Play Dead, Page 42

  ' -- but,' T.C. continued evenly, 'if you just want to speak with Mark Seidman, he shoots baskets at the Boston Garden every morning from now until about eight a.m. He's alone in there, if you need to talk to him.'

  'Does he use the same side entrance David used to use?'

  T.C. nodded.

  'Thank you,' James said and turned to leave. Perfect. No one would be in the Garden this early. James could sneak up on David, put the gun against his head (just like he had done with David's father), and fire.

  And at long last it would be over.

  James jogged back to his car. His hands were in his pockets -- one touching his car keys, the other touching the weapon he would use in his next (and last) murder.

  Gloria chose not to read about May 30, 1960 right away. Judy's journal was like a bad-tasting medicine that could only be swallowed in moderate doses -- and May 29, 1960 had given her more than a mouthful.

  She put down the diary, walked into the kitchen, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She glanced out the window. Laura too had a view of the Charles River. Gloria remembered how much Stan had loved to look at that river, how he cherished the time he spent just staring out from the balcony. He was such a simple man really, a simple man who had turned down a few wrong paths and could never find his way out of the thicket. Gloria had found him there. She had begun to lead Stan into the clearing when someone killed him.

  Someone, nothing. Her father had done it.

  How? she wondered. How could a man full of love be such a monster underneath? She did not know the answer. She was not sure she wanted to know. She sipped her coffee, sat back on the couch, picked up the diary and read about ---

  May 30, 1960.

  Gloria's eyes widened.

  Blood . . .

  Soon the words began to swim in front of her eyes. Her stomach contracted painfully. Images, horrible, terrible images ---

  Blood, there was so much blood . . . -- jerked her mind back and forth. Gloria's darkest nightmare was coming to life, chasing after her with ---

  blood . . .

  with a lust for destruction. She had been so young at the time, just a little girl, and mercifully she had never remembered what had happened.

  'Mommy! Mommy!'

  'Get out of here, Gloria. Get out of here now!'

  But that was about to change. Visions jolted her, stinging her nerves. All of a sudden, Gloria was a five-year-old child moving down that darkened hallway again, except this time she knew where she was heading: her parents' bedroom. She was thirsty and wanted a drink of water. So she took Floppy Rabbit with her and began to trek down the hallway toward her mommy and daddy's bedroom.

  Gloria wanted to turn away from the diary, to close the book and never open it again. But her eyes were locked to the pages, moving over the words at a brisk, even pace. The words were opening a door that had been closed in her mind since childhood. Suddenly, little Gloria was in front of her parents' bedroom door again. She stood up on her tippy-toes and stretched for the door knob. Floppy Rabbit was cocked under her elbow.

  'Get out of here, Gloria, Get out of here now!'

  The knob turned in her hands. Soon, Gloria would see what was behind that door. She had spent her whole life forgetting this moment, but now the image was being forced upon her. Even when she closed her eyes she could still see the door swinging open.

  She looked inside the room. And remembered. And screamed.

  Gloria put down the diary. She was shaking. The words Judy had written about May 30 1960 revealed everything. It was all true. Every last word was true. Her father had killed Sinclair and Judy and Stan and . . .

  . . . and what about David?

  The doorman's intercom buzzed again. Gloria walked over to the squawk box. She noticed on the kitchen clock that it was nearly seven in the morning. Who would be visiting them now?

  'Yes?'

  'There is a Richard Corsel down here to see Laura,' the security guard said. 'He says it's urgent.'

  Laura had just mentioned his name. He was the man at the Heritage of Boston Bank who'd transferred David's money. 'Send him up.'

  As Gloria sat and waited, the reality of what she had just read sank into her brain like a concrete brick in quicksand. Her heart hammered away in her chest. The truth became apparent, and even more tragic than she could have ever dared imagine. She grabbed the diary off the couch, flipped forward in time, and read onward. Soon, her eyes found what she had already known to be true. The words on the page merely reconfirmed her darkest fear: Her mother had been wrong. David and Laura were not brother and sister.

