Harlan Coben - Play Dead

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Play Dead: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Publisher's Weekly
Terrible secrets lead basketball star David Baskin to fake his death while honeymooning in the tropics in this manipulative but otherwise engaging first novel. His bereaved bride, supermodel Laura Ayars, not sure that David's drowning was accidental, starts sleuthing-which proves dangerous when somebody begins killing people who may have the answers she wants. Meanwhile, David, fitted out with a new identity and appearance, tries out for his original team, the Boston Celtics, and ''replaces'' himself at his former position. Why he has faked his death is explained in the story's penultimate surprise. But why he risks playing in front of fans who know his style is never addressed. Crucial coincidences abound, such as the love affair of David's brother and Laura's sister-adults who, as kids 30 years before, just happen to have witnessed their parents' worst sins. Coben manufactures tension primarily by keeping key details out of his narrative, a method that eventually wears thin. The resolution comes as a relief, with less of a bang than its buildup promises.
Library Journal
Despite its fundamental implausibility, this is an engrossing suspense novel. A star pro basketball player, David Baskin, disappears on his honeymoon, and a mutilated, drowned body is assumed to be his. But strange things are happening to his beautiful widow. And a few months later, a total unknown startles the basketball world with a highly professional style of play exactly like Baskin's. The mystery has its origins in a murder 30 years earlier. The reader's suspicions about what actually happened to Baskin, and about the identity of the murderer, shift as layers of lies are stripped away. Despite the basketball, this is primarily great romantic suspense.- Marylaine Block, St. Ambrose Univ. Lib., Davenport, Ia.
School Library Journal
When Laura Ayers and David Baskin secretly marry, it is a match made in heaven. She is a former model turned entrepreneur, while he is the Boston Celtics basketball sensation. But tragedy strikes on their Australian honeymoon when David never returns from a swim in treacherous waters. As Laura struggles with her grief, events unfold to make her question David's mysterious disappearance. She begins to uncover a conspiracy of past and present that slowly destroys all those involved. Coben weaves a delicate web of intrigue that throws alternating suspicion on each person Laura trusts. A fast-moving thriller with a rapidly twisting plot that keeps readers in suspense until the final page. -Katherine Fitch, Jefferson Sci-Tech, Alexandria, VA

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David Baskin died that day. And Mark Seidman was born.

Back in the present, Mark turned away from the Charles River and headed up the embankment. His face was red from the cold, his breath coming in frigid gusts.

It was time to go home.

Estelle stepped through the door. She had moved the contents of the safety deposit box into a large manila envelope during the flight home and now she handed them to Laura.

‘The key opened your aunt’s safety deposit box at the First National Bank in Hamilton,’ she told her.

‘Thanks, Estelle.’

‘No problem, boss. You need me for anything else?’

Laura shook her head. ‘I’ll see you on Monday. Thanks again.’

‘Bye.’

Laura closed the door and moved back toward the couch.

‘So what are we looking for?’ Gloria asked.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Laura admitted. ‘I guess it will have something to do with Sinclair Baskin. It may be nothing but more old photographs.’

‘Let’s get to it.’

‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

‘Positive.’

Laura took hold of the letter opener and slit the envelope at the belly. The contents fell to the cushions of the couch. She put down the opener and started to shuffle through the items.

‘What are all these things?’ Gloria asked.

‘Savings bonds. Mom has some too. Grandma left them to her.’

‘Laura, you don’t really think that Mom could have killed anybody, do you?’

‘I don’t know. I hope not. But then again, I never thought she would have an affair and deceive all of us.’

‘It’s all so crazy. What is going on? Why is everybody being killed?’

The diary was face down, but Laura knew what it was even before she turned it over. ‘That’s it.’

‘What?’

Laura picked it up.

Diary 1960.

Gloria inhaled sharply. ‘1960. Isn’t that the year they had the affair?’

Laura nodded. ‘This is what the murderer was trying to destroy in the fire. Judy kept all her diaries behind her desk in the study. The blaze destroyed them all.’

‘Except this one.’

‘Right.’

Laura held the old volume in her hands. She opened it up and recognized Judy’s handwriting. It had not changed much in thirty years. Some of the letters looped a little higher back then. The pen had a lighter touch against the paper. But there was no mistaking the penmanship.

Gloria moved closer. ‘Start reading, Laura.’

