Replay (14 page)

“Did you like what you read?” Andrew asked.

“I’m terrified thinking of what will happen to that family, to María Luz, but I couldn’t help envying Rafael and Isabel for being so close and working together at their kitchen table.”

“It’s only a draft,” Andrew muttered.

“It’s more than that.”

“I can never publish their story if I don’t go back to Argentina. It’s not a made-up story, you know? Those people really existed. And one or two accounts just aren’t enough.”

“I know you have to go back there. This passion that drives you is one of the reasons I love you. I’m only asking you not to exclude me.”

Andrew sat down next to Valerie, took her hand and kissed it.

“You’re right. I’m an idiot. I’m paranoid about my work. I’m obsessed with secrecy, I’m afraid of deforming the truth, being partial, or influenced, or manipulated. That’s why I only wanted you to find out about my crusade after this article is published. But I was wrong,” he said. “From now on, I’ll let you read what I’m writing as I go along.”

“And?” Valerie asked.

“And what?”

“And will you show a little more interest in
my
job?”

“Hey, everything about you interests me. You want me to read your post-surgery reports?”

“No, Valerie replied, laughing. “I’d like for you to come to my office at least once so I can show you what a typical day is like for me.”

“You want me to come see the mounted unit stables?”

“That, and my office, and the operating room, and the lab.”

“I wish you looked after poodles. The only reason I’ve never come to visit you is that I’m terrified of horses.”

Valerie smiled at Andrew.

“No need to be scared of them. What I’ve just been reading is a lot scarier than the most spirited horse in our stables.”

“How spirited?” Andrew asked. He got up.

“Where are you going?” Valerie asked.

“Let’s go get a breath of fresh air. I want to take a walk through the Village and I’ll show you where we’re going to have a romantic dinner.”

As Andrew helped Valerie into her coat, she turned to him and asked:

“What happened to Rafael and Isabel and María Luz?”

“Later,” Andrew replied, shutting the apartment door behind them. “I’ll tell you the whole story later.”

* * *

Andrew arrived at work around 8:30
A.M.
He went through security and stopped in the cafeteria to have a coffee before going up to his office.

Sitting at his desk, he switched on his computer, entered his password, and began searching a few websites. After a while, he grabbed a notepad and a pen.

Dear Mr. Capetta,

Your wife sent her letter from Chicago. The stamp has been postmarked by a post office near Warren Park.

I am deeply sorry about everything that has happened to you.

Yours sincerely,

Andrew Stilman

PS Please check for yourself, but I looked at some online photos of that park, and I think I could make out a playground.

Andrew slipped his note into an envelope, copied out Mr. Capetta’s address and took it over to the outgoing mail basket.

Back at his desk, he couldn’t help but remember the last thing Capetta had said about his wife:
I wouldn’t take her threats lightly if I were you.
And Chicago was only a two-hour flight from New York.

His telephone rang and the receptionist informed him that he had a visitor. In the elevator on his way down to the lobby, Andrew felt a shiver surge through his body, followed by a dull ache at the base of his spine.

* * *

“You don’t look very good,” Inspector Pilguez remarked.

“Just tired. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m frozen stiff.”

“That’s odd—you’re sweating.”

Andrew wiped his hand across his forehead.

“Do you want to sit down for a moment?” Pilguez suggested.

“Let’s go out. I need some fresh air,” Andrew replied.

The pain suddenly became so intense that it stopped him in his tracks. Pilguez caught Andrew as his legs gave way and he fell.

When Andrew came to, he was lying on a bench in the lobby with Pilguez beside him.

“Good, you’re getting your color back. You scared me. You just went out like a light. Do you faint often?”

“No. I mean, I never used to before.”

“Probably stress,” sighed Pilguez. “I know what I’m talking about. You start cracking up when you’re scared. Your heart races, you hear ringing in your ears, you start feeling like you’re wrapped up in cotton, sounds become distant and then—bam!—you’re on your ass on the floor. You’ve just had a little anxiety attack.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Have you discussed your story with anyone other than me?”

