Play Dead
Page 39
“This is all highly irregular. We are supposed to imagine that this place is a hospital, not a health spa.” She moved over toward the curtain. “Why don’t you go for a walk outside? The only people who will see you are the locals.”
The patient looked surprised. “I can start going outside?”
She sighed. “If you promise not to overdo it too quickly.” She opened the closet and reached in. “The doctor told me not to give this to you until you were ready.”
The patient put down the weights and watched her.
“Here,” the nurse said. “The doctor said you would be anxious to get your hands on this.”
With a small grunt, she tossed the patient a basketball.
“I’M glad you called, Laura,” T.C. began as he entered her office. He was too jittery to sit on Laura’s plush office furniture, so he paced around the room. “I also wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“You go first.”
She too was feeling somewhat jittery, but she stayed in her chair and performed her customary leg shake. She was not sure what she wanted to say. Nothing made sense anymore but maybe T.C. could help her figure out what was going on. Maybe T.C. could tell her why a man who knew nothing of finance had worked out an elaborate scheme to have money disappear just days (or even hours) before his death. “Do you know John Bort?”
“Your security chief? Sure. Good man. Hell of a storyteller.”
“Did you know he used to work for the FBI?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I asked him about the disappearing account.”
T.C. looked surprised. “You told him about it?”
“No. I asked him about a hypothetical situation similar to ours.”
“What did he say?”
Laura told him about her short conversation with John Bort. When she finished, T.C. was more fidgety than ever.
“So what are you trying to say, Laura?”
“Nothing. I wanted your opinion.”
T.C. finally sat down. “David’s dead. You’ve got to come to terms with it.”
“I know that, but I want to know why he moved his money.”
“Like John said, maybe he had a reason for hiding it that we aren’t aware of.”
Laura did not buy that. “And where did he get this sudden know-how about transferring funds?”
“I don’t know. He could have gone to some big-money expert or something.”
“And the timing? Isn’t that a hell of a coincidence?”
T.C. took out a cigar, fighting to remain calm. “So what do you think, Laura? I saw his body. David is dead. His ghost did not break into your house and rip up a photograph of his father. His ghost is not drinking margaritas in Tahiti, living off secret bank accounts. There are a million more logical possibilities.”
The phone buzzed. “Laura?”
“What is it, Estelle?”
“The accountant is here with the check for Mr. Baskin.”
“I’ll be with him in a minute.”
T.C.’s pale face gained color in a hurry. “A check for Stan Baskin? What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re giving money to Stan Baskin?”
“Just drop it. You said you had something important to tell me.”
“Laura, you can’t give him money.”
Laura wished he had never overheard Estelle’s announcement. “Like it or not, Stan Baskin is David’s only living relative. He’s entitled to some of his estate.”
“He’s entitled to shit!”
“That’s your opinion.”
T.C. stood quickly and once again began pacing. He was fuming. “How much is he taking you for?”
“If you want to know the truth, I had to force him to accept it.”
“I’m sure you had to twist his arm. How much?”
“A million dollars. It’s for a mall in David’s name.”
T.C. wanted to laugh. “He’s using the mall scheme? And you fell for it?”
Now it was Laura who was getting angry. “What are you talking about?”
“Just this: for someone so goddamn smart, you can be so fucking gullible.”
“Don’t start this with me again, T.C. I am giving him the money.”
“No, you’re not.” T.C. reached into his folder and tossed a photograph on Laura’s desk.
Laura picked up the photograph. Her face twisted in confusion. She put down the picture and looked over to T.C.
“Now,” he said, “I am going to tell you why David hated his brother.”
9
LAURA could not believe what she was seeing. “What is this supposed to mean?”
“It’s a picture of Stan and your sister,” T.C. said.
“I can see that.”
“Gloria spent last night with him.”
“Jesus, you’re a nosy bastard. Have you been following me, too?”
“I’m not following Stan to be nosy. I’m following him because I know him.”
“And what great plot has your investigation revealed?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
Laura shook her head in disbelief. “You had the gall to criticize me for intimidating the guy at the bank and then you go around playing Peeping Tom with my sister? I can’t believe it.”
“Are you ready to listen or do you want to keep calling me names?”
Laura looked at his eyes. A chill rushed through her. Suddenly, she was not so sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. “Go ahead.”
T.C. was not sure where to begin. He lit another cigar and considered his words.
Stan Baskin had been scum for most of his life. He was a high school delinquent who was fortunate enough to possess an enormous amount of superficial style and charm. It always got him through. He was intensely lazy, always looking for the easy way out, always looking for easy money. Stan would do anything for money. Except work. He preferred setting up scams and cons, and he was good. Damn good. Good enough to pilfer big bucks from his unsuspecting victims. But then his Achilles’ heel always took it away: he gambled.
David tried to convince Stan to get help for his gambling problem. But Stan was like a drug addict or an alcoholic. He was sure he could stop anytime he wanted. He just didn’t want to stop. Especially when the Redskins were such a sure thing against the Vikings or Rambling Shoe in the fourth race could not lose. Maybe David should have tried harder. Maybe he should have forced him to get help, but it probably would not have done any good. Stan was naturally jealous of his brother. To Stan’s way of seeing things, David had it all. His basketball talent was going to be his ticket to the easy money. Stan preferred to ignore the fact that David had worked hard and spent countless hours on his basketball and academics. But again, maybe that was understandable.
