Play Dead
Page 88
So authoritative, so controlled—it had been part of the reason she had fallen for him all those years ago. Her heart had been brutally crushed when she lost him to Mary, though she never let it show. She’d stepped aside gracefully as poor, sweet Judy had always done, stepped out of her leading role as fiancée and into the bit part of Mary’s maid of honor. She met Sinclair Baskin a few months after losing James. He mended her heart to the stage where she was able to forget all about Mary’s husband.
A few months later, her heart was crushed again, never to recover.
“I need to speak to you,” she said. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. What is it?”
She took a deep breath, not really sure how to begin. “Did you notice anything strange at the game last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean anything unusual.”
“I’ve got a dozen patients in the waiting room, Judy. Can we please stop playing cat-and-mouse?”
Again she wondered what to say. “Did you notice Mark Seidman?”
“The rookie? Of course. Brilliant player.”
“And his jump shot?”
“What about it?”
“Didn’t it look familiar?”
“It was like David’s. So what? What are you getting at—?” He stopped speaking. His mouth dropped open. When he was finally able to talk again, his words came softly. “You don’t mean . . .”
“I do.”
“But how? It makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. Think about it a second. Didn’t you call me after that meeting with David’s attorney and say that you were no longer sure David had committed suicide?”
“Yes,” James agreed, “but that was because his money was missing. I thought there was a remote possibility that someone had murdered him to get it.”
“Think it through again, James. Wouldn’t a murder be a terribly strange coincidence?”
“Maybe,” James allowed, “but what you’re suggesting is preposterous.”
“Is it? Or is it the only answer that completely fits?”
“How could David have possibly pulled it off?”
“Not easily, I assure you. He would have needed help. Probably from T.C.—”
“Who was the first one to get over to Australia when Laura discovered that David was missing,” James added.
“Exactly.”
“But we have to admit it’s a pretty wild theory, Judy. And that’s all it is right now: theory. There’s not one shred of proof. We can’t just go off half-cocked on a supposition. Think of the repercussions involved.”
“I know all about the repercussions.”
“Then what do you think we should do?”
Judy sighed. As usual, James was right. In the end, this was only another in a series of crazy hypotheses by a frustrated English teacher. “We’ll move slowly, but it has to be investigated.”
“The sooner, the better,” James said. “This can’t wait. I’ll go to the bank and try to track down the missing money.”
“Good.”
Pause. “Have you spoken to Mary?” he asked.
“Are you joking? Who knows how she’d react?”
“I agree. Good-bye, Judy.”
“Good luck, James. Let me know what you find out.”
GRAHAM Rowe scanned the telephone bill. He could have gotten the bill from the phone company, but if he had made that request, the government might just have wanted to find out what he was investigating. And if something big was going on, if Dr. Bivelli and the Aussie feds were working with this T.C. fella, poking his nose where it didn’t belong could prove hazardous to his health.
This is not my cup of tea, Graham thought. He was a simple, small-town sheriff. He liked fishing, hunting, and downing a few Fosters at Luke’s Pub in town. Not too many, mind you, but a nice cold one now and again helps set a man straight.
Conspiracy, complications, murders—he avoided them like a leper colony. And what was he risking his neck for anyway? From the looks of things, the actual drowning occurred in Cairns. They had a whole police department over there. He could just hand the whole thing over to them, sit back in his chair, and catch a little catnap.
You’d like that, Graham ol’ boy, wouldn’t you? he thought. But in truth, David Baskin had been vacationing in his jurisdiction. His wife had come to him for help. She could be in real trouble and Graham Rowe was not the sort of mate who turned away from a woman in danger.
He grabbed a pen and circled all the calls on the bill that had gone to the United States. There were a total of seven made on June seventeenth. The big sheriff had all seven numbers checked out quickly. Three were tourists calling their family in California. One was to Texas. One was even to something called SportsPhone in Cleveland. As he expected, dead ends.
The same, however, could not be said for the last two calls: both placed to the Boston area from the phone extension in the lobby—the same extension that Baskin had used. Once again, Graham stared at his findings and wished they would change.
Damn. Why did it have to be this way?
He shook his head. No use in putting it off. He might as well call Laura and get it over with. She was about to be one unhappy little lady.
The call connected rapidly. In a matter of seconds, he heard Laura pick up the phone. “Hello, luv,” he said.
“Graham,” Laura asked, “is that you?”
He tried to sound jovial. Why he did so he had no idea. “You know somebody else with an Aussie accent?”
“Have you learned anything? Have they found the passport cards?”
“Yes and no.”
“Give me the no first.”
“No, the passport cards have not been located yet. We should have them sometime tomorrow.”
“And the yes?”
He let go a long sigh. “We have the phone bill.”
“Were calls placed to Boston?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes. Two of them. Both from the lobby of the hotel.”
Laura’s pulse quickened. “Who did he call, Graham?”
“One of the calls we already knew about. As we expected, he did call the Heritage of Boston Bank.”
“And the other call?”
He could hear the eager and troubled tone in her voice. “Laura, he called T.C. They spoke for nearly an hour.”