  Chapter 31

  Laura pulled into the driveway and leaped out of the car. There were still so many holes that needed to be plugged up: David's ring under her pillow, his missing money, and maybe most of all, the reason Judy had waited so long to try and say something. Laura did not know why but she was sure that was the crux, that once that was answered the rest would fall into place.

  She did not bother to ring the bell and warn her parents of her early morning arrival. She simply unlocked the door and stepped into the front foyer.

  'Laura?'

  She turned toward the voice. Her mother was sitting on the couch, wearing a robe.

  'Where is Dad?'

  Mary's face clouded over. 'He's not here.'

  'Where did he go?'

  'I don't know. He stayed in his study all night. Oh Laura, you're not going to tell him, are you? Please -- '

  'He already knows,' Laura said evenly. 'He's known for thirty years.'

  Mary's head fell to the side, 'What?'

  'Judy told him the day after you told her. I have Judy's diary from 1960. It's all in there.'

  Mary's face twisted in puzzlement. 'But that's not possible. He never said one word to me.'

  Laura's words spilled forward in wild gasps. 'Judy was furious at you for stealing Sinclair from her. Telling Dad was her way of getting revenge. But she never expected him to lose control. He murdered Sinclair Baskin right after you left the office.'

  Mary's mouth dropped open. 'It can't be.'

  'It's true.'

  'But James never said a word. He never threw me out. He loved you and raised you like his own. Why?'

  'I don't know, Mother. I suspect it has something to do with his love for you.'

  Mary's whole face emanated bleakness. She shook her head. 'Not James,' she said weakly. 'He's a doctor. He would never hurt anyone.'

  She knelt beside her mother. 'We have to find him, Mother. We have to confront him and find out what really happened.'

  The roar of a blasting engine made them both turn. Laura opened the front door and peered out. Gloria's car raced up the road at what had to be a hundred miles an hour. As she turned into the driveway, one of the tires swung up onto the grass but Gloria did not pause or even hesitate until she came to a stop near the front door. She jumped out of the car.

  'Gloria, what the hell -- ' Laura saw her sister's face and stopped. Gloria's eyes were wide and frenzied and out of control. Her right hand grasped the diary and a white envelope.

  'Richard Corsel came to see you,' Gloria called back.

  'What?'

  'He told me to give you this envelope. He said it would answer all your questions.'

  Laura's heart got caught in her throat. The missing money. Richard had traced down the missing money.

  'And May 30,' Gloria shouted, holding up the diary. 'Something terrible happened on May 30.'

  James was back in his car and on the road in a matter of minutes. He had to give David credit. Creating Mark Seidman had been a stroke of genius. James realized that Judy was right, that David had not committed suicide. With the help of his cop friend (he could never have pulled it off by himself) David had faked his own death and taken on a new identity: Mark Seidman. Genius and yet so simple.

  James imagined the scene in Australia six months earlier. After David had met up with Mary at the Pacific International Hotel, David realized that he would hav
e to give up Laura, that he would have to leave her for her own good. At the same time, he could not tell her why -- lest he hurt her further.

  So what was the logical solution?

  Disappear off the face of the Earth, of course.

  And how do you do that without giving up everything you have?

  You transfer your money around via Switzerland, fake an accidental drowning, go in for a little cosmetic surgery, take on a new identity.

  Who would suspect such a thing from a wealthy, successful basketball star who had just married the world's most beautiful woman? From a man who seemed to have everything?

  No one -- not even Mary, James or Judy.

  There was only one potential flaw in the plan but it could be worked around: David's unusual jumpshot. Somebody was sure to recognize it. But so what? If Mark Seidman's style of play was similar to David Baskin's, what would that prove? It would take a wild stretch of imagination to leap from a resemblance in shooting form to a fraudulent death.

  Only someone who knew about the past could possibly suspect the truth. That, David must have thought, involved two people: Mary and Judy. Sinclair was dead. James, he thought incorrectly, knew nothing of what had taken place.