The patient looked surprised. “I can start going outside?”
She sighed. “If you promise not to overdo it too quickly.” She opened the closet and reached in. “The doctor told me not to give this to you until you were ready.”
The patient put down the weights and watched her.
“Here,” the nurse said. “The doctor said you would be anxious to get your hands on this.”
With a small grunt, she tossed the patient a basketball.
“I’M glad you called, Laura,” T.C. began as he entered her office. He was too jittery to sit on Laura’s plush office furniture, so he paced around the room. “I also wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“You go first.”
She too was feeling somewhat jittery, but she stayed in her chair and performed her customary leg shake. She was not sure what she wanted to say. Nothing made sense anymore but maybe T.C. could help her figure out what was going on. Maybe T.C. could tell her why a man who knew nothing of finance had worked out an elaborate scheme to have money disappear just days (or even hours) before his death. “Do you know John Bort?”
“Your security chief? Sure. Good man. Hell of a storyteller.”
“Did you know he used to work for the FBI?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I asked him about the disappearing account.”
T.C. looked surprised. “You told him about it?”
“No. I asked him about a hypothetical situation similar to ours.”
“What did he say?”
Laura told him about her short conversation with John Bort. When she finished, T.C. was more fidgety than ever.
“So what are you trying to say, Laura?”
“Nothing. I wanted your opinion.”
T.C. finally sat down. “David’s dead. You’ve got to come to terms with it.”
“I know that, but I want to know why he moved his money.”
“Like John said, maybe he had a reason for hiding it that we aren’t aware of.”
Laura did not buy that. “And where did he get this sudden know-how about transferring funds?”
“I don’t know. He could have gone to some big-money expert or something.”
“And the timing? Isn’t that a hell of a coincidence?”
T.C. took out a cigar, fighting to remain calm. “So what do you think, Laura? I saw his body. David is dead. His ghost did not break into your house and rip up a photograph of his father. His ghost is not drinking margaritas in Tahiti, living off secret bank accounts. There are a million more logical possibilities.”
The phone buzzed. “Laura?”
“What is it, Estelle?”
“The accountant is here with the check for Mr. Baskin.”
“I’ll be with him in a minute.”
T.C.’s pale face gained color in a hurry. “A check for Stan Baskin? What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re giving money to Stan Baskin?”
“Just drop it. You said you had something important to tell me.”
“Laura, you can’t give him money.”
Laura wished he had never overheard Estelle’s announcement. “Like it or not, Stan Baskin is David’s only living relative. He’s entitled to some of his estate.”
“He’s entitled to shit!”
“That’s your opinion.”
T.C. stood quickly and once again began pacing. He was fuming. “How much is he taking you for?”
“If you want to know the truth, I had to force him to accept it.”
“I’m sure you had to twist his arm. How much?”
“A million dollars. It’s for a mall in David’s name.”
T.C. wanted to laugh. “He’s using the mall scheme? And you fell for it?”
Now it was Laura who was getting angry. “What are you talking about?”
“Just this: for someone so goddamn smart, you can be so fucking gullible.”
“Don’t start this with me again, T.C. I am giving him the money.”
“No, you’re not.” T.C. reached into his folder and tossed a photograph on Laura’s desk.
Laura picked up the photograph. Her face twisted in confusion. She put down the picture and looked over to T.C.
“Now,” he said, “I am going to tell you why David hated his brother.”
9
LAURA could not believe what she was seeing. “What is this supposed to mean?”
“It’s a picture of Stan and your sister,” T.C. said.
“I can see that.”
“Gloria spent last night with him.”
“Jesus, you’re a nosy bastard. Have you been following me, too?”
“I’m not following Stan to be nosy. I’m following him because I know him.”
“And what great plot has your investigation revealed?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
Laura shook her head in disbelief. “You had the gall to criticize me for intimidating the guy at the bank and then you go around playing Peeping Tom with my sister? I can’t believe it.”
“Are you ready to listen or do you want to keep calling me names?”
Laura looked at his eyes. A chill rushed through her. Suddenly, she was not so sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. “Go ahead.”
T.C. was not sure where to begin. He lit another cigar and considered his words.
Stan Baskin had been scum for most of his life. He was a high school delinquent who was fortunate enough to possess an enormous amount of superficial style and charm. It always got him through. He was intensely lazy, always looking for the easy way out, always looking for easy money. Stan would do anything for money. Except work. He preferred setting up scams and cons, and he was good. Damn good. Good enough to pilfer big bucks from his unsuspecting victims. But then his Achilles’ heel always took it away: he gambled.
David tried to convince Stan to get help for his gambling problem. But Stan was like a drug addict or an alcoholic. He was sure he could stop anytime he wanted. He just didn’t want to stop. Especially when the Redskins were such a sure thing against the Vikings or Rambling Shoe in the fourth race could not lose. Maybe David should have tried harder. Maybe he should have forced him to get help, but it probably would not have done any good. Stan was naturally jealous of his brother. To Stan’s way of seeing things, David had it all. His basketball talent was going to be his ticket to the easy money. Stan preferred to ignore the fact that David had worked hard and spent countless hours on his basketball and academics. But again, maybe that was understandable.