Graham’s words rammed into her midsection. All her worst fears had come full circle. Another lie from T.C. Last night, he claimed that he had never met Mark Seidman. When she saw them sneak out together, she felt a knowing dread crawl over her. He had lied. Somehow, Mark Seidman was connected with all of this. Somehow, the Celtics rookie had a part in this little plot.
A few months later, her heart was crushed again, never to recover.
“I need to speak to you,” she said. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. What is it?”
She took a deep breath, not really sure how to begin. “Did you notice anything strange at the game last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean anything unusual.”
“I’ve got a dozen patients in the waiting room, Judy. Can we please stop playing cat-and-mouse?”
Again she wondered what to say. “Did you notice Mark Seidman?”
“The rookie? Of course. Brilliant player.”
“And his jump shot?”
“What about it?”
“Didn’t it look familiar?”
“It was like David’s. So what? What are you getting at—?” He stopped speaking. His mouth dropped open. When he was finally able to talk again, his words came softly. “You don’t mean . . .”
“I do.”
“But how? It makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. Think about it a second. Didn’t you call me after that meeting with David’s attorney and say that you were no longer sure David had committed suicide?”
“Yes,” James agreed, “but that was because his money was missing. I thought there was a remote possibility that someone had murdered him to get it.”
“Think it through again, James. Wouldn’t a murder be a terribly strange coincidence?”
“Maybe,” James allowed, “but what you’re suggesting is preposterous.”
“Is it? Or is it the only answer that completely fits?”
“How could David have possibly pulled it off?”
“Not easily, I assure you. He would have needed help. Probably from T.C.—”
“Who was the first one to get over to Australia when Laura discovered that David was missing,” James added.
“Exactly.”
“But we have to admit it’s a pretty wild theory, Judy. And that’s all it is right now: theory. There’s not one shred of proof. We can’t just go off half-cocked on a supposition. Think of the repercussions involved.”
“I know all about the repercussions.”
“Then what do you think we should do?”
Judy sighed. As usual, James was right. In the end, this was only another in a series of crazy hypotheses by a frustrated English teacher. “We’ll move slowly, but it has to be investigated.”
“The sooner, the better,” James said. “This can’t wait. I’ll go to the bank and try to track down the missing money.”
“Good.”
Pause. “Have you spoken to Mary?” he asked.
“Are you joking? Who knows how she’d react?”
“I agree. Good-bye, Judy.”
“Good luck, James. Let me know what you find out.”
GRAHAM Rowe scanned the telephone bill. He could have gotten the bill from the phone company, but if he had made that request, the government might just have wanted to find out what he was investigating. And if something big was going on, if Dr. Bivelli and the Aussie feds were working with this T.C. fella, poking his nose where it didn’t belong could prove hazardous to his health.
This is not my cup of tea, Graham thought. He was a simple, small-town sheriff. He liked fishing, hunting, and downing a few Fosters at Luke’s Pub in town. Not too many, mind you, but a nice cold one now and again helps set a man straight.
Conspiracy, complications, murders—he avoided them like a leper colony. And what was he risking his neck for anyway? From the looks of things, the actual drowning occurred in Cairns. They had a whole police department over there. He could just hand the whole thing over to them, sit back in his chair, and catch a little catnap.
You’d like that, Graham ol’ boy, wouldn’t you? he thought. But in truth, David Baskin had been vacationing in his jurisdiction. His wife had come to him for help. She could be in real trouble and Graham Rowe was not the sort of mate who turned away from a woman in danger.
He grabbed a pen and circled all the calls on the bill that had gone to the United States. There were a total of seven made on June seventeenth. The big sheriff had all seven numbers checked out quickly. Three were tourists calling their family in California. One was to Texas. One was even to something called SportsPhone in Cleveland. As he expected, dead ends.
The same, however, could not be said for the last two calls: both placed to the Boston area from the phone extension in the lobby—the same extension that Baskin had used. Once again, Graham stared at his findings and wished they would change.
Damn. Why did it have to be this way?
He shook his head. No use in putting it off. He might as well call Laura and get it over with. She was about to be one unhappy little lady.
The call connected rapidly. In a matter of seconds, he heard Laura pick up the phone. “Hello, luv,” he said.
“Graham,” Laura asked, “is that you?”
He tried to sound jovial. Why he did so he had no idea. “You know somebody else with an Aussie accent?”
“Have you learned anything? Have they found the passport cards?”
“Yes and no.”
“Give me the no first.”
“No, the passport cards have not been located yet. We should have them sometime tomorrow.”
“And the yes?”
He let go a long sigh. “We have the phone bill.”
“Were calls placed to Boston?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes. Two of them. Both from the lobby of the hotel.”
Laura’s pulse quickened. “Who did he call, Graham?”
“One of the calls we already knew about. As we expected, he did call the Heritage of Boston Bank.”
“And the other call?”
He could hear the eager and troubled tone in her voice. “Laura, he called T.C. They spoke for nearly an hour.”
Graham’s words rammed into her midsection. All her worst fears had come full circle. Another lie from T.C. Last night, he claimed that he had never met Mark Seidman. When she saw them sneak out together, she felt a knowing dread crawl over her. He had lied. Somehow, Mark Seidman was connected with all of this. Somehow, the Celtics rookie had a part in this little plot.
