Play Dead, Page 24

  But she doesn't trust me.

  Sad to say but T.C. had to accept the truth. Somewhere along the way, Laura's trust in him had disintegrated. She had not told him about her second visit to Corsel's office; she had not told him what she had learned about David's death. And if Laura had still trusted him, she would have. If she had still trusted him, Laura would have wanted his help.

  T.C. shook his head. Those damn suspicions of hers just made everything all the more difficult. But all of this was an aside, an aside that was bringing him nowhere in a hurry. He had to find out where Laura was and what she was up to. He had questioned Laura's parents, her sister, her best friend. Nothing. Could Laura have really gone somewhere without telling anyone? And if so, why? Unless she wanted to protect them. Unless she was doing something that could prove dangerous to her family and friends. Unless . . .

  He stopped his car and sprinted to a nearby phone booth. He put a quarter in and dialed the unlisted number. It was picked up after the second ring.

  'Sherman's Paper Supplies.'

  'Stu, it's T.C.'

  Stuart Sherman repeated, 'Sherman's Paper Supplies.'

  'Damn you FBI bigshots and your codes. Who the hell remembers? Can't you do a voice print or something?'

  'We have a special on yellow paper today.'

  T.C. thought. 'Oh right. Do you have any yellow paper with pink and aqua lines?'

  There was a moment of silence. 'Hey, T.C. Long time no speak. What's happening?'

  'Not much. Don't you ever get sick of playing spy with all those codes?'

  'Nah,' Stu replied. 'It's the reason most of us join.'

  T.C. laughed. 'And the reason I only work with you on special occasions.'

  'What phone booth you at?'

  T.C. squinted. 'The number is 617-555-4789.'

  Stuart typed the number into his computer terminal. 'Okay, it's clean. What do you need?'

  'Quick request. Can you tell me if Laura Baskin traveled on any flights from the United States to any city in Australia? She may have used the name Laura Ayars.'

  'No problem,' Stu said. 'When do you need it by?'

  'Right away. I'll hold.'

  'Okay, but it'll take a few minutes. Say, how was the coroner we found for you in Australia?'

  'He worked out well, but he was from Townsville, not Cairns.'

  'Townsville?'

  'It's about an hour flight from Cairns,' T.C. said. 'I had to fly him in.'

  'Ah what the hell, T.C., this business wouldn't be any fun if there weren't a few bugs in the system. How about Hank? How did he do for you?'

  'He's still the best surgeon around.'

  'And the most discreet,' Stu added. He paused a second. 'Oh, and don't worry, T.C. I'm not going to ask you what this is all about. It's none of my business, right?'

  'Right.'

  'Besides I'm not a Celtics fan anyway.'

  T.C. sighed. 'All right, Stu. I owe you one.'

  'A big one,' Stu corrected. 'Hold on a sec. Let me check on this for you.'

  T.C. listened to the hold music. He wondered what sort of subliminal message the FBI Special Branch put in its hold music. Something mind-warping no doubt. Stu was right. T.C. did owe him a major-league favor. If the company ever learned what T.C. had been up to, they would both be in serious trouble. But then again, T.C. had stuck his neck out for Stu plenty of times -- especially the time when Stu had worked undercover for the Bandini family.

  The Bandinis were a particularly vicious group of drug dealers who enjoyed torturing and executing those they did not like. And the Bandini family did not like Feds much. The last time they had discovered a Fed in their employment, the Bandinis tied him to stakes spreadeagle on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. Then they poured a bag of rats onto their helpless victim. The poor guy writhed in agony as he watched the vermin eat away at his stomach, his groin, his cheeks, watched until the rat's claws and small, sharp teeth shredded his eyes. When T.C. viewed the carcass a few days later, he had become physically ill for the first and only time in his career. The thought of that rotting cadaver still made him shudder.

  Anyway, one of T.C.'s sources learned that the Bandinis had discovered Stuart Sherman was a Fed and were preparing an encore execution for his benefit. The FBI was able to pull Stu out just as he was heading to what would have been his final meeting with the Bandinis. After that Stu Sherman decided he preferred the computer and research end of the business. He no longer did field work.

  Stu came back on the line. 'Got it, T.C.'

  'I'm listening.'

