Play Dead by Harlan Coben

Author:Harlan Coben [Coben, Harlan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Thrillers, General, Suspense, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101443613
Google: HnGJsP8JI8MC
Amazon: 0451231740
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2010-09-28T05:00:00+00:00

“BILLY?”

The tall, gangly youngster spun toward Graham’s voice. He was as skinny as a poster child, and Laura wondered where he found the strength to lug suitcases. He was an average-looking boy, red-faced from the sun and covered with the last remnants of what must have been bad acne. “Yes?”

“Billy, my name is Sheriff Rowe. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

The boy’s eyes darted about the lobby. “Have I done something wrong, Sheriff?”

“No, son. I just need to ask you a few questions about David Baskin.”

“David Baskin? What can I ...? Wait a minute. You’re Laura Ayars, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re even prettier in person than on the telly. I know all about you. I was your husband’s biggest fan—well, his biggest fan in Australia anyway.”

“Billy,” Graham said, “did you see Mr. Baskin in this hotel?”

“Sure did.”

“When?”

“On the day he died. He came right through these doors.”

“You’re sure?”

Billy nodded. “I got his autograph to prove it. He was a very nice fellow. I saw him come in and head straight for the elevator. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, the David Baskin right here in this hotel. I play a little basketball myself but there was no one like White Lightning. Nobody. He was the greatest. So I sprinted over to the reception desk and grabbed a pen and piece of paper and asked him for his autograph. He said, ‘Sure, kid. What’s your name?’ I told him and then he signed it for me. He even scribbled the date.”

Laura’s heart sank deep into her stomach. Whenever David had the time, he liked to put the date with his autograph because he read somewhere that it made it worth more to true collectors.

“Then what happened?” Graham asked.

“Like I said, he got in the elevator and went up. Didn’t say a word to anybody else. He was nice and everything, but I could tell he was distracted.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. He just looked like he was in a trance or something.”

“Did you see him leave?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

Behind Billy, a group of tourists charged in noisily after a full-day boat trip to Green Island. “While Mr. Baskin was upstairs, I was working up the courage to talk to him when he came back down. I wanted to tell him that I thought he was the greatest basketball player in the world and that I loved watching him play. When he came down about an hour later, I was all psyched up to talk to him—until I saw his face.”

“What was wrong with his face?” Graham asked.

Billy shrugged. “Can’t say exactly. He was awful pale. That distracted face I was telling you about now looked pained—like somebody had danced on his guts with spiked heels. Or like he had just been told he had two months to live or something. I never seen such a change. He could barely walk when he got out of the elevator. I have to tell you, Sheriff, it was kind of scary.

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