Replay (30 page)

Andrew put his pen and notebook away. He stood up and left without saying goodbye to Ortiz.

Marisa was waiting for him behind the curtain, scowling.

* * *

“Don’t tell me that bastard’s getting off just like that!” Marisa yelled, climbing into the car.

“I’m a man of my word.”

“You’re as bad as him!”

Andrew looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. He started the engine and steered the car onto the road.

“You’re very sexy when you’re angry,” he said, putting his hand on Marisa’s knee.

“Don’t touch me,” she replied, pushing it away.

“I pledged not to reveal his identity in my article, but I didn’t promise anything else, as far as I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s nothing stopping me from printing a photo to illustrate my article! If somebody recognizes Ortega in Ortiz’s face, that’s not my problem. Direct me to that photographer friend of yours who developed your film. Let’s hope it isn’t grainy. I really don’t want to have to come back here tomorrow.”

Marisa looked at Andrew, took his hand and put it back on her thigh.

* * *

It was a beautiful day. A few wispy clouds streaked across the azure sky above Buenos Aires. Andrew spent his last few hours in Argentina visiting the city. Marisa showed him around La Recoleta cemetery. Andrew looked in amazement at the mausoleums containing coffins laid out on shelves, not buried beneath the ground.

“That’s how it is here,” Marisa said. “People spend a fortune on getting their final dwelling place built. A roof, four walls, an iron gate to let the light in. Eventually the entire family ends up reunited here for all eternity. I’d certainly prefer to watch the sun rise,” she added, “than rot at the bottom of a hole. I also find it a cheerful idea that people can still call on you in your ‘home.’”

“You’re right,” Andrew said, suddenly consumed by the dark thoughts he’d almost completely pushed from his mind since he’d arrived in Argentina.

“We’ve got time; we’re still young.”

“Yes . . . At least you’ve got time,” Andrew sighed. “Can we go now? Let’s go somewhere more lively, please.”

“I’ll take you to my neighborhood,” Marisa said. “It’s full of life and color, and there is music playing on every street corner. I couldn’t live anyplace else.”

“I think we’ve finally found something in common!”

She took him to dinner in a little restaurant in Palermo. The owner seemed to know her well. Although lots of other customers were waiting in line for a table, Andrew and Marisa were the first to be seated.

They continued their evening in a jazz club, where Marisa swayed her hips rhythmically on the dance floor. She tried several times to drag Andrew onto it with her, but he preferred to stay put on his stool, leaning on the bar as he watched her dance.

At around one in the morning, they went for a stroll through the still-bustling narrow streets.

“When are you going to publish your article?”

“In a few weeks.”

“When it comes out, Alberto will identify Ortega from the photo of Ortiz. He’ll press charges. He’s determined to. I’m sure he’s been hoping to do it for a long time.”

“Other witness statements will be needed in order to expose him.”

“Don’t worry—Luisa and her network will do what’s necessary. Ortiz will answer for his crimes in a court of law.”

“She’s a hell of a woman, your aunt.”

“You were right about Alberto and her, you know. They meet on a bench in the Plaza de Mayo once a week. They sit next to each other for an hour, often barely exchanging a word. Then each leaves in a different direction.”

“Why do they do that?”

“Because they need to meet, to be the parents of a son whose memory they want to keep alive. There’s no grave for them to go and meditate by.”

“Do you think they’ll live together as husband and wife again?”

“No. What they’ve been through was too much.”

Marisa remained silent for a few seconds, then added: “Luisa really likes you, you know.”

“I hadn’t realized.”

“I had. She thinks you’re attractive, and she’s a woman with good taste.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” Andrew said, smiling.

“I’ve left a small gift for you in your things.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll find out when you get to New York. Don’t open it before then, though. Promise me. It’s a surprise.”

“I promise.”

“My place is only a short walk away,” she told him. “Come on, follow me.”

Andrew accompanied Marisa to the foot of her apartment building, stopping at the door.

“Don’t you want to come up?”