  'She's using the name Ayars,' Stu said. 'She left two days ago on a Qantas Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Cairns.'

  T.C. rubbed his eyes. 'Stu, thanks a lot.'

  'I'll just put it on your bill.'

  Laura and Graham were back at the cocktail lounge. This time, they chose to sit in a quiet corner rather than at the bar. Laura studied the big man in front of her as he stroked his beard, his eyes fixed in concentration. What did she really know about Graham Rowe? How could she be so sure he wasn't involved in all this? After all, he had been the police officer in charge of the investigation. If Laura could not even trust T.C., how could she rely on this stranger?

  'Well, what have we got so far?' Graham asked, speaking as much to himself as Laura. 'Number one: David did not just go swimming like he wrote in his note.'

  Laura remembered that note. I will love you forever. Always remember that. So serious for David. So foreboding. Had he somehow suspected that it would be the last note he would ever write? Had he somehow known that death was awaiting his imminent arrival?

  Graham continued. 'Number two: the time of death estimated by the coroner was way off. We have an eyewitness who swore he saw David Baskin several hours after he supposedly drowned.' The sheriff flipped through his notebook, jotted something on a sheet of paper, and then continued. 'Number three: we know David took an elevator ride in this hotel. He was upstairs for approximately one hour. We can assume he visited someone during that time.'

  Laura nodded. 'But who?'

  'That's the question,' Graham agreed. 'But there are a few other things we should look into.'

  'Like?'

  'Like why was the coroner so far off with his estimation of David's death? And did he miss something else, like signs of foul play or ...'

  'Or?'

  Graham's piercing eyes locked onto hers. 'Sorry, Laura, but we have to look into the possibility of suicide.'

  Laura's tone remained even. 'Like I said before, I want all possibilities explored -- no matter where they lead.'

  Graham nodded. 'Okay, let's get started.'

  'What do we do first?'

  The sheriff let a small laugh pass his lips. 'We?' he repeated. 'There's no chance I'm going to convince you to let me do this on my own, is there?'

  'None.'

  Graham shrugged. 'Well, I always wanted a beautiful partner,' he said. 'Okay, the first thing we should do is find Gina Cassler.'

  'Who's she?'

  'An old friend of mine,' Graham replied, 'and the owner and manager of this hotel.'

  Gina Cassler was a stately-looking woman in her early sixties. Her neatly bunned hair was gray, her posture straight, her head held high in the air. She wore a gray business suit and her personal appearance was perfectly groomed and manicured. It made a shocking contrast with the cluttered desk she sat behind. Files and loose sheets of paper formed three-feet alps over what Laura assumed was a nice wood finish. Occasionally, papers floated onto the floor but Mrs Cassler didn't seem to mind.

  'Jeez, Gina,' Graham said with a shake of his head, 'how can such a beautiful dame be such a slob?'

  Gina waved her hand as if to dismiss him. 'Still a charmer, eh, Graham?'

  'Trying.'

  'And who is this lovely lady with you?'

  Graham turned toward Laura. 'This is Laura Baskin.'

  'Ah, yes, the founder of Svengali,' Gina said, gently shaking Laura's hand. 'I bought one of your
suits last time I was in San Francisco. I understand you're going to start marketing here in Australia.'

  'Yes.'

  'It'll be a big hit, I'm sure,' Gina said with a smile. 'Now what can I do for you, Graham?'

  'We're investigating the death of Mrs Baskin's husband. Did you hear about it?'

  'Of course,' Gina replied. 'It was all over the papers and telly. Such a terrible thing. We haven't had a drowning in this region in what? Three years, Graham?'

  'Two and a half,' he corrected.

  'Whatever. And I read he was a good swimmer.' She shook her head. 'I'm very sorry, really I am.'

  'Thank you,' Laura said.

  Graham cleared his throat. 'Gina, we need to see a list of your clientele for the time period surrounding Mr Baskin's death.'

  Gina looked puzzled. 'A guest list you mean?'

  'Right.'

  'From June?'

  'June 17th.'

  'That's almost six months ago.'

  'Five and a half,' Graham corrected.

  'We don't have them.'

  'What do you mean you don't have them?'

  'We don't save daily rooming lists,' she explained.

