trigger and leave his wife and two small children to fend for themselves. Now maybe he knew.

Sinclair Baskin. His father. He had been dead for as long as Mark could remember and yet he had managed to reach from beyond the grave and crush everything that mattered to his youngest son. His father had created Laura, and he had taken her away from him. Life’s cruel ironies.

‘Then I’ll tell her the truth.’

‘No! Please, David, I beg you. If you say something, Laura will lose a father she loves dearly and never forgive me for what I’ve done. In the end, she may be left with none of us. You have to think of what’s best for her.’

‘Then what am I supposed to do?’

‘Break it off. End it. If you love her, let her go. She will be hurt at first. Devastated even. But you’ll be surprised how resilient the heart is.’

But even then, David had known that he could not just hurt her and walk away. He would never be able to tell Laura that he no longer loved her, that his love for her had died. His heart wanted so much to ignore the frightening reality of his situation, to deafen his ears to everything he had heard. But he also knew that Mary’s words were true. What choice did he have? All their dreams of a family and life together had been trampled to death by the heavy boot of past sins. They could no longer stay together. Telling Laura the truth would not change that fact. It would only hurt her father and tear her away from her family. He would have to leave her. He would have to turn his back on the only thing in life that truly meant anything to him.

But how could he do it? How could he tell Laura that his love for her had withered away and died? How could he say that the love they shared had been a lie after Laura had risked everything and given him all that she had?

Better, he decided then, to have love ripped away from you than to think it had never been more than a deception. Better to have lost love in a tragedy than to be told it had never really been.

A plan began to form in his mind.

Completely numb, David walked out of room 607, took an elevator to the lobby, and called T. C.

‘She’ll call you first.’

‘What about her father?’ T.C. asked. ‘Or her sister?’

‘She won’t want to worry them yet. She’ll figure you’ll know what to do.’

‘Okay. Now call your bank as soon as we hang up. Then stay hidden till I get there. I’ll take care of the rest.’

David Baskin died that day. And Mark Seidman was born.

Back in the present, Mark turned away from the Charles River and headed up the embankment. His face was red from the cold, his breath coming in frigid gusts.

It was time to go home.

Estelle stepped through the door. She had moved the contents of the safety deposit box into a large manila envelope during the flight home and now she handed them to Laura.

‘The key opened your aunt’s safety deposit box at the First National Bank in Hamilton,’ she told her.

‘Thanks, Estelle.’

‘No problem, boss. You need me for anything else?’

Laura shook her head. ‘I’ll see you on Monday. Thanks again.’

‘Bye.’

Laura closed the door and moved back toward the couch.

‘So what are we looking for?’ Gloria asked.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Laura admitted. ‘I guess it will have something to do with Sinclair Baskin. It may be nothing but more old photographs.’

‘Let’s get to it.’

‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

‘Positive.’

Laura took hold of the letter opener and slit the envelope at the belly. The contents fell to the cushions of the couch. She put down the opener and started to shuffle through the items.

‘What are all these things?’ Gloria asked.

‘Savings bonds. Mom has some too. Grandma left them to her.’

‘Laura, you don’t really think that Mom could have killed anybody, do you?’

‘I don’t know. I hope not. But then again, I never thought she would have an affair and deceive all of us.’

‘It’s all so crazy. What is going on? Why is everybody being killed?’

The diary was face down, but Laura knew what it was even before she turned it over. ‘That’s it.’

‘What?’

Laura picked it up.

Diary 1960.

Gloria inhaled sharply. ‘1960. Isn’t that the year they had the affair?’

Laura nodded. ‘This is what the murderer was trying to destroy in the fire. Judy kept all her diaries behind her desk in the study. The blaze destroyed them all.’

‘Except this one.’

‘Right.’

Laura held the old volume in her hands. She opened it up and recognized Judy’s handwriting. It had not changed much in thirty years. Some of the letters looped a little higher back then. The pen had a lighter touch against the paper. But there was no mistaking the penmanship.

Gloria moved closer. ‘Start reading, Laura.’

James grabbed an apple from the refrigerator. His wife was upstairs in bed, the lights out, her eyes open. None of them were going to get any sleep tonight, he thought. Words had been uttered that were best left unsaid. Secrets had been stirred that were best left to sleep.