James grabbed an apple from the refrigerator. His wife was upstairs in bed, the lights out, her eyes open. None of them were going to get any sleep tonight, he thought. Words had been uttered that were best left unsaid. Secrets had been stirred that were best left to sleep.

He took a bite out of the apple. James was compulsive when it came to health. He allowed no cookies in his house, no cakes, no ice cream. Sherbet was okay because he felt it improved digestion. Snacks consisted of raisins, nuts, rice cakes and a variety of fresh fruits. Apples were his favorite. McIntosh.

He sat alone in the kitchen with the light off. The lamp from the hallway provided enough illumination, casting giant shadows across the spacious white kitchen. James felt cold in his pajamas and robe, cold and alone. He had worked so hard to keep his family together, to provide for them and care for them. When had it all gone wrong? When had everything that mattered to him been leveled by deceit and lies?

He took another bite. He almost felt tears but quickly pushed them away. James Ayars did not cry. He was strong. He would remain strong and somehow save his family from the past. Thirty years ago, his wife had tried to deceive him. She had packed her lies into a snowball and let it roll down the slope, growing bigger and bigger with the years. Nothing had changed. Lies still ruled their lives. Tonight was a perfect example.

Mary. His achingly beautiful wife could charm him, seduce him, convince him to ignore or forget things that she had done. But when she lied to him, James always knew. He could always tell when she was trying to deceive him. Deep in his heart, he had known about Mary’s affair thirty years ago – even before he received oral confirmation. He had not known with whom or when or even how. But he knew.

He stood, tossed the apple core into the canister, and headed down the corridor to his study. Tonight, Mary had lied again. So had Laura. He had not interrupted a casual mother-and-daughter chat. No, their conversation went well beyond that. Laura learned something during her excursion to Chicago. When she arrived back in Boston, she immediately came here. She pressured her mother until Mary cracked.

How much had Mary told Laura?

James did not know. As little as possible, he was sure. But Mary had undoubtedly opened her mouth and let the past rush out. She had told Laura enough to threaten the very fabric of the family he so cherished.

Everything was going wrong now. The deceptions that held their lives together were coming unglued in front of his eyes. He had to do something to hold the pieces together before they blew away like tiny grains of sand.

But what? What could he do to save his family?

Whatever it takes, he thought. He reached his study and flicked on the light. His long overcoat hung on the tall brass rack Mary had given him on their anniversary last year. He loved that rack. It fit in perfectly with the polished oak bookshelves of medical textbooks, the antique globe, the Persian carpet. The study had always been the most important room in the house for James. This was where he did all his serious thinking, where he planned for life’s blows and the strategies he would use to fend them off.

He reached into the pocket of the overcoat. His hand withdrew a gun. He stared at the weapon for a moment, almost hypnotized by its power. He crossed the study, flicked off the light, and moved out the front door without looking behind him.

If he had, he may have noticed his wife standing in the shadows.

Hours passed. How many? Laura and Gloria could not say. The clock seemed to speed around like some cartoon prop. The sun started to rise. Laura kept on reading. Her eyes filled with tears. These words had been written by a Judy Simmons that Laura had never known. The author of this diary had been filled with such hope, such dreams, such youthful optimism. In many sections, Judy rambled randomly about a budding flower or a blue sky or her burning desire to be a novelist. She dreamed of living in Paris, of having a family, of spending summers in Cannes, of writing bestsellers.

Regret echoed through Laura’s heart. Judy had ended up doing none of those things. Somewhere along the way, her dreams were derailed and lost forever. When Laura reached February 16th, she learned how the derailment had begun:

February 16, 1960

I met the most handsome and charming man in the world today. He is a professor at Brinlen College and his name is Sinclair Baskin. Now I understand what books mean when they speak of unbridled passion, of heroines who would do anything to stay with their man…

Laura read parts out loud, skimmed through others. The relationship between Judy Simmons and Sinclair Baskin progressed rapidly. Judy soon learned that Sinclair Baskin was married with two children, but by then it was too late. As Judy herself admitted, love can make you more than blind; it can make you cruel and selfish. It could make you do things you never imagined:

February 24, 1960

I love him. I cannot help my feelings. Emotions are not water faucets that can be turned on and off or made warm and cold as I please. I know about his past. I know that I am not his first. But still I know that I am special to him. Most would dismiss me as terribly naive but I know the truth. I can see it in the way he looks at me…

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