  'Sure, we have a customer list in the basement but it's not done by the dates they stayed here.'

  'There's no way we can find out who stayed in the hotel on June 17th?'

  'None. Unless . . . wait a sec.' Gina looked up, her face scrunched in concentration. A few moments later, her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. 'Are you looking for a foreigner?'

  'What does that have to do -- '

  'Just answer my question, Graham,' she interrupted impatiently. 'Are you looking for a foreigner?'

  'Probably. Why?'

  'The passport cards.'

  'The what?'

  'Each foreigner has to leave his passport at the front desk so we can fill out a passport card for them. Immigration collects them and keeps them at town hall.'

  'Can you get the ones filled out on June 17th?'

  'It would probably be faster if you made the request, Graham.'

  The big sheriff shook his head. He did not want the government involved in this case yet. 'I'd appreciate it if you took care of it. Just say you need it for tax purposes or something.'

  Gina shrugged. 'No worries. It'll probably take a couple of days. Red tape and all that, you know.'

  'It's important,' Graham stressed. 'I also need to see your long-distance phone bills for that month.'

  Gina released a long whistle. 'Look around you, Graham. Do I look like the type who saves old phone bills?'

  Laura's eyes scanned the disheveled room and cluttered garbage cans. The answer was obvious.

  'I need those phone bills.'

  'My nephew works for the phone company in Cairns,' Gina said. 'He'll be in the office tomorrow. I'll give him a call.'

  They thanked her and left.

  'What next?' Laura asked. 'Do we go see the coroner?'

  'Easier said than done.'

  'What do you mean?'

  The big sheriff opened the door for her. 'The coroner who handled your husband's case was not from around here.'

  'He wasn't?'

  Graham shook his head. 'He was flown in from a place called Townsville.'

  Stan heard Gloria's key in the lock. He quickly rose and moved toward the door. When she opened it, Stan grabbed her and kissed her passionately.

  'Welcome home.'

  Gloria beamed. 'You certainly know how to greet somebody.'

  He took her briefcase from her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. 'I missed you.'

  'I missed you, too,' Gloria enthused. 'Mmmmm, what smells so good?'

  Stan put the briefcase down and took her in his arms. 'I did a little grocery shopping and decided to cook us dinner.'

  'You made dinner,' she asked, 'for me?'

  He nodded. 'So how was work?'

  'Good, but busy. Laura was away.'

  'Where did she go?'

  Gloria shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Estelle said she had some business to take care of somewhere and just decided to take off. What are you cooking in there? I'm starving.'

  'Pasta Primavera.'

  'Mmmm. I love pasta,' she enthused.

  'It'll be ready in about fifteen minutes.'

  Silently, Gloria took his hand in hers and led him onto the terrace. They sat on the love-seat together, their fingers still intertwined. Gloria closed her eyes for a moment and rested her head on his chest. 'I love this,' she said.

  'What?'

  'Everything about us. I've never been so happy.'

  Stan gripped her hand. 'I feel the same.'

  They sat back and just watched the Charles River. More than anything else about his relationship with Gloria, this part amazed Stan the most. They could just sit together without speaking, just enjoying the experience of being with one another. It didn't make any sense to him. Gloria was different from any woman he had ever known. She did not ramble on incessantly, trying to say something 'meaningful' or 'deep.' She did not pester him about not finding a job yet. She never even mentioned the one hundred thousand dollars he owed her. Gloria was content to just be with him. She demanded nothing of him and, as a result, he gave her more than he had ever given to a woman.

  A few minutes later, Stan rose to get dinner ready. Gloria followed him into the kitchen. 'Laura left us a message,' she began.

  I bet, Stan thought. 'Oh?'

  'The Celtics are retiring David's number at the Boston Garden Saturday night. It's the Opening Game of the new season. She said she'd appreciate it if we were both there.'

  'Both of us?'

  Gloria nodded. 'You were his brother. I know you and Laura don't see eye-to-eye yet, but she'll come around.'

  'Don't count on it.'

  'I'd like to go, Stan. I think it's important that we're both there.'

  Stan sprinkled a little Parmesan cheese over the pasta. 'Okay,' he said, 'tell your sister we would be honored to attend.'