“Who do you think I’d have told? Who’d believe my story?”

“Don’t you have any friends?”

“Of course I do.”

“Friends you can count on in any situation?” Pilguez asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Andrew sighed.

“Okay, I’m a bit of a loner, but there’s Simon, who’s like a brother to me. Our friendship is worth more than lots of superficial acquaintances.”

“No reason you can’t have both. You should talk to Simon and tell him what happened to you. You’ve got eight weeks left to find your killer.”

“Thanks for reminding me. I think about it morning, noon and night. Even if I do manage to forget it for a moment, the pain comes back to remind me I’m running out of time.”

“The closer you get to the date, the more you’re going to need someone to rely on.”

“Is that your way of telling me you’re giving up on me?”

“It’s sound advice, Stilman. I’ve no intention of ditching you, but I have to go home at some point. My wife is waiting for me. I’ll stay in New York until you leave for Argentina. After that, there’s always the phone, and I’ve recently started using the internet. After all those years tapping out reports on typewriters, I’m pretty good at typing. But in the meantime I want you to go tell your friend everything. That’s an order!”

“Why did you drop by to see me this morning? Anything new?”

“The list of people who have it in for you got longer yesterday, which doesn’t help matters. I’m going to follow up on Mr. Capetta’s ex-wife. Meanwhile you should take a closer look at your colleague Freddy Olson. I’d also like to find out more about your boss.”

“I’ve already told you, you’re on the wrong track with Olivia.”

“If it were my life at stake I wouldn’t exclude anyone, I assure you. Speaking of which, and I’m sorry to bring it up again, but there’s another person on my list.”

“Who’s that?”

“Your wife. The woman you ditched on her wedding day.”

“Valerie wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s no surprise—she’s a vet. But a man who’d hurt her that much? You wouldn’t believe all the imaginative ways to get revenge people come up with when they’ve been humiliated. Plus she’s around police officers all day long.”

“So what?”

“If my wife decided to get rid of me, she’d be way more inventive than any cop show screenwriter.”

“Are you just here because it’ll make a good story or do you really believe me now?”

“I’m not playing games, Stilman. Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the scene of a crime that hasn’t taken place yet.”

I
s this a rental?” Andrew inquired when Pilguez led him over to a black Ford SUV parked outside the newspaper and gestured for him to climb in.

“Borrowed from a friend.”

“It’s got a police radio,” Andrew let out a low whistle. “Who’s the friend?”

“Put your seat belt on and stop touching things. If I’d been a doctor, I’d have borrowed an ambulance.”

“I’ve never been in a cop car before.”

Pilguez looked at Andrew and smiled.

“Oh, right. I get it,” he said, leaning over to the glove compartment.

He took out the strobe light, put it on the dashboard and switched on the siren.

“How do you like that?”

“Great!” replied Andrew, clutching his seat as Pilguez sped off.

Ten minutes later the inspector parked the Ford at the corner of Charles Street and the West Side Highway.

Andrew led him along the footpath where he took his regular morning run. They stopped when they reached Pier 40.

“This is where it happened. Just being here sets off the pain.”

“It’s psychosomatic. Breathe deeply and you’ll feel much better. When you think back to this premonition of yours, can you identify the murder weapon?” Pilguez asked, scouring the horizon.

“It wasn’t a premonition!”

“Fine, it happened, and it’ll happen again if we waste time arguing.”

“I was attacked from behind. When I realized what was happening to me, I was already lying in a pool of my own blood.”

“Where was the blood coming from?”

“My mouth and nose.”

“Try to remember: did you feel anything in your stomach?”

“No, why?”

“A bullet shot at close range creates more damage at its exit point than its entry point. If you’d been shot, your intestines would have been thrown out onto the blacktop. Believe me, you’d have noticed.”

“And if someone had aimed at me from much further away, using a sniper rifle, for instance?”

“That’s exactly what I was just thinking. But look, none of the roofs on the other side of the highway is high enough to let you pick out one runner in a crowd at that distance. And you told me you died on July 10, right?”

