Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘But…?’ Laura’s mouth fell open. She stared dumbstruck. ‘My God,’ she finally managed. ‘Does Stan know who did it?’

‘No. He didn’t recognize the killer. But he remembers the face…’

Laura fell back on the bed. Another piece of the puzzle had been handed to her and, once again, that piece did not seem to fit. Murdered. Sinclair Baskin. David. Judy. Something had happened thirty years ago, something horrible and evil, something that did not end with the passing of a decade or two. Judy’s haunting words came back to her, tearing at her heart with sharpened claws.

‘… There are things that you know nothing about. Things that happened many years ago… sometimes the past can overlap with the present. That was what happened with David…’

‘Serita?’

‘Yeah?’

There was only one way to find the answer to what happened so many years ago, to what happened to David. ‘Would you do me a favor?’

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t tell my folks or the doctor.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Can you get me a plane ticket to Chicago?’

Mark burst through the door. His breathing was uneven, his chest hitching from the mere effort.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ T.C. asked. ‘You’re a goddamn mess.’

‘Get me something to drink. A vodka, anything.’

‘You don’t drink.’

He collapsed into a chair. ‘I do now.’

T.C. grabbed two cans of Budweiser and tossed one to Mark. ‘It’s the best I can do. Jesus, Mark, your clothes are burned.’

Mark ripped open the can of beer and chugged half of it.

‘You want to tell me what happened?’

Mark stood, the can of beer nearly crushed by his grip. His words came fast, his pitch unsteady. ‘I got to Judy Simmons’s house at seven o’clock just like she said. I parked my car someplace off campus and walked about a mile before I spotted Judy’s house. Then…’

‘Then?’

He swallowed. ‘A taxi pulled up in front of the house. Laura got out of it.’

‘Oh shit.’

‘I ducked behind a tree. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Judy was up to. She must have figured – ’

‘ – that if she put you and Laura together,’ T.C. finished, ‘the sparks would really fly.’

Mark chuckled sadly.

‘What’s so funny?’ T.C. asked.

‘Nothing is funny,’ Mark answered. ‘Just ironic.’

‘Huh?’

‘You’ll see. Anyway, I’m hiding behind this tree, watching Laura…’ He stopped talking, his mind drifting back to the memory. Laura. His eyes had crawled over every inch of her with a yearning so great he was sure he would die. Just seeing her again, staring at her lovely face turned red from the cold, watching her walk up the path, made his stomach ache with a sense of loss.

‘Mark?’

‘Sorry,’ he said softly. He took a deep breath and continued. ‘Laura knocked on the door and waited. No one answered. She called Judy’s name. Still nothing. So she tried the lock and opened the door. She went into the house.’

‘What did you do?’

Mark looked away. ‘I just stood there frozen in place. I don’t know why. I should have just turned and left. But I couldn’t. I stared and stared – daydreaming, I guess – until I saw smoke.’

‘Smoke?’

‘A fire broke out.’

‘What?’

Mark nodded as if to reconfirm his own words. ‘The smoke started to billow out of the cracks in doors and windows. It couldn’t have happened more than five minutes after Laura entered.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I ran into the house. What a goddamn mess. It was unbelievable. Flames were crawling up the walls.’

‘Jesus.’

‘All I could think about was Laura. Laura is trapped somewhere in here, my mind kept repeating like a parakeet, trapped in the middle of this deadly blaze. Nothing else mattered. It was weird. The fire became nothing more than a diversion to me. I scrambled around desperately, hoping against hope that Laura was still alive.’

‘Don’t tell me – ’

Mark shook his head. ‘I found her and pulled her out. The fire hadn’t reached her yet. She was unconscious so I called 911 and stayed with her until I heard the sirens. I spoke to the hospital a little while later. She’ll be okay.’

‘Thank God.’

Mark swallowed hard. When he had lifted Laura, when he had taken her in his arms, he wanted so much to never let go, to protect her, to tell her everything was going to be okay. Tears found their way into his eyes before he forced them back down. ‘The same,’ Mark continued slowly, ‘cannot be said about Judy. She’s dead, T.C.’

T.C. shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mark. I know she meant a lot to you.’

‘Fires don’t burn that fast, do they, T.C.? Somebody set that fire deliberately. Somebody murdered Judy Simmons.’

‘You can’t be sure of that.’

‘I want to find that somebody, T.C. I want to nail that son of a bitch to the wall.’

‘Or daughter of a bitch.’

‘Huh?’

‘Think about it a second. Who would want to silence Judy?’

‘You’re not suggesting…’

T.C. shrugged. ‘Do you remember what Judy said to you on the phone?’

Mark thought for a moment. ‘She wasn’t making much sense. She said something about not knowing what I was doing, about not knowing the whole story.’

T.C. shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he concluded, ‘we don’t.’

‘Mrs Klenke will be with you in a moment.’

‘Thank you,’ Laura said. She readjusted herself in the seat. The pain from the burns was greater than she had anticipated. Every move felt like sandpaper rubbing against a fresh wound. In the hospital they had given her painkillers. She had no idea how potent they were. Laura had managed to secure some codeine from a drugstore, but it was far from an adequate substitute.

Laura looked at her watch. It took her a good portion of the night convincing Serita and Gloria to help her get to Chicago. They agreed reluctantly in the end, probably because they were afraid she would try to get there no matter what they did.

They were probably right.

T.C., the crafty son of a bitch, would be proud of her in an odd sort of way. She had spent most of the morning in her hospital bed playing detective. She called Brinlen College, got in touch with various professors and staff members, and asked about Sinclair Baskin. No one knew very much about him. Very few professors were left from 1960.

But one call paid off.

‘Have you spoken to Mrs Klenke?’ an older professor had asked her.

‘No. Who is she?’

‘Well, back then she was Miss Engle. She was Sinclair Baskin’s personal secretary and if rumor had it correctly, the word to be emphasized is personal. Get my meaning?’

The college office still had her name and phone number on file. Laura called up and persuaded Mrs Diana Klenke to see her. Now, just a few hours later, Laura was sitting in the woman’s den.

‘Mrs Baskin?’

Laura turned toward Mrs Klenke’s voice. She had learned that Diana Klenke had been twenty-seven years old in 1960. That made her fifty-seven now, but she was still something to behold. Her hair had gone gray but her bone structure and smile made her more than just dazzling. She was very tall and lithe, elegantly dressed in a black Svengali suit. Her every move was graceful and subdued.

‘Call me Laura.’

‘Only if you’ll call me Diana.’

‘Okay, Diana.’

Diana Klenke’s smile turned gentle as she looked at the younger woman in front of her. ‘My goodness, you’re stunning. Pictures do not do you justice, Laura.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied. Laura wanted very much to return the compliment but whenever she had in the past, people thought she sounded phony and somewhat patronizing.