  'My parents will be there too. So will my aunt. It'll be a nice opportunity for you to meet them all.'

  'I'd like that,' he said.

  Gloria lit the candles and dimmed the lights. Stan watched her move about the room. Though he would never admit it to himself, he loved to watch her move, loved to watch everything she did. She was so goddamn kind and gentle that sometimes he wondered what she was truly up to. What was her angle on all this? What was she after? What did she want from him? Was her tenderness nothing but an unfamiliar ploy to lull him into an unprepared state, a state where she could get her hooks into him and take control?

  Maybe.

  But more important, what the hell was he doing? What was his angle? What did he want from Gloria? Laura had hit a raw nerve when she asked him about that. The truth was he was no longer sure what he was doing. He could score big bucks -- major, major bucks -- and hightail his ass out of here. He could score like he had never scored before and disappear into the sunset. But for some strange reason he stayed. He was out of money with the perfect opportunity to get his hands on plenty, but he chose not to.

  Why?

  What the hell was wrong with him? He should have dumped her already. He should have squeezed out every last dollar and been on his way, crushing Gloria's fragile spirit, leaving her crying or worse. But no, he had decided to stay around a while.

  The phone interrupted their dinner. 'I'll get it,' Gloria said.

  'No, it's probably for me,' Stan said. 'I'll just take it in the bedroom.'

  Stan stood and moved into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He knew who was on the other end of the connection. Dread filled him. He swallowed and lifted the receiver. 'Hello?'

  'Stan My Man, how are you?'

  Stan recognized the voice instantly. His face sunk. 'Hello, B Man.'

  'Is that how you greet a good friend?' B Man asked. 'I'm insulted, Stan, really I am.'

  'We're in the middle of dinner.'

  'Oh how sweet,' he said. 'How pe
rfectly domestic of you. I'm really impressed, Stan. What are you going to do after you eat, go out back and mow the lawn?'

  Stan closed his eyes. 'What's up?'

  'Not much,' B Man said. 'That's why I was calling you. Your contact tells me you haven't placed a bet in three days.'

  'So?'

  'So you're only two thousand down,' B Man continued. 'I usually don't cut you off until you reach the forty thousand mark.'

  'I just haven't seen anything I've liked lately.'

  'Save it, Stan,' the blonde bookie snarled. 'This is B Man you're talking to. You haven't missed a day of betting in ten years.'

  'So I've decided to take some time off. What's wrong with that?'

  B Man laughed. 'You don't get it, do you, Stan? You just can't up and quit.'

  'Who said anything about quitting?'

  'Come on, Stan. Don't bullshit a bullshitter. Guys like you don't take time off. You're trying to quit.'

  'And what if I am?'

  'Why waste your time, Stan? You know you can't do it.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  B Man sighed. 'Stan, I've known plenty of guys like you. You're an addict. You can't quit. I understand what you're trying to do. You met this chick. You kind of like her, right?'

  'You don't know what you're talking about,' Stan said. 'She's just another bimbo.'

  'Sure, right. Whatever you say, Stan. Anyway, you're starting to like the simple life. You want to move out of the fast, dangerous lane for a while. But Stan, you're not the type. Eventually, you'll move back into the dangerous lane and pow! You'll smash your car. You're a screw-up, Stan. You can't change.'

  'Leave me alone, B.'

  'I will, Stan, because I know you'll be back. You'll look in tomorrow's paper and see a horse in the third that's a sure thing. Or you'll find a football game with a point spread that's just too juicy to pass up. Then the itch will come back and it will be so bad that you'll have to scratch. And once you scratch, you'll scratch again and again --

  'Shut up!'

  ' -- and I'll be right there to help you tear away at your skin, Stan. Your old buddy B Man will be waiting with open arms and sharp claws.'

  Stan's upper lip quivered. 'Just shut up!'

  'I don't like being yelled at,' B Man warned, his voice low. 'I don't like it at all. Maybe I'll have to teach you a little lesson, Stan.'

  'No, B -- '

  'Maybe I should pull your broken finger right out of the socket,' B Man continued. 'Or maybe I'll just grab your little blonde girlfriend, tie her down to a bed, and let Bart and a few of his buddies take turns on her. How does that sound?'