Play Dead
Page 123
Mary looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“David is not your brother,” Gloria repeated, handing Laura the diary. “May thirtieth. Read May thirtieth.”
ONLY a few blocks to go. Nothing could save David now.
James felt his sweat cling 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 have been 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 hadn’t. He’d 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 had just rushed all the way from Boston.
That part had gone very smoothly.
His real moment of fear had come 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. Had Mary reached her in time? Had Judy had 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 thirtieth,” 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?”
I said nothing. I was too scared to speak.
“You are going to help me with this because once you do, our secret and our fates will be eternally sealed together. Neither one of us will be able to reveal the other’s sin without condemning themselves as well. After today, we will go on as if nothing has changed. We will never speak of this again.”
“But can’t you see that this is all wrong?”
His face clouded over. “I know it’s wrong. Murdering Sinclair Baskin, well, that was justice. This time, it is not so cut and dried.”
“Then don’t do it,” I urged. “Forget this whole crazy scheme. Forget about everything. I’ll never tell anyone, I swear.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t just forget and go on. I have to make things right—even if it means the death of an innocent soul. Don’t you see? Mary will unwittingly go along with this. Sinclair has abandoned her and she is certainly not going to tell me the truth. What other option does she have?”
“None,” I admitted. “She’ll have to pretend that the child is yours.”
James smiled. “Exactly. So let’s make her wish come true, shall we?”
The house was pitch-dark. In the den I could hear the radio playing a familiar tune but I couldn’t place the name. James and I crept down the hallway past little Gloria’s room. My niece is such a sweet, pretty child. I wonder what her young mind will remember of this night. I pray she will recall nothing.
We were a few feet from their bedroom door when I whispered, “Are you sure Mary is unconscious?”
“I gave her enough drugs to knock out a horse. She’ll feel nothing until morning. Then I’ll give her a fresh batch.”
We reached the door. He swung it open, the dim light from the hall fell onto Mary’s sleeping body. She did not move.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Please, James, think about this.”
He grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
He pulled me in with him and shut the door. He flicked on the overhead light, illuminating the room. Mary still did not stir.
He smiled. “You see what I mean? Out like a light, the no-good whore.”
“Then why do you stay with her?”
He looked at me as though I had asked a priest why he believed in God if there was so much cruelty in the world. “Because I love her,” he said, and I think I understood.
He took out his medical bag and opened it. His hand reached in and pulled out a metallic instrument. “I took this from the hospital. Menacing-looking, isn’t it?”
I nodded. My body felt so damn cold. I stepped back and back again until I ran into the wall and could go back no farther. James’s face changed as if he had put on a mask. He was now the doctor again. He took the device and went to work. At the first sight of blood, I nearly vomited. I closed my eyes but my ears could still hear the scraping sounds. I wished he would hurry. I wished it was over.
“David is not your brother,” Gloria repeated, handing Laura the diary. “May thirtieth. Read May thirtieth.”
ONLY a few blocks to go. Nothing could save David now.
James felt his sweat cling 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 have been 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 hadn’t. He’d 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 had just rushed all the way from Boston.
That part had gone very smoothly.
His real moment of fear had come 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. Had Mary reached her in time? Had Judy had 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 thirtieth,” 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?”
I said nothing. I was too scared to speak.
“You are going to help me with this because once you do, our secret and our fates will be eternally sealed together. Neither one of us will be able to reveal the other’s sin without condemning themselves as well. After today, we will go on as if nothing has changed. We will never speak of this again.”
“But can’t you see that this is all wrong?”
His face clouded over. “I know it’s wrong. Murdering Sinclair Baskin, well, that was justice. This time, it is not so cut and dried.”
“Then don’t do it,” I urged. “Forget this whole crazy scheme. Forget about everything. I’ll never tell anyone, I swear.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t just forget and go on. I have to make things right—even if it means the death of an innocent soul. Don’t you see? Mary will unwittingly go along with this. Sinclair has abandoned her and she is certainly not going to tell me the truth. What other option does she have?”
“None,” I admitted. “She’ll have to pretend that the child is yours.”
James smiled. “Exactly. So let’s make her wish come true, shall we?”
The house was pitch-dark. In the den I could hear the radio playing a familiar tune but I couldn’t place the name. James and I crept down the hallway past little Gloria’s room. My niece is such a sweet, pretty child. I wonder what her young mind will remember of this night. I pray she will recall nothing.
We were a few feet from their bedroom door when I whispered, “Are you sure Mary is unconscious?”
“I gave her enough drugs to knock out a horse. She’ll feel nothing until morning. Then I’ll give her a fresh batch.”
We reached the door. He swung it open, the dim light from the hall fell onto Mary’s sleeping body. She did not move.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Please, James, think about this.”
He grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
He pulled me in with him and shut the door. He flicked on the overhead light, illuminating the room. Mary still did not stir.
He smiled. “You see what I mean? Out like a light, the no-good whore.”
“Then why do you stay with her?”
He looked at me as though I had asked a priest why he believed in God if there was so much cruelty in the world. “Because I love her,” he said, and I think I understood.
He took out his medical bag and opened it. His hand reached in and pulled out a metallic instrument. “I took this from the hospital. Menacing-looking, isn’t it?”
I nodded. My body felt so damn cold. I stepped back and back again until I ran into the wall and could go back no farther. James’s face changed as if he had put on a mask. He was now the doctor again. He took the device and went to work. At the first sight of blood, I nearly vomited. I closed my eyes but my ears could still hear the scraping sounds. I wished he would hurry. I wished it was over.