“No, I don’t want to come up.”

“Don’t you like me anymore?”

“That’s just it—I like you a bit too much. It was different in the car—it wasn’t part of the plan. We were in a dangerous situation. I said to myself that life was short and I had to live for the moment . . . Actually, I said nothing of the sort. I just wanted you, and— ”

“And now you think that life will be long, and you feel guilty you cheated on your fiancée.”

“I don’t know whether life will be long, Marisa. But yes, I do feel guilty.”

“You’re a better guy than I thought, Andrew Stilman. Go back to her. What happened in the car doesn’t count. I don’t love you, you don’t love me—it was just sex. Good sex, but nothing else.”

Andrew leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“It makes you look old when you do that,” she said. “Now get out of here before I have my wicked way with you right here on the sidewalk!” Andrew turned to go. “Wait. Can I ask you one last question? When I collected your notebooks from the hotel, I saw you’d written
What if I could replay my life?
on the first page of one of them. What did you mean by that?”

“It’s a long story . . . Goodbye, Marisa.”

“Goodbye, Andrew Stilman. I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again and I wish you a wonderful life. I’ll always have fond memories of you.”

Andrew walked away without turning back. At the intersection, he jumped into a taxi.

Marisa ran up the stairs, opened her apartment door and let fall the tears she’d been holding back.

T
he plane landed at JFK late in the afternoon. Andrew had fallen asleep immediately after takeoff and only woke up when the wheels touched the ground again.

To his surprise, he found Valerie waiting for him behind the sliding doors once he’d gone through customs. She wrapped her arms around him and told him how much she’d missed him.

“I almost got into a fight with Simon because he wanted to come and pick you up!”

“I’m happy you won,” Andrew replied, kissing her.

“I have to say you hardly ever called me.”

“I was working night and day. It wasn’t easy.”

“But you finished your investigation?”

“Yes.”

“So it was worth me pining for you all this time.”

“You moped around the whole time?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I’ve never worked so hard before in my life. I’ve been coming home in the evenings and literally collapsing into bed—I couldn’t even gather the energy to eat dinner. I missed you terribly.”

“It was about time I came back, then. I missed you too,” Andrew said, leading her to the taxi stand.

* * *

The doorbell rang several times. Andrew jumped out of bed, slipped on a shirt and crossed the living room to the front door.

“So how was Buenos Aires?” Simon asked.

“Keep your voice down. Valerie’s still asleep.”

“She’s had you to herself all weekend.
I
didn’t even get a phone call.”

“We hadn’t seen each other for ten days, so you do understand we . . . ”

“Okay, okay—no need to give me the details. Get some pants on. I’m taking you out to breakfast.”

“And hello to you too.”

Andrew got dressed quickly. He wrote a little note to Valerie and stuck it on the fridge door, then joined Simon outside the front of the building.

“You could’ve called me yesterday, you know. So how was the trip?”

“Intense.”

They walked into the café on the street corner and sat down at Simon’s favorite table.

“Did everything go according to plan out there?”

“For my article, yes. But as for the other thing, we can forget the Argentina lead.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Ortiz can’t possibly be aware that I’m going to publish his photo. I’ll explain everything another time, but we need to look elsewhere, Simon.”

“That only leaves Mrs. Capetta, your colleague Olson, and . . . ”

“Valerie?”

“You said it, not me. There is actually another person to add to the list. While you were frolicking around in South America, I had several phone conversations with your inspector friend.”

“What about?”

“You’re not going to believe this: as crazy as it sounds, Olson may be right about that serial killer.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I try my best not to be . . . But the NYPD is starting to take it seriously. Same weapon and approach, and theft wasn’t the motive for the attack on the jeweler we visited in Lenox Hill Hospital.”

“That’s not what the guy told us.”

“He was trying to con his insurance company. He must have woken up in the hospital and hit on the idea of saying he’d been on his way to see a customer. Actually, he was just walking home from work through the park. An assessor from the insurance company saw through him before you could say ‘fraud.’ There was no such customer, and on the claim form the idiot listed two supposedly stolen necklaces that he’d already claimed in a previous burglary. The attack on him was just a random thing.”

