Harlan Coben - Play Dead

Damn.

He checked his watch. Nearly seven thirty. Even if he did reach her parents, Boston was a good five hours from here – maybe more in this weather. He thumbed through Laura’s book and found her father’s office number. Bingo, he was a doctor. There was a decent chance that Dr James Ayars was still in his office at Boston Memorial Hospital. Worth a try anyway.

Eric dialed the number. On the second ring, a receptionist picked up. ‘Doctor’s office.’

‘May I speak with Dr James Ayars please?’

‘Whom shall I say is calling?’

‘My name is Dr Eric Clarich. This is something of an emergency.’

‘Please hold.’

A minute later, the phone was picked up. ‘James Ayars here. Can I help you?’

‘Dr Ayars, this is Dr Clarich at St Catherine’s in Hamilton, New York.’

‘Yes?’

‘I have some rather bad news.’

The voice remained steady, authoritative. ‘I’m listening.’

‘There has been a fire at your sister-in-law’s home. Your daughter has been injured – ’

‘Injured?’ he shouted. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She is going to be fine, Dr Ayars. She has a few burns and is being treated for smoke inhalation. Your sister-in-law was not so lucky. I’m sorry to tell you that Judy Simmons is dead.’

Thick, heavy silence. ‘Dead?’ he asked softly. ‘Judy?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I’ll… I’ll charter a plane. I’ll call my wife at home and – ’

‘I just tried your home number, Doctor. There was no answer.’

Again, there was silence. When James spoke again, his voice was without tone. ‘Are you sure?’

‘The answering machine was on.’

‘Sweet Jesus.’

‘Dr Ayars?’

‘I’ll be up as soon as I can, Dr Clarich. Please let my daughter know that I’m on my way.’

James hung up the phone with a quivering hand. His leg was shaking up and down in the same manner that his daughter had inherited.

Laura was injured. Judy was dead.

He picked up the receiver and called home. The first ring blared through the receiver.

Please answer, Mary. Please be home.

But after the fourth ring, the answering machine once again picked up. James closed his eyes, waiting impatiently for the beep. When it came, he spoke in a calm, collected voice.

‘Mary, there has been a fire at Judy’s place. Laura has been hurt, but she is going to be fine. I’m flying up there right away. Do the same when you get in. She is at St Catherine’s Hospital in Hamilton.’

No reason to tell her about Judy’s death right now, he decided. It would just make her panic. James hung up the phone. Something was very wrong here. Mary was almost always home by this time, and on the rare occasions when she was going to be late she left him a message so he wouldn’t worry. But not today. For the first time that James could remember, his wife had forgotten to leave him a message.

She could just be in the shower. She could have stepped out to buy a few groceries or pick up something at the pharmacy. That might be all there was to it.

James wanted to believe that, really wanted to convince himself that Mary was just around the corner or on her way from the store or at the beauty parlor or in…

Hamilton, New York…

James felt his knees give way. Oh God, no. Please tell me no.

Maybe Mary paid her sister a little visit, had a friendly chat, yes a nice, friendly, cozy little chat…

Could Judy have been so foolish? Could she have said something to Mary? James was certain the answer was no. Judy would never tell Mary what she suspected, never tell anyone until she was certain it was true.

Then what was Laura doing up there, James? Just a casual visit to Colgate’s campus? Seems like too much of a coincidence to me.

His face coiled in fear. Hamilton was a good five hours drive from Boston. By the time a plane was chartered and flew through this weather it would still be a few hours. But time was critical now. He had to get to the hospital as soon as possible, had to protect his daughter before the entire world fell around her.

If something bad happens to Laura, oh God if something bad happens to my baby girl…

James Ayars decided not to finish his thought.

Laura’s eyelids felt like dead weights. She wrestled with them until they finally fluttered open. A light shone in her eyes, making it impossible to see anything but the bursting brightness of white. Mercifully, the light was pushed away and gradually, Laura’s vision came into focus. She glanced around the clean room, the sterile smells chilling her. Almost immediately she realized where she was.

‘Mrs Baskin?’

Her tongue seemed stuck to the bottom of her mouth. ‘Yes?’

‘My name is Dr Eric Clarich,’ the man standing above her said. ‘You are at St Catherine’s Hospital in Hamilton, New York. Do you remember what happened to you?’

Laura’s line of vision zeroed in on the young doctor’s unshaven face. His bloodshot, brown eyes looked down at her with a concern and maturity beyond his years. ‘Fire,’ she managed.

‘Yes, there was a fire,’ Eric said. ‘You suffered a few minor burns, but you are going to be fine.’

Laura uttered one word: ‘Judy?’

As the doctor lowered his eyes, Laura felt her stomach drop. Dread rushed through her entire body.

‘She died,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry. I was very fond of your aunt. She and I were good friends.’

Laura’s head collapsed back. She looked straight into the air, her eyes blinking spasmodically. Aunt Judy was dead, killed in the fire. Laura tried to recall her last moments with her aunt, the desperate look in Judy’s eyes as the blaze crept closer and closer. She remembered tripping over something, banging her head, reaching out to Judy, and then… blackness.

‘How was I rescued?’ she asked.

The doctor half smiled. ‘That is a bit of a mystery. A man pulled both of you out of the fire. For Professor Simmons, unfortunately, it was too late.’

‘But who was the man?’

‘We don’t know,’ Eric answered. ‘He called the emergency room and then vanished.’

‘Vanished?’

‘I found it rather strange myself.’

Laura tried to concentrate through the grief. The fire was no accident, she was sure of it. Someone had set the fire. Someone had knocked poor Judy unconscious and doused her study with some sort of flammable liquid. Someone had set the fire with the intention of killing Laura’s aunt. But who?

David’s murderer.

Laura’s head nodded at the thought. David’s murderer had done this. Somehow, Judy had learned the truth behind David’s demise and had paid for it with her life. But why a fire, especially when a simple investigation would prove it was arson? Why not simply use a gun or a knife? Why go to the trouble of burning down Judy’s house if you just wanted to keep her silent…?

Not the house. The study.

Laura felt a coldness wrap itself around her spine. The study. The fire had taken place in the study.

‘I spoke to your father,’ Eric Glarich said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘He is on his way. He should be here in a couple more hours.’

‘Thank you, Doctor. When can I get out of here?’ Eric smiled and picked up a clipboard. ‘We’ll talk about that a little later, okay? Why don’t you get some rest now?’

Laura closed her eyes though she knew sleep would not come. She felt scared and so very alone – a helpless amateur against ruthless killers and arsonists. What chance did she have? None really. And what was she supposed to do next? Judy was dead, silenced before she had the chance to tell Laura what was going on. What had Judy learned that had cost her her life? What had Judy wanted to tell Laura that…?