“July 9. Why?”

“Look up. In a couple of weeks, you won’t be able to see this path for the leaves on the trees. The injury was made horizontally, by someone who was following you.”

“I didn’t feel any pain in my stomach.”

“It’s got to be a knife that killed you, then. We just need to find out what kind. Take some deep breaths—you’re looking very pale again.”

“I’m not enjoying this conversation.”

“Where can we find this Simon guy?”

“At work right now. He’s got a vintage auto shop on Perry Street.”

“I’m in luck. That’s a short walk from here, and I love old cars.”

* * *

Pilguez’s jaw dropped as he walked into the garage. A Chrysler Newport, a De Soto, a beige Plymouth cabriolet, a 1956 Thunderbird and a 1954 Ford Crestline, among others, were lined up in perfect rows along the immaculate floor of the garage. The inspector made his way over to a Packard Mayfair.

“Amazing,” he murmured. “My father had one of these. I haven’t seen one for years.”

“That’s because very few were ever made,” Simon explained, joining him. “I won’t have it for long. It’s such a rare model, I bet it’ll have a new owner by Friday.”

“Forget the sales pitch. We haven’t come to buy a car,” Andrew said, coming up behind them. “This gentleman’s with me.”

“Oh, it’s you! You could have said you were on your way.”

“What, now I need to send you a note before dropping by?”

“Of course not. It’s just that . . . ”

“He hates for me to overhear him doing his salesman routine,” Andrew told Pilguez. “But you’ve got to admit he’s great at it. ‘Such a rare car, I bet it’ll have found a new owner by Friday.’ Don’t believe a word! He’s been stuck with it for the past two years. We did a weekend trip in it last summer, and guess what? It broke down.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Did you want something? I don’t know about you, but I have work to do.”

“Some friendship you two have,” Pilguez smirked.

“Can we go into your office?” Andrew asked.

“You look strange. Are you in trouble?”

Andrew didn’t reply.

“What kind of trouble?” Simon pressed.

“It’d be better if we could talk in your office,” Pilguez reiterated.

Simon signaled to Andrew to take the stairs up to the mezzanine.

“I don’t want to be nosy,” he asked Pilguez, bringing up the rear, “but who are you?”

“A friend of Andrew’s. But don’t be jealous—I’m not a rival.”

Simon sat his visitors down opposite him in two club chairs, and listened to Andrew tell his story without interrupting. When Andrew finished an hour later, Simon took a long look at him and then picked up the phone.

“I’m calling a doctor friend I go skiing with every winter. He’s a very good general physician. You’ve probably got diabetes. I’ve heard that if your blood sugar levels get too high, it can mess with your brain. Nothing to worry about. We’ll find . . . ”

“Don’t waste your time,” Pilguez said, putting his hand on the telephone. “I offered him the services of a neurologist friend, but your buddy here is absolutely certain of what he’s saying.”

“And you’re backing up his story?” Simon asked, turning to Pilguez. “Some friend you are.”

“Listen. I don’t know if your friend’s deranged or not, but I do know how to recognize someone who’s telling the truth; as I once told your friend here, I worked some pretty weird cases during my time, and that’s one thing I learned. During my four decades with the police, I came up against cases that were completely out of the ordinary. But that didn’t make me resign.”

“You’re a cop?”

“I used to be.”

Simon turned back to Andrew. “Just a quick checkup to put our minds at rest,” he begged. “I’m not asking for much, unlike you, Andrew.”

“I don’t remember asking anything of you.”

“You’re asking me to believe that someone’s going to murder you in a few weeks, and that you’re absolutely certain of this because you already died. Apart from that, no, you’re not asking anything of me. So can I go ahead and make this doctor’s appointment? Because from what you’ve said, we don’t have much time.”

“My initial reaction was much the same as yours,” said Pilguez, “but your friend does have a special gift.”

“And that is?” Simon inquired.

“Being able to announce news before it happens.”

“That’s it! Maybe
I
should be examined—it appears I’m the only one who finds this story far-fetched.”