‘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 spreadeagle 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 field work.
Stu came back on the line. ‘Got it, T.C.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘She’s using the name Ayars,’ Stu said. ‘She left two days ago on a Qantas Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Cairns.’
T.C. rubbed his eyes. ‘Stu, thanks a lot.’
‘I’ll just put it on your bill.’
Laura and Graham were back at the cocktail lounge. This time, they chose to sit in a quiet corner rather than at the bar. Laura studied the big man in front of her as he stroked his beard, his eyes fixed in concentration. What did she really know about Graham Rowe? How could she be so sure he wasn’t involved in all this? After all, he had been the police officer in charge of the investigation. If Laura could not even trust T.C., how could she rely on this stranger?
‘Well, what have we got so far?’ Graham asked, speaking as much to himself as Laura. ‘Number one: David did not just go swimming like he wrote in his note.’
Laura remembered that note. I will love you forever. Always remember that. So serious for David. So foreboding. Had he somehow suspected that it would be the last note he would ever write? Had he somehow known that death was awaiting his imminent arrival?
Graham continued. ‘Number two: the time of death estimated by the coroner was way off. We have an eyewitness who swore he saw David Baskin several hours after he supposedly drowned.’ The sheriff flipped through his notebook, jotted something on a sheet of paper, and then continued. ‘Number three: we know David took an elevator ride in this hotel. He was upstairs for approximately one hour. We can assume he visited someone during that time.’
Laura nodded. ‘But who?’
‘That’s the question,’ Graham agreed. ‘But there are a few other things we should look into.’
‘Like?’
‘Like why was the coroner so far off with his estimation of David’s death? And did he miss something else, like signs of foul play or…’
‘Or?’
Graham’s piercing eyes locked onto hers. ‘Sorry, Laura, but we have to look into the possibility of suicide.’
Laura’s tone remained even. ‘Like I said before, I want all possibilities explored – no matter where they lead.’
Graham nodded. ‘Okay, let’s get started.’
‘What do we do first?’
The sheriff let a small laugh pass his lips. ‘We?’ he repeated. ‘There’s no chance I’m going to convince you to let me do this on my own, is there?’
‘None.’
Graham shrugged. ‘Well, I always wanted a beautiful partner,’ he said. ‘Okay, the first thing we should do is find Gina Cassler.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘An old friend of mine,’ Graham replied, ‘and the owner and manager of this hotel.’
Gina Cassler was a stately-looking woman in her early sixties. Her neatly bunned hair was gray, her posture straight, her head held high in the air. She wore a gray business suit and her personal appearance was perfectly groomed and manicured. It made a shocking contrast with the cluttered desk she sat behind. Files and loose sheets of paper formed three-feet alps over what Laura assumed was a nice wood finish. Occasionally, papers floated onto the floor but Mrs Cassler didn’t seem to mind.
‘Jeez, Gina,’ Graham said with a shake of his head, ‘how can such a beautiful dame be such a slob?’
Gina waved her hand as if to dismiss him. ‘Still a charmer, eh, Graham?’
‘Trying.’
‘And who is this lovely lady with you?’
Graham turned toward Laura. ‘This is Laura Baskin.’
‘Ah, yes, the founder of Svengali,’ Gina said, gently shaking Laura’s hand. ‘I bought one of your suits last time I was in San Francisco. I understand you’re going to start marketing here in Australia.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’ll be a big hit, I’m sure,’ Gina said with a smile. ‘Now what can I do for you, Graham?’
‘We’re investigating the death of Mrs Baskin’s husband. Did you hear about it?’
‘Of course,’ Gina replied. ‘It was all over the papers and telly. Such a terrible thing. We haven’t had a drowning in this region in what? Three years, Graham?’
‘Two and a half,’ he corrected.
‘Whatever. And I read he was a good swimmer.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m very sorry, really I am.’
‘Thank you,’ Laura said.
Graham cleared his throat. ‘Gina, we need to see a list of your clientele for the time period surrounding Mr Baskin’s death.’
Gina looked puzzled. ‘A guest list you mean?’
‘Right.’
‘From June?’
‘June 17th.’
‘That’s almost six months ago.’