He took a bite out of the apple. James was compulsive when it came to health. He allowed no cookies in his house, no cakes, no ice cream. Sherbet was okay because he felt it improved digestion. Snacks consisted of raisins, nuts, rice cakes and a variety of fresh fruits. Apples were his favorite. McIntosh.

He sat alone in the kitchen with the light off. The lamp from the hallway provided enough illumination, casting giant shadows across the spacious white kitchen. James felt cold in his pajamas and robe, cold and alone. He had worked so hard to keep his family together, to provide for them and care for them. When had it all gone wrong? When had everything that mattered to him been leveled by deceit and lies?

He took another bite. He almost felt tears but quickly pushed them away. James Ayars did not cry. He was strong. He would remain strong and somehow save his family from the past. Thirty years ago, his wife had tried to deceive him. She had packed her lies into a snowball and let it roll down the slope, growing bigger and bigger with the years. Nothing had changed. Lies still ruled their lives. Tonight was a perfect example.

Mary. His achingly beautiful wife could charm him, seduce him, convince him to ignore or forget things that she had done. But when she lied to him, James always knew. He could always tell when she was trying to deceive him. Deep in his heart, he had known about Mary’s affair thirty years ago – even before he received oral confirmation. He had not known with whom or when or even how. But he knew.

He stood, tossed the apple core into the canister, and headed down the corridor to his study. Tonight, Mary had lied again. So had Laura. He had not interrupted a casual mother-and-daughter chat. No, their conversation went well beyond that. Laura learned something during her excursion to Chicago. When she arrived back in Boston, she immediately came here. She pressured her mother until Mary cracked.

How much had Mary told Laura?

James did not know. As little as possible, he was sure. But Mary had undoubtedly opened her mouth and let the past rush out. She had told Laura enough to threaten the very fabric of the family he so cherished.

Everything was going wrong now. The deceptions that held their lives together were coming unglued in front of his eyes. He had to do something to hold the pieces together before they blew away like tiny grains of sand.

But what? What could he do to save his family?

Whatever it takes, he thought. He reached his study and flicked on the light. His long overcoat hung on the tall brass rack Mary had given him on their anniversary last year. He loved that rack. It fit in perfectly with the polished oak bookshelves of medical textbooks, the antique globe, the Persian carpet. The study had always been the most important room in the house for James. This was where he did all his serious thinking, where he planned for life’s blows and the strategies he would use to fend them off.

He reached into the pocket of the overcoat. His hand withdrew a gun. He stared at the weapon for a moment, almost hypnotized by its power. He crossed the study, flicked off the light, and moved out the front door without looking behind him.

If he had, he may have noticed his wife standing in the shadows.

Hours passed. How many? Laura and Gloria could not say. The clock seemed to speed around like some cartoon prop. The sun started to rise. Laura kept on reading. Her eyes filled with tears. These words had been written by a Judy Simmons that Laura had never known. The author of this diary had been filled with such hope, such dreams, such youthful optimism. In many sections, Judy rambled randomly about a budding flower or a blue sky or her burning desire to be a novelist. She dreamed of living in Paris, of having a family, of spending summers in Cannes, of writing bestsellers.

Regret echoed through Laura’s heart. Judy had ended up doing none of those things. Somewhere along the way, her dreams were derailed and lost forever. When Laura reached February 16th, she learned how the derailment had begun:

February 16, 1960

I met the most handsome and charming man in the world today. He is a professor at Brinlen College and his name is Sinclair Baskin. Now I understand what books mean when they speak of unbridled passion, of heroines who would do anything to stay with their man…

Laura read parts out loud, skimmed through others. The relationship between Judy Simmons and Sinclair Baskin progressed rapidly. Judy soon learned that Sinclair Baskin was married with two children, but by then it was too late. As Judy herself admitted, love can make you more than blind; it can make you cruel and selfish. It could make you do things you never imagined:

February 24, 1960

I love him. I cannot help my feelings. Emotions are not water faucets that can be turned on and off or made warm and cold as I please. I know about his past. I know that I am not his first. But still I know that I am special to him. Most would dismiss me as terribly naive but I know the truth. I can see it in the way he looks at me…

Laura felt ensnared by Judy’s words. She was trapped in 1960 with no possible escape but to read on. Laura wanted to go back and warn Judy to stay away from Sinclair Baskin. She wanted to reach right through the pages and shake Judy to her senses.

