Tess Gerritsen - Harvest

She glanced towards the mall. "I see a doughnut shop over there. Why don't we go in and have a cup of coffee?"

Cops and doughnuts. The association had become an urban joke, HARVEST

reinforced in the public's mind by every overweight cop, by every patrol car ever parked outside a Dunkin Donuts. Bernard Katzka, however, did not appear to be a doughnut fan; he ordered only a cup of black coffee which he sipped without any apparent pleasure. Katzka did not strike Abby as the sort of man who indulged in much of anything that was pleasurable, sinful, or even remotely unnecessary.

His first question came right to the point. "Why were you at the house?"

"I came to see Elaine. I wanted to talk to her."

"About what?"

"Personal matters."

"It was my impression that you two were just acquaintances."

"Did she tell you that?"

He ignored her question. "Is that how you'd characterize the relationship?"

She let out a breath. "Yes, I guess so. We know each other through Aaron. That's all."

"So why did you come to see her?"

Again she took a deep breath. And realized she was probably clueing him in to her own nervousness. "Some strange things have happened to me lately. I wanted to talk to Elaine about it."

"What things?"

"Someone was following me last Saturday. A maroon van. I spotted it on the Tobin Bridge. Then I saw it again, when I got home." "Anything else?"

"Isn't that upsetting enough?" She looked straight at him. "It scared me."

He regarded her in silence, as though trying to decide if it really was fear he was seeing in her face. 'what does this have to do with Mrs Levi?"

"You're the one who got me wondering about Aaron. About whether he really committed suicide. Then I found out two other Bayside doctors have died."

Katzka's frown told her this was news to him.

"Six and a half years ago," she said, 'there was a Dr. Lawrence Kunstler. A thoracic surgeon. He jumped off the Tobin Bridge."

Katzka said nothing, but he had shifted forward, almost imperceptibly, in his chair.

"Then three years ago, there was an anaesthesiologist," continued Abby. "A Dr. Hennessy. He and his wife and baby died of carbon monoxide poisoning. They called it an accident. A broken furnace."

"Unfortunately, that kind of accident happens every winter."

"And then there's Aaron. That makes three. All of them were on the transplant team. Doesn't that seem like a terribly unlucky coincidence to you?"

'what are you formulating here? That someone's stalking the transplant team? Killing them off one by one?"

"I'm just pointing out a pattern here. You're the policeman. You should investigate it."

Katzka sat back. "How is it you got involved in all this?"

"My boyfriend's on the team. Mark doesn't admit it, but I think he's worried. I think the whole team's worried, and they're wondering who's going to be next. But they never talk about it. The way people never talk about plane crashes when they're standing at the boarding gate."

"So you're worried about your boyfriend's safety?"

"Yes," she said simply, leaving out the larger truth: that she was doing this because she wanted Mark back. All of him. She didn't understand what had happened between them, but she knew their relationship was crumbling. And it had all started to deteriorate the night she'd mentioned Kunstler and Hennessy. None of this she shared with Katzka, because it was all based on feelings. Instinct. Katzka was the kind of man who worked with more tangible coinage.

Obviously, he'd expected her to say more. When she remained silent, he asked: "Is there anything else you want to tell me? About anything at all?"

He's talking about Mary Allen, she thought with a flash of panic. Looking at him, she had the overwhelming urge to tell him everything. Here, now. Instead she quickly avoided his gaze. And responded with a question of her own.

'why were you watching Elaine's house?" she asked. "That's what you're doing, isn't it?"

"I was talking to the next-door neighbour. When I came out, I saw you pull out of the driveway."

"You're questioning Elaine's neighbours?"

"It's routine."

"I don't think so."

Almost against her will, her gaze lifted to his. His grey eyes admitted nothing, gave nothing away.

"Why are you still investigating a suicide?"

"The widow packs up and leaves practically overnight, with no forwarding address. That's unusual."

HARVEST

"You're not saying Elaine's guilty of anything, are you?"

"No. I think she's scared."

"Of what?"

"Do you know, Dr. DiMatteo?"

She found she could not look away, found there was something about the quiet intensity of his eyes that held her transfixed. She felt a brief and completely unexpected flicker of attraction, and she had no idea why this man, of all people, should inspire it. "No," she said. "I have no idea what Elaine's running from."

"Maybe you can help me answer another question, then."

"Which is?"

"How did Aaron Levi accumulate all his wealth?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't particularly wealthy, as far as I knew. A cardiologist earns maybe two hundred thousand, tops.

And he was sending a lot of that to his two kids in college."

"Was there family money?"

"You mean like an inheritance?" She shrugged. "I heard Aaron's father was an appliance repairman."

Katzka sat back, thinking. He wasn't looking at her now, but was staring at his coffee cup. There was a depth of concentration to this man that intrigued her. He could drop out of a conversation just like that, leaving her feeling abandoned.

"Detective, how much wealth are we talking about?" He looked up at her. "Three million dollars." Stunned, Abby could only stare at him.

"After Mrs Levi vanished," he said, "I thought I should take a closer look at the family finances. So I spoke to their CPA. He told me that shortly after Dr. Levi died, Elaine discovered her husband had a Cayman Islands bank account. An account she'd known nothing about. She asked the CPA how to access the money. And then, without warning, she skipped town." Katzka gave her a questioning look.

"I have no idea how Aaron got that much money," she murmured. "Neither does his accountant."

They were silent a moment. Abby reached for her coffee and found it had gone cold. So had she.

She asked, softly: "Do you know where Elaine is?"

"We have an idea."

"Can you tell me?"

He shook his head. "At the moment, Dr. DiMatteo," he said, "I don't think she wants to be found."

Three million dollars. How had Aaron Levi accumulated three million dollars?

All the way home, she considered that question. She couldn't see how a cardiologist would be able to do it. Not with two kids in private universities and a wife with expensive taste in antiques. And why had he hidden his wealth?The Cayman Islands was where people stashed their money when they wanted it kept out of sight of the IRS. But even Elaine had not known about the account until after Aaron's death. What a shock it must have been to go through her dead husband's papers. To discover that he'd been hiding a fortune from her.

Three million dollars.

She pulled into the driveway. Found herself surveying the neighbourhood for a maroon van. It was getting to be a habit, that quick glance up and down the street.

She walked in the front door and stepped over the usual pile of afternoon mail. Most of it was professional journals, two of everything for the two doctors in the house. She gathered them all up and lugged them into the kitchen. On the table she began sorting everything into two piles. His junk, her junk. His life, her life. Nothing here worth a second glance.

It was four o'clock. Tonight, she decided, she'd cook a nice dinner. Serve it with candlelight and wine. Why not? She was now a lady of leisure. While Bayside took its sweet time deciding her future as a surgeon, she could stay busy fixing things up between her and Mark with romantic dinners and feminine coddling. Lose the career but keep the man.