“I find it hard to believe Olson could’ve stumbled on such a big story.”

“Listen, just so we’re clear about this: are you absolutely sure you’re not threatened by Olson? Professionally, I mean?”

Andrew looked away.

“Yeah, sure. Completely sure.”

“Okay, back to business. The police are asking questions. And we can hardly go and tell them that a fourth victim may be added to the serial killer’s list in early July.”

“If it really is a madman who killed me,” Andrew said pensively, “we’re done for.”

“You always need to make a big deal out of things.”

“By ‘things,’ do you mean my death? So sorry for making a big deal out of it. You’re right—what was I thinking?”

“That’s not what I meant. And anyway, there’s nothing to prove your story’s linked to that case. We’ve still got four weeks to go.”

“We may have.”

“What do you mean?”

“In Argentina, nothing happened exactly as it did the first time round.”

“You mean you experienced new things?”

“The order of events was different. And, yes, some things were new.”

“Maybe you’d just forgotten them?”

“I doubt that very much.”

“What are you hiding from me?”

“I had sex with the bartender who helped me track down Ortiz. That didn’t happen before.”

“I knew I should have come along!” Simon exclaimed, thumping his fist on the table.

“To stop me from doing stupid things?”

“No, you do what you like. Then again, if I’d been there, I’m the one who’d have slept with her. You’re not going to tell me you’re feeling guilty, are you?”

“Of course I feel guilty.”

“You really are incredible, Andrew. You’re convinced someone’s going to murder you in a month, and you’re feeling guilty about a minor tryst? What’s done is done. Just don’t say anything to Valerie, and focus on the coming days, okay? Let’s change the subject,” Simon quickly added, looking out of the window.

Valerie walked into the café.

“I knew I’d find you in here,” she said. “The look on your faces! Have you had an argument?”

Simon stood up and kissed Valerie.

“We never argue. I’ll leave you two lovebirds on your own—a customer’s waiting for me. Andrew, come and see me at the garage if you can, so we can finish our discussion.”

Valerie waited until Simon had left, then sat down in his place.

“Sometimes I get the impression he’s jealous of me,” she said, amused.

“You might be right. Simon is a bit possessive.”

“What were you talking about? There was tension, don’t deny it.”

“About the bachelor party he wants to organize for me.”

“I fear the worst!”

“Me too. I told him so, and he took it badly,” Andrew replied.

First lie to Valerie since I’ve been back
, he reflected.

* * *

Andrew went straight to his editor’s office when he got to work. Olivia Stern hung up her phone and asked him to sit down. Andrew told her about his trip, the circumstances in which he’d assembled the facts, and the deal he’d had to strike with Ortiz.

“You want us to publish it without mentioning his assumed name? You’re asking a lot of me, Andrew. Your article will lose credibility. You’ll defeat the whole purpose of it.”

“I thought the idea was to tell the life story of an ordinary man who became an accessory to atrocities. What purpose are you talking about?”

“Denouncing a war criminal! If we’re not doing that, I don’t see how we can put it on the front page.”

“Were you really planning to make it the lead article?” Andrew asked.

“I was hoping to, but you’re going to have to choose between personal glory and keeping your word. Only you can make that decision.”

“There are other ways of denouncing him,” he said, getting an envelope out of his pocket and placing it on the desk.

Olivia opened it. The expression on her face changed when she saw the photos of Major Ortiz that Marisa had taken.

“He looks older than I pictured him,” she murmured.

“He looked even worse in his hospital bed,” Andrew replied.

“You’re a funny guy, Andrew.”

“I know—I’ve already been told that this morning. So, do you have what you need now?”

“Write up your article. It’s your top priority. I’m giving you three weeks. If your text is up to par, I’ll ask the editorial board for a lead paragraph on the front page and a double-page spread inside.”