  Mary, of course, was no threat at all. In the first place, she knew nothing about basketball. And even if she did by some odd coincidence figure it out, she would never say anything. She would just be thankful that David was out of Laura's life.

  Judy, however, was another story. She was both intelligent and a big basketball fan. She might just be able to figure it out. But where was the threat in that? If Judy figured out what David had done, she would certainly not tell anyone. After all, David and Laura were brother and sister. David had done this to protect Laura from the truth. Why would Judy do something to rehash what had happened when it would only bring more pain and misery to her niece?

  James smiled. Why indeed.

  Only James knew why Judy chose to expose Mark Seidman's true identity. You see, Mary did not tell David the whole story during their meeting in Australia - not because she was trying to hide something. No, in fairness to Mary she told David everything she knew. Unfortunately for them, that was not enough. She did not know about . . .

  ... May 30, 1960.

  That was the day after Sinclair Baskin died. Mary had never learned what happened on the evening of May 30, 1960. Only two people knew. Only two people had borne witness to the event that had taken place on May 30, 1960. One had recently burned to death. The other was about to commit one last murder.

  May 30, 1960.

  When Judy had first realized that David was still alive, she snapped into action. His strange survival was her last chance at redemption, her last chance to save Laura from the clutches of the past. James, on the other hand, had seen David's survival as the path to his family's destruction. He knew that Judy was going to tell Laura and Mary everything. He knew that she was going to reveal secrets that she had promised to take with her to the grave. So James did the only thing he could: He helped Judy keep her promise.

  He escorted her to the grave.

  He set the house on fire with her and all her damn diaries in it. The secret of the past had burned into nothing but worthless smoke and ashes. There had however been a serious miscalculation in Judy's death: Laura got caught in the blaze. But that was not his fault. Mary started it. She should have never slept with Sinclair. And Judy was at fault too. She should have kept her mouth shut. Lucky for both of them that the mystery man had saved Laura. James now had a pretty good idea who that mystery man was.

  It was a pity that he had to die.

  James drove through the Fenway and turned onto Storrow Drive. David Baskin and the Boston Garden were only five minutes away.

  Gloria moved up the front porch and into the house. The three women stared at each other, each noticing the horrifying pallor of the other two and wondering if they too looked like they were wearing death masks.

  Laura spoke first. 'What happened on May 30?'

  Gloria wanted to tell her sister and yet she wanted to put it off for even a few more moments. 'The diary will explain everything,' she said, 'but you better read Mr Corsel's note first. He said it was urgent.'

  Laura could feel beads of sweat on her forehead despite the cold. The envelope was plain and white, the kind you could buy in any stationery or card store. She took it from Gloria's hand and ripped the seal. She withdrew a small note card, also on unmarked white paper. Richard Corsel had a marvelous economy of words but Laura understood why. The less said, the better: Please destroy this note as soon as you have read it. The name of the person who now controls the missing money is Mark Seidman.

  Her legs almost gave way.

  Gloria and Mary moved in. They led Laura to the couch in the den. All three sat down.

  'What does it say?' Gloria asked.

  Laura's head swirled but somewhere in the gyrations she saw a faint light. At first she swore it was just her imagination, a case of desire turning a hope into a reality. It was all so crazy. It was a mirage, it had to be. And yet, the more it ran through her mind the more she understood everything: why T.C. had lied to her, why David had called the bank, why she had felt so strange around Mark Seidman, why he had been afraid to go near her, why his jumpshot was so familiar, why T.C. had helped him sneak out during the cocktail party when he had one of his ...

  'It's okay. I got you.'

  A muffled cry.

  'Hang in there, old buddy. Just lean on me. I'll have you home soon.'

  'I didn't want to see her, T.C. I didn't want to go near her.'

  Tears ran down Laura's face. Her mind tried to accept that she was finally face to face with the truth. 'He's still alive.'

  'Who?' Gloria asked. 'What are you talking about?'

  She held up the piece of paper. 'This proves it. Mark Seidman is really David.'

  'What?' Mary shouted.

