Harlan Coben - Play Dead

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.’