Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘Knock it off.’

‘Okay, but I’ve never seen you so uptight. It’s not good for you, Laura. I’m just trying to keep you loose.’

‘Serita?’

‘What?’

‘Am I crazy? I mean, all this conspiracy and murder stuff.’

Serita shrugged. ‘Probably.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Look, Laura, you’re not going to put this behind you until you figure out exactly what the hell happened. So go for it. Leave no stone unturned. If there’s something weird going on, you’ll find it. If not, you’ll find that out too.’

Eleanor Tansmore came over. ‘Mr Corsel will see you now.’

Laura rose. ‘You coming?’

‘Nah,’ Serita answered with a smile, ‘I’ll wait here with my buddy Mrs T. Tear him apart on your own.’

‘You’re a good friend,’ Laura said. She turned and headed down the hallway.

When Laura disappeared into Corsel’s office, the smile vanished from Serita’s face. She blinked away a tear. ‘The best,’ she whispered to herself.

Dr James Ayars faced his wife of thirty-three years. His mind flashed back to the first time they met. He had been an intern in Chicago, working a hundred hours a week when it was slow. At the time, he had been dating a bright student from the University of Chicago named Judy Simmons. Pretty little Judy Simmons. Nice girl. Auburn hair. Fine figure. Fun to be with. Young Dr Ayars had been very taken with Judy Simmons.

Until he met her younger sister Mary.

The first time Judy introduced him to Mary he felt a gurgling in the pit of his stomach. He had never seen such a beautiful creature in his life, never imagined such beauty existed. Mary Simmons smiled at him on that day, casting her powerful spell of sensuality upon him. The spell left him writhing and helpless in her presence. His eyes burned with unquenchable desire whenever he saw her. He knew that he would have to make her his wife. No matter what, he had to have her, possess her, cherish her…

The obsession had frightened him.

Of course it had not been that easy. There was Judy to consider, but sweet, kind Judy had understood. She stepped out of the way and wished them both the best of luck.

Now, some thirty-four years later, Mary was still ravishing. There were still times when James’s stomach gurgled when he beheld her awesome beauty. Their marriage had had its share of problems (what marriage didn’t?) but overall, James would say it had been excellent. They had raised two wonderful children. Life had been good…

… except…

‘What’s going on?’ James asked his wife.

‘Going on?’ Mary repeated.

‘You know what I mean. First you didn’t approve of David. Now you don’t approve of his brother. Why?’

Mary swallowed. ‘I… I’m not really sure. I just don’t trust that family.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t really know, James.’

‘Mary, you’ve always been a good mother. I’ve always been very proud of the way you’ve handled our daughters. Do you remember when Gloria was having all her problems and I swore I would never let her back in this house again?’

Mary nodded.

‘Well, I was wrong,’ James said. ‘And you knew it. But you knew fighting me on the subject would be worthless. So instead, you showered me with kind words. You made me understand that no matter what Gloria had done, she was still our daughter. Do you remember?’

Again, Mary nodded.

‘Now I think it’s my turn,’ he continued. ‘I think you should seriously look at the consequences of what you are doing. Look at what happened when you rejected David – ’

‘What?’ Mary interrupted loudly. ‘You’re not blaming me, too?’

‘Laura doesn’t blame you,’ he assured her gently, ‘and neither do I. Laura is in pain right now. She lashes out and says things she doesn’t mean.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she insisted. ‘I was doing what I thought right.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked. ‘What did you have against David?’

‘I was just doing what I thought was best.’

‘Best for whom?’ James asked.

She turned back to him, her eyes blazing defiantly. ‘For Laura.’

‘And is the same true with Gloria and Stan? Are you doing what’s best for Gloria?’

Mary closed her eyes tightly and leaned back. Thoughts flew aimlessly through her mind. She tried hard to concentrate but it was so difficult.

James was so wise sometimes, she thought. He was right, of course. This time, her words had not been said in the hopes of protecting her daughter. This time, she had put herself first. And that was wrong. Her daughters must always come first. Always.

Fear crawled around Mary’s shoulders. Calm down, she told herself. After all, what harm could Stan Baskin cause her and her family now?

The answer made her shiver.

A nervous smile danced about Richard Corsel’s face as he stood to greet Laura. His thin hair needed combing. His face needed a shave. He was hardly the neat and proper bank vice president Laura had encountered in the past.

‘Mrs Baskin,’ he said, his smile stretching for a moment before returning to its original state, ‘it’s a pleasure to see you again.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Please have a seat,’ he continued. ‘How are you feeling on this fine day?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good, good.’ He looked around liked a caged animal searching for an opening. ‘Can I get you something? Coffee?’

‘No, thank you. Mr Corsel, you said on the phone you have something urgent to tell me.’

His smile collapsed as if from exhaustion. ‘I do – or at least I might.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Neither do I, Mrs Baskin. Neither do I.’

‘What do you mean?’

Corsel picked up a pen and then put it back down. ‘I mean I looked through your husband’s records again. Something might be wrong.’

‘Wrong?’

‘Might be wrong,’ Richard Corsel corrected. He opened his desk drawer and took out a file. ‘May I ask you a question, Mrs Baskin?’

Laura nodded.

Corsel leaned back in his chair. His gaze rested on the ceiling and stayed there. ‘According to the newspapers, your husband went swimming on June 14 and drowned sometime that day between the hours of four and seven o’clock in the evening Australian time. Is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded, his eyes still on the ceiling. ‘There is a fifteen-hour time difference between here and Australia – we’re fifteen hours behind them. That would mean Mr Baskin died sometime on June 14 between one a.m. and four a.m. Boston time.’

‘Right.’

Corsel sat forward, but he still could not look at her. ‘His call to me came on June 14 at eight thirty in the morning. That’s nearly midnight in Australia, and at least five hours after he drowned.’

Cold fear seeped into Laura.

‘Here,’ Corsel continued, tossing the file at Laura. ‘Read it. According to this, Mr Baskin called me several hours after his drowning.’

‘Are you sure about the time? Could you have made a mistake?’

He shook his head. ‘Not possible. Even though I recognized your husband’s voice and he said the access code number, I insisted on verification due to the magnitude of the transaction.’

‘What do you mean, verification?’

He swallowed. ‘I asked him to give me the phone number of where he was so that I could call him back. A woman with an Aussie accent answered and transferred my call. The number is written there. There is also a copy of the phone bill which reconfirms the time.’

Laura skimmed through the file until she saw a phone number: 011-61-70-517-999. Then she saw the time of the call. Her heart fell deep into her stomach. How…? The call had been placed at 8:47 a.m. on June 14. Thirteen minutes before midnight in Australia. Several hours after David had drowned.