Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘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.’