Honeymoon - James Patterson [40]
“What?”
“I know, it’s terrible, and if there was anything I could do about it, I would. I can’t, though. For whatever reason, this idiot O’Hara refuses to accept that a forty-year-old guy can naturally have a heart attack. He wants more tests performed.”
“But there was an autopsy.”
“I know . . . I know.”
“This O’Hara guy doesn’t believe the results?”
“It’s not so much that, Nora. What he wants are more thorough tests. General autopsies are . . . well, they’re general; they don’t always uncover certain things.”
“What do you mean? What things?”
Nora’s question hung in the air as the waitress returned. As she put down our coffee and my apple pie, I watched Nora get more and more worked up. Her emotions struck me as genuine. It was the motivation that seemed less clear. Was she the grieving fiancée, or the murderous woman grappling with the sudden risk of being exposed?
The waitress left.
“What things?” I said, repeating her question. “Any number of things, I suppose. For instance, and I’m only speaking hypothetically, if Connor was an abuser of drugs, or perhaps there was some preexisting medical condition that went unreported on the insurance application—both these things could possibly void the policy.”
“Neither was the case.”
“You know that, and to be perfectly candid and off the record, I know that. Unfortunately, John O’Hara doesn’t.”
Nora pulled back the paper lid on one of those oversize thimbles of half-and-half. She dumped it in her coffee. Added two sugars.
“You know what?” she said. “Tell O’Hara he can keep the money. I don’t want it.”
“I wish it were that simple, Nora. Centennial One actually has a legal obligation to pay off the policy, barring any discrepancies. Strange as it may sound, you don’t have a choice in this matter.”
She lowered her elbows onto the table. Then her head dropped into her hands. When she lifted it back up I could see a tear rolling down her cheek. She whispered: “You’re literally going to dig up Connor’s coffin? That’s what you’re going to do?”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and actually I did feel bad. What if she was innocent? “You can see why I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. The only thing I can tell you is that if I were O’Hara, I’d never do something like this.”
As I said those words, watching as she dried her eyes with her napkin, I couldn’t help thinking about my father and his words.
Things aren’t always as they appear.
I still couldn’t tell if Nora’s tears were real or fake, but this much I did know. She’d come to despise John O’Hara. And the more she hated him, the more I could gain her trust.
Pretty ironic, I had to admit.
For John O’Hara wasn’t out in Chicago at the home office of Centennial One Life Insurance.
Instead, John O’Hara was sitting in a booth at the Blue Ribbon Diner, eating a slice of apple pie and answering to the name of Craig Reynolds.
And insurance wasn’t exactly my game.
Part Three
VERY DANGEROUS GAMES
Chapter 52
SUSAN WAS BARKING in my ear. She was pissed. “What do you mean, you told her we were exhuming Brown’s body?”
“Trust me, it’s to our advantage,” I said. “More than ever, Nora thinks I’m on her side. Plus, you told me yourself that digging up the body poses a risk. She could find out on her own.”
“I said it poses a small risk.”
“And what I’m saying is that we just turned it around to our advantage.”
“We didn’t do anything, O’Hara. You did this on your own without discussing it with me first.”
“So I winged it a bit.”
“No, you winged it a lot. That’s your trademark, isn’t it? That’s what gets you in trouble,” she groused. “There’s a reason we have a game plan, and that’s so we both know what the other is doing.”
“C’mon, Susan, at least agree this plays into our favor.”
“That’s not the point. I need you to be a team player, understand? You’re not the undercover cop anymore.”
I hesitated, but then said, “You’re right. I’m the undercover federal agent.”
“Not