The Lazarus Trap by Davis Bunn Page A

tapped the mug’s rim on the desk. Slowly. Deliberately. In time to his words. “Do I need to tell you what has to be done here?”
    In response, Terrance picked up his cell phone and punched in the number. When Wally came on the line, Terrance said, “We need to talk. I’m coming up to New York. In the meantime, see if you can quietly locate this Jeffrey Adams.”
    â€œI need something more to go on.”
    â€œHe has to be sleeping somewhere.”
    â€œAnd if he’s moved on?”
    Terrance thought hard. “My guess is, he’ll try to reach England.”
    â€œThe precinct ID’d this Adams guy on his driver’s license,” Wally mused aloud. “It was the only form of identification he was carrying. If he’s headed to Europe, he’ll need a passport.”
    â€œYou know where he would go to get fake papers?”
    â€œSure.” Wally paused, then added, “My contacts at the precinct want to know if this is our man.”
    â€œI think it’s safe to tell them,” Terrance replied, his eyes steady on his partner, “that Val Haines is dead.”

VAL LAY ON HIS HARD PALLET ON THE HOTEL ROOM FLOOR. HE HELD Audrey’s letter flattened against his chest. Growing daylight filtered through slatted blinds. He stared not at the ceiling, but at the images circling him from all sides. Audrey’s letter had released a hurricane of fragmented memories.
    Before his life had fallen apart, Val and his wife had attended Orlando’s Thirty-third Street Baptist Church, which had moved to a new larger structure out by Isleworth. It was a good place. Good people, nice social life, growing fast as the city itself. His wife, Stefanie, was involved with this and that. He had played in the church basketball league. Their friends all went there. Which made the gradual revelation that their marriage was falling apart that much more public and harder to endure.
    His father’s death, the divorce, the revelation that his wife had been having an affair with the same man who then stole a promotion Val should have received—one blow followed another with merciless consistency. Val’s days held to the same empty pattern, just going through the motions, waiting for the next strike of life’s wrecking ball.
    Fourteen months after the divorce, a church friend concerned about his lonely state introduced him to a visitor from England. She was over to see her mother and brother. A wonderful lady. The friend failed to mention she was also sister to Val’s arch nemesis, Terrance d’Arcy. If he had not been trapped by agony, Val would have laughed himself sick at life’s awful irony.
    The desire to use Terrance’s sister as a means of revenge for her brother’s actions had been strong as lust. But Val couldn’t bring himself to do it. Audrey d’Arcy had been the one good thing in a dismal and storm-swept era.
    Audrey was what in Britain was called a Christian counselor. She had both a private practice and a government contract to work with prisoners coming up for remand. She extended her stay in Orlando four times, not masking her growing love for Val. Audrey had accepted his tale of woe with the tragic recognition of her brother at work. Val had feasted upon a woman who wanted only to care and comfort and succor.
    So why had he forced her to leave? Val searched and found nothing save a clearer recollection of their last day together. Outside the church, Audrey had held him for what had seemed like the lifetime he refused to share with her. The way she had touched his face, the taste of her final kiss, the soft sound of her broken farewell, all drifted now in the hotel room’s dusty air. Val rose from his pallet and stared in the mirror as he dressed. Silently he condemned the man before him for ever sending her away.

    Vince was not on duty when he arrived downstairs. Val left the hotel just as the sky overhead began going dark.