Play Dead
Page 68
“Judy?”
“Yes?”
“It will never end, will it?” Mary began. “Every time I think it’s over, it comes back to haunt me. Was it that awful, Judy? Was what I did so terrible that it should harm my children like this? Was it that unforgivable?”
Judy thought for a moment. In truth, it was not so unforgivable. But sometimes this indiscriminate world did indeed have a pattern—a pattern like a set of dominoes. We knock down one small tile, and without realizing it, we trigger a reaction that topples countless others. Had this particular chain reaction finally reached the last tile and stopped? Had David’s death marked the end of this destructive chain? Judy hoped so.
But she doubted it very much.
17
T.C. drove back to his office. Serita was good, damn good, but T.C. had been up against better. She was lying. No doubt about it. And she didn’t feel good about doing it either. If she had been sure lying was the right thing to do, T.C. doubted her poker face would have revealed anything. Even now T.C. was not nearly as confident as he pretended to be. But what else could he do? If he assumed she was telling the truth, it left him with nothing to go on. If he assumed she was lying, ah, well, that was a different story.
Okay, T.C. thought, let’s assume Serita is lying. What does that mean? T.C. tried to organize the facts in his head. Fact 1: Laura had seen Corsel. Fact 2: She now knew about the timing of the money transfer. Fact 3: She had discovered that David’s call had come from the Pacific International Hotel in Australia. Partial conclusion: Knowing all of the above, Laura would never just give up and forget about it. Query: Where would she have gone next?
T.C. did not buy Estelle’s story about Laura on some secret fashion trip. What kind of crap excuse was that? He could understand trying to hide a certain excursion from your competition, but from her family and friends? Hardly Laura’s style. She trusted her friends. She would tell them, especially now when so many people were worried about her.
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 big shots 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 spread-eagle 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 fieldwork.
“Yes?”
“It will never end, will it?” Mary began. “Every time I think it’s over, it comes back to haunt me. Was it that awful, Judy? Was what I did so terrible that it should harm my children like this? Was it that unforgivable?”
Judy thought for a moment. In truth, it was not so unforgivable. But sometimes this indiscriminate world did indeed have a pattern—a pattern like a set of dominoes. We knock down one small tile, and without realizing it, we trigger a reaction that topples countless others. Had this particular chain reaction finally reached the last tile and stopped? Had David’s death marked the end of this destructive chain? Judy hoped so.
But she doubted it very much.
17
T.C. drove back to his office. Serita was good, damn good, but T.C. had been up against better. She was lying. No doubt about it. And she didn’t feel good about doing it either. If she had been sure lying was the right thing to do, T.C. doubted her poker face would have revealed anything. Even now T.C. was not nearly as confident as he pretended to be. But what else could he do? If he assumed she was telling the truth, it left him with nothing to go on. If he assumed she was lying, ah, well, that was a different story.
Okay, T.C. thought, let’s assume Serita is lying. What does that mean? T.C. tried to organize the facts in his head. Fact 1: Laura had seen Corsel. Fact 2: She now knew about the timing of the money transfer. Fact 3: She had discovered that David’s call had come from the Pacific International Hotel in Australia. Partial conclusion: Knowing all of the above, Laura would never just give up and forget about it. Query: Where would she have gone next?
T.C. did not buy Estelle’s story about Laura on some secret fashion trip. What kind of crap excuse was that? He could understand trying to hide a certain excursion from your competition, but from her family and friends? Hardly Laura’s style. She trusted her friends. She would tell them, especially now when so many people were worried about her.
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 big shots 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 spread-eagle 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 fieldwork.