  The pieces began to come together in her mind even as she spoke. 'David never drowned. He never committed suicide. He just wanted us all to think he was dead. He wanted you to think he was out of the way and he wanted to protect me from the truth. It all makes sense now. And T.C. was in on it.'

  'But what about his ring showing up under your pillow?' Gloria asked.

  'That had to be T.C.'s doing. He was trying to scare me off. He was afraid I would learn the truth.'

  Laura ran for the phone.

  'What are you doing?' Mary asked.

  'I'm calling Clip Arnstein. I want to find out where Mark Seidman lives.'

  'No!' Mary screamed. 'Don't you see? This doesn't change anything. You can't be with him. David is still your brother.'

  Laura spun back toward her mother as if the words she had spoken had wrapped themselves around her throat and pulled. 'But -- ?'

  It was Gloria who raised her hand to silence her. Her tear-streaked face mourned her own loss, but Gloria now realized that there was hope for Laura.

  'No, he's not,' she said.

  Mary looked at her. 'What are you talking about?' 'David is not your brother,' Gloria repeated, handing Laura the diary. 'May 30th. Read May 30th.'

  Only a few blocks to go. Nothing could save David now.

  James felt his sweat stick his shirt to his body. He hated perspiration. He kept extra dress shirts in his office so that he could always change into something fresh. But he would be able to change soon enough, as soon as he took care of this problem.

  He was no professional killer, that was for sure, but he had managed to leave no clues behind and provide himself with good alibis. Take Judy's murder, for example. If anybody wanted to know where James had been at the time of the fire, Dr Eric Clarich would gladly confirm that James was five hours away in Boston. Dr Clarich would testify that he had called Boston Memorial Hospital half an hour after the fire had been set and reached James.

  Conclusion: James could not possibly be involved. No sense in digging any deeper.

  How had James pulled that one off? If
he had been up at Colgate committing a murder, how could he have miraculously returned to Boston in time for the expected emergency call? Simple. He didn't. He merely set his office extension to transfer automatically all of his calls to a pay phone not five minutes from St Catherine's Hospital in Hamilton, New York. Brilliant, no? Then all he had to do was make his way to the airport, wait a few hours, and show up at the hospital all harried as if he just rushed all the way from Boston.

  That part had gone very smoothly.

  His real moment of fear came when he finally did arrive at the hospital and saw Mary was already there. Panic washed through him. There was only one way she could have gotten from Boston to Hamilton so fast. She had to have been on her way up to Colgate to talk to Judy. Did Mary reach her in time? Did Judy have a chance to tell her anything before she died? Luckily, the answer was no. One look at Mary told him that she still knew nothing of what had occurred on May 30, 1960. Besides, Laura was the one Judy wanted to tell, not Mary.

  BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEE ---

  James reached for his belt and turned off his stupid beeper. Damn. He would have to call in. If not, the hospital would start making calls and James did not want that.

  In the distance, James saw his target: The Boston Garden. It could wait another couple of minutes. He pulled over to the side of the road, got out of the car, and trotted over to the phone booth.

  Gloria's words jolted Laura like an electric shock. 'What do you mean David is not my brother?'

  'May 30,' Gloria repeated. 'Read it.'

  Laura took the diary from her sister and moved down toward the couch. Mary sat next to her in order to read over her shoulder.

  'I don't understand any of this,' Mary said.

  Gloria swallowed. 'Just read.'

  Laura opened the book. Her fingers fumbled the pages back and forth until at last she arrived on the right day:

  May 30, 1960

  This nightmare will never end. I spun the web and now I am caught in it. James's plan is completely insane and completely ingenious. He has turned Mary's own charms of seduction to his favor and me into his unwilling accomplice.

  'You're involved in this too,' James told me in a cruel voice. 'I will tell everyone that you helped me kill Sinclair Baskin.'

  'I'll deny it. It will be your word against mine.'

  His smile was so diabolical, so evil. 'You are so stupid sometimes,' he spit out. 'Who do you think a jury is going to believe -- a jealous harlot who slept with a married man and then betrayed her own sister or a wronged doctor who is a pillar of the community?'