March 18, 1960

I have never been so happy, never knew such happiness existed. Losing James has ended up being a blessing in disguise. Mary and James are happy and now I’m ecstatic! Could life be better? I doubt it. I am so filled with feelings of love that I am sure I will burst. I want to shout from the top of tall buildings, ‘I love you, Sinclair!’ He has started talking about divorce even though the idea of hurting his two sons is tearing him apart. Stan is only ten years old. David just a few months. But we are meant to be together and soon we will be. I must have patience…

More love notes followed. Pages and pages of sonnets that brought tears to Laura’s eyes. She read about the softball game where the photograph had been taken, about walks in the day and lovemaking in the night. The diary was like some bizarre novel whose characters were all too real. Laura watched Judy merrily skip down a path filled with hidden mines. She called out a warning, but Judy would not hear her. Right now it was March of 1960. Young Judy cared not for what was to come. The world was bright and sunny and no one could tell her otherwise. Laura wanted to lock her in, to somehow suspend her aunt’s memory in March of 1960. But the diary had to move on. When Laura turned the page, it was April. March of 1960 was gone forever.

April 3, 1960

We’re going to visit my family today. I don’t expect them to be thrilled for me. I doubt they will understand. But how can they deny the glow in my face? How can they be upset when they see how happy we are? They will have to accept us. They will want to accept us. Of course, my parents are going to be upset about his being married, but love conquers all, right? I’ll let you know how it goes when we get back.

Later. Something changed today, I don’t know what. Everything went well with my family – as well as could be expected. My parents were upset but managed to remain fairly polite. Mary got along very nicely with Sinclair as did James. In truth, my family reacted just as I suspected they would. So why this dark feeling inside? It’s Sinclair. He was different today. Oh, he still looked at me with love. He still kissed me good night and told me that he loved me. But something was… off. He was distracted, not completely there. Of course that’s understandable. Today was a stressful day for him too. But still, there was something wrong. Something in the air…

‘Listen to that something,’ Laura said out loud, calling through time itself to patch wounds that still bled. ‘Get away from him.’

‘She was young,’ Gloria said. ‘She was in love.’

‘He was a married man, Gloria.’

She smiled sadly. ‘If you had learned David was married, would it have changed anything?’

‘Of course it would – ’

‘Really? Be honest with yourself, Laura.’

Laura tried to push the allegation to the side and read on, but it remained there, swaying occasionally but never fully leaving.

April 17, 1960

My life is coming to an end. The sun no longer rises. The flowers no longer bloom. Something has taken away my Sinclair. More than that, something has begun to destroy him. I approached him today in the hopes he would confide in me. He has been acting strangely for two weeks now, ever since our visit to my parents’ house. I asked him what was wrong.

‘Nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘There are problems.’

‘Problems?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘I think we have to end this.’

My heart disintegrated then, right in his stuffy, book-congested office, right in front of the works of Keats and Browning and Shakespeare and Dante.

I think we have to end this.

Seven words. Seven words destroyed my life. I of all people should not be amazed by that. Words, I know, can be all-powerful tools. That is all well and good on an analytical front, but the heart is an object that knows merely emotion and feeling. First James was taken away from me and now I am losing Sinclair.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked stupidly.

Sinclair was very upset. He was chain-smoking. His hair was all over the place. He had not shaved in a week. His eyes were bloodshot. ‘It’s over,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t want you to come around here anymore. I have a wife, kids.’

‘That bastard,’ Laura said.

‘Keep reading.’

For the next month or so Judy delved into her depression. Nothing she tried could make her forget Sinclair Baskin. What could have changed him? Judy wondered. Could she have been so wrong about his feelings for her? Could Sinclair have been lying to her this whole time? She thought not. Young Judy kept blaming something else. Something ‘alien,’ she said, had twisted his perception. Eventually, Sinclair would see the light. She would just have to wait. Sinclair would come back to her if she remained patient. Judy settled into a comfortable unhappiness, secure in the knowledge that one day she and Sinclair would be together for all eternity. Love would, in the end, conquer all.

