Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘What’s wrong?’ Laura asked gently. ‘Did Stan do something?’

Gloria looked up. Her bleak eyes were swollen and red. ‘He’s dead.’

Laura thought she had misunderstood. ‘Dead?’

Her sister nodded. ‘He was shot in South Boston tonight. I just got back from the police station. They say they’re going to investigate but nobody cares, Laura. They think Stan was just a punk and a gambler who played games with the wrong people and got a bullet in the chest for his troubles. They’re not even interested in finding out who murdered him.’

Laura said nothing. There was indeed a curse on the Baskin men. Three of them were dead now, all tragically killed in their youth. But what about the curse on the women they left behind? What about the broken hearts and shattered dreams they left scattered about?

‘He stopped gambling, Laura. I know you don’t believe me. I know he did some terrible things to a lot of people… including you. But he had stopped. He was getting better. A few days ago, one of his old bookies called because he had not placed a bet in such a long time.’

Holding her sister, Laura started to cry.

Gloria snuggled closer. ‘You never got to know him, Laura. I barely got to know him. He was the most unhappy person I have ever met. But Stan was changing. You could see it, feel it. And I’m not just talking like some blindly optimistic girlfriend. Stan was finally getting his chance, his one last shot to lead a normal, happy life. Someone took that away from him.’ She fought back more tears. ‘And someone took that away from me.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Gloria closed her eyes as though she were summoning up some hidden strength. ‘His death has something to do with what’s going on lately, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do I but I’ve had a little while to think this through and here’s what I know: Aunt Judy wanted to speak to you about the drowning. Before she died, she handed you a thirty-year-old picture of Sinclair Baskin. Only one person witnessed Sinclair’s murder and could identify the killer. Stan. Now he too has been murdered. It’s all tied together, Laura, isn’t it? All the deaths are connected – Sinclair, Judy, Stan… and even David.’

Laura lowered her head. ‘I think so.’

Gloria’s eyes did not waver. ‘Then we have to find out what happened to them.’

The doorman’s intercom buzzed. Laura moved over to the squawk box and pressed the talk button.

‘Yes?’

‘There is a woman named Estelle here to see you,’ the doorman said. ‘She says she has an important package for you. This may sound weird but she said to tell you it has something to do with 1960.’

Laura turned back to her sister.

‘Does Estelle’s package have anything to do with this?’ Gloria asked.

‘Probably.’

‘A clue?’

Laura nodded. ‘She may have found something that solves this whole puzzle.’

‘Then I want to see it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

Laura pressed the talk button again. ‘Send her up.’

When Laura turned back, Gloria stood on shaky legs and said, ‘Tell me what’s going on, Laura. Please.’

Laura moved across the room, her fingers rubbing against her palms. ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know.’

The bitter cold slit through the night like a sharpened razor, but Mark did not really notice. He stood in the present yet his mind was somewhere in the past, untouched by the icy surroundings and frosty blasts. He flashed back to June 17, to their honeymoon in Australia. He smiled sadly. How perfect life had been on that day.

And how quickly it had changed.

He could still hear the phone ringing in their suite, could still remember picking it up, could still remember the panic in Mary’s voice.

‘I have to see you, David. I have to speak to you right away.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m in Cairns. The Pacific International Hotel. Room 607. Come right away.’

More confused than frightened he agreed to go. He left a fun note for Laura with the receptionist, walked down the dirt path to the main road, hailed a cab (the only car on the road) and headed into the city of Cairns.

He stood by the Charles River now, half a globe and a full lifetime away from the warmth and joy of his honeymoon bliss. Had he known back then what was about to happen to him? Had Mary given him any clue? No, not really. There was just a slight trembling in his heart, a faint stab of fear in his chest. But David had no way of knowing that the taxi was taking him from Heaven to Hades, that he was heading into an emotional ambush without a single weapon of defense. The familiar pain rushed through him as he remembered hearing the awful truth.

‘I don’t care if it’s a sin. I love your daughter.’

‘You can’t mean that. Laura is not just my daughter, David. She’s your sister. Think about her for a moment. She’s always wanted to have children, a family. You can’t give her those things.’

Because of his father. Damn him, that callous son of a bitch. David had been an infant when Sinclair Baskin killed himself. He did not remember his father at all, not even a blurry image of what he might have been like. He had spent much of his childhood wondering what sort of man his father had been, what had driven him to kill himself, what kind of a man could pull a trigger and leave his wife and two small children to fend for themselves. Now maybe he knew.

Sinclair Baskin. His father. He had been dead for as long as Mark could remember and yet he had managed to reach from beyond the grave and crush everything that mattered to his youngest son. His father had created Laura, and he had taken her away from him. Life’s cruel ironies.

‘Then I’ll tell her the truth.’

‘No! Please, David, I beg you. If you say something, Laura will lose a father she loves dearly and never forgive me for what I’ve done. In the end, she may be left with none of us. You have to think of what’s best for her.’

‘Then what am I supposed to do?’

‘Break it off. End it. If you love her, let her go. She will be hurt at first. Devastated even. But you’ll be surprised how resilient the heart is.’

But even then, David had known that he could not just hurt her and walk away. He would never be able to tell Laura that he no longer loved her, that his love for her had died. His heart wanted so much to ignore the frightening reality of his situation, to deafen his ears to everything he had heard. But he also knew that Mary’s words were true. What choice did he have? All their dreams of a family and life together had been trampled to death by the heavy boot of past sins. They could no longer stay together. Telling Laura the truth would not change that fact. It would only hurt her father and tear her away from her family. He would have to leave her. He would have to turn his back on the only thing in life that truly meant anything to him.

But how could he do it? How could he tell Laura that his love for her had withered away and died? How could he say that the love they shared had been a lie after Laura had risked everything and given him all that she had?

Better, he decided then, to have love ripped away from you than to think it had never been more than a deception. Better to have lost love in a tragedy than to be told it had never really been.

A plan began to form in his mind.

Completely numb, David walked out of room 607, took an elevator to the lobby, and called T. C.

‘She’ll call you first.’

‘What about her father?’ T.C. asked. ‘Or her sister?’

‘She won’t want to worry them yet. She’ll figure you’ll know what to do.’

‘Okay. Now call your bank as soon as we hang up. Then stay hidden till I get there. I’ll take care of the rest.’