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.

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 seen 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 – ’

‘ – but,’ T.C. continued evenly, ‘if you just want to speak with Mark Seidman, he shoots baskets at the Boston Garden every morning from now until about eight a.m. He’s alone in there, if you need to talk to him.’

‘Does he use the same side entrance David used to use?’

T.C. nodded.

‘Thank you,’ James said and turned to leave. Perfect. No one would be in the Garden this early. James could sneak up on David, put the gun against his head (just like he had done with David’s father), and fire.

And at long last it would be over.

James jogged back to his car. His hands were in his pockets – one touching his car keys, the other touching the weapon he would use in his next (and last) murder.

Gloria chose not to read about May 30, 1960 right away. Judy’s journal was like a bad-tasting medicine that could only be swallowed in moderate doses – and May 29, 1960 had given her more than a mouthful.

She put down the diary, walked into the kitchen, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She glanced out the window. Laura too had a view of the Charles River. Gloria remembered how much Stan had loved to look at that river, how he cherished the time he spent just staring out from the balcony. He was such a simple man really, a simple man who had turned down a few wrong paths and could never find his way out of the thicket. Gloria had found him there. She had begun to lead Stan into the clearing when someone killed him.

Someone, nothing. Her father had done it.

How? she wondered. How could a man full of love be such a monster underneath? She did not know the answer. She was not sure she wanted to know. She sipped her coffee, sat back on the couch, picked up the diary and read about -

May 30, 1960.

Gloria’s eyes widened.

Blood…

Soon the words began to swim in front of her eyes. Her stomach contracted painfully. Images, horrible, terrible images -

Blood, there was so much blood… – jerked her mind back and forth. Gloria’s darkest nightmare was coming to life, chasing after her with -

blood…

with a lust for destruction. She had been so young at the time, just a little girl, and mercifully she had never remembered what had happened.

‘Mommy! Mommy!’

‘Get out of here, Gloria. Get out of here now!’

But that was about to change. Visions jolted her, stinging her nerves. All of a sudden, Gloria was a five-year-old child moving down that darkened hallway again, except this time she knew where she was heading: her parents’ bedroom. She was thirsty and wanted a drink of water. So she took Floppy Rabbit with her and began to trek down the hallway toward her mommy and daddy’s bedroom.

Gloria wanted to turn away from the diary, to close the book and never open it again. But her eyes were locked to the pages, moving over the words at a brisk, even pace. The words were opening a door that had been closed in her mind since childhood. Suddenly, little Gloria was in front of her parents’ bedroom door again. She stood up on her tippy-toes and stretched for the door knob. Floppy Rabbit was cocked under her elbow.

‘Get out of here, Gloria, Get out of here now!’

The knob turned in her hands. Soon, Gloria would see what was behind that door. She had spent her whole life forgetting this moment, but now the image was being forced upon her. Even when she closed her eyes she could still see the door swinging open.

She looked inside the room. And remembered. And screamed.

Gloria put down the diary. She was shaking. The words Judy had written about May 30 1960 revealed everything. It was all true. Every last word was true. Her father had killed Sinclair and Judy and Stan and…

… and what about David?

The doorman’s intercom buzzed again. Gloria walked over to the squawk box. She noticed on the kitchen clock that it was nearly seven in the morning. Who would be visiting them now?

‘Yes?’

‘There is a Richard Corsel down here to see Laura,’ the security guard said. ‘He says it’s urgent.’

Laura had just mentioned his name. He was the man at the Heritage of Boston Bank who’d transferred David’s money. ‘Send him up.’

As Gloria sat and waited, the reality of what she had just read sank into her brain like a concrete brick in quicksand. Her heart hammered away in her chest. The truth became apparent, and even more tragic than she could have ever dared imagine. She grabbed the diary off the couch, flipped forward in time, and read onward. Soon, her eyes found what she had already known to be true. The words on the page merely reconfirmed her darkest fear:

Her mother had been wrong. David and Laura were not brother and sister.