Tess Gerritsen - Harvest

"We'll need NEOB's help."

"Right. But first we need names and dates."

Abby nodded. "I can do that."

"I'd help you out, but Bayside won't let me in their doors any more. They think I'm their worst nightmare."

"You and me both."

Vivian grinned, as if it was something to be proud of. She seemed small, almost childlike in her oversize raincoat. Such a fragile-looking ally. But while her size didn't inspire much confidence, her gaze did. It was direct and uncompromising. And it saw too much.

"OK, Abby," sighed Vivian. "Now tell me about Mark. And why we're keeping this from him."

Abby released a deep breath. The answer spilled out in a rush of anguish. "I think he's part of it."

"Mark?"

Abby nodded. And looked up at the drizzling sky. "He wants out of Bayside. He's been talking about sailing away. Escape. Just like Aaron did before he died."

"You think Mark's been taking payoffs?"

"A few days ago, he bought a boat. I don't mean just a boat. A yacht."

"He's always been crazy about boats."

"This one cost half a million dollars." Vivian said nothing.

"Here's the worst part," whispered Abby. "He paid in cash."

The medical records file room was in the hospital basement, just down the hall from Pathology and the morgue. It was a department well known to every physician at Bayside. This was where doctors signed off on charts, dictated discharge summaries, and initialled lab reports and verbal orders. The room was furnished with comfortable chairs and tables, and to accommodate the often erratic work hours of its physicians, the department stayed open until 9 p.m. every night.

It was six that evening when Abby walked into medical records. As she'd expected, the room was nearly deserted for the dinner hour. The only other physician was a haggard-looking intern, his desk piled high with delinquent charts.

Heart pounding, Abby approached the clerk's desk and smiled. "I'm compiling statistics for Dr. Wettig. He's doing a study on heart transplant morbidity. Could you pull up a list on your computer? The names and record numbers of all heart transplants done here in the last two years."

"For a records search like that, we need a request form from the department."

"They've all gone home by now. Could I get that form to you some other time? I'd like to have this ready for him by the morning. You know how the General is."

The clerk laughed. Yes, she knew exactly how the General was. She sat down at her keyboard and called up the Search screen. Under Diagnosis, she typed in: Cardiac Transplant, then the years to be searched. She hit the Enter button.

One by one, a list of names and record numbers began to appear. Abby watched, mesmerized by what she saw scrolling down the screen. The clerk hit Print. Seconds later, the list rolled out of the printer. She handed the page to Abby.

There were twenty-nine names on the list. The last one was Nina Voss. "Could I have the first ten charts?" Abby asked. "I might as well start working on this tonight."

The clerk vanished into the file room. A moment later she re-emerged hugging a bulky armful of files. "These are only the first two. I'll get you the rest."

Abby lugged the charts to a desk. They landed with a heavy thud. Every heart transplant patient generated reams and reams of documentation, and these two were no different. She opened the first folder to the patient information sheet.

The name was Gerald Luray, age fifty-four. Source of payment was private insurance. Home address was in Worcester, Massachusetts. She didn't know how relevant any of this information was, so she copied it all down onto a yellow legal pad. She also copied the date and time of transplant and the names of the doctors in attendance. She recognized all the names: Aaron Levi, Bill Archer, Frank Zwick, Rajiv Mohandas. And Mark. As expected, there was no donor information anywhere on the chart. That was always kept separate from recipient records. However, among the nurses' notes, she found written:

'0830 — Harvest reported complete. Donor heart now enroute from Norwalk, Connecticut. Patient wheeled to OR for prep…" Abby wrote: 0830. Harvest in Norwalk, Conn.

The records clerk wheeled a cart to Abby's desk, deposited five more charts, and went back for more.

Abby worked straight through the supper hour. She didn't stop to eat, didn't allow herself even a break, except to call Mark to tell him she'd be home late.

By closing time, she was starving.

She stopped at a McDonald's on the way home and ordered a Big Mac and giant fries and a vanilla milkshake. Cholesterol to feed the brain. She ate it all while sitting in a corner booth, keeping an eye on the dining room. At that hour, the other patrons were mostly the post-movie crowd, teenagers on dates, and here and there a few depressed-looking bachelors. No one even seemed to notice she was there. She finished every last French fry, then left.

Before she started the car, she made a quick survey of the parking lot. No van.

At ten-fifteen, she arrived home to find that Mark was already in bed and the lights were out. She was relieved that she would not have to answer any questions. She undressed in the dark and climbed under the covers, but she didn't touch him. She was almost afraid to touch him.

When he suddenly stirred and reached out to her, she felt her whole body go rigid.

"I missed you tonight," he murmured. He turned her face to his and gave her a long and intimate kiss. His hand slid down to her waist and caressed her hip. Stroked along her thigh. She didn't move; she felt as frozen as a mannequin, unable to respond or resist. She lay with her eyes closed, her pulse roaring in her ears, as he pulled her into his arms. As he slid inside her.

Who am I making love to? she wondered as he thrust again and again, their hips colliding with brutish force.

Then it was over, and he was sliding out of her.

"I love you," he whispered.

It was a long time later, after he'd fallen asleep, that she whispered her answer.

"I love you too."

At 7.40 a.m. she was back in Medical Records. Several of the desks were now occupied by physicians cleaning up paperwork before making their morning rounds. Abby requested five more charts. Quickly she took notes, gave the charts back to the clerk, and left.

She spent the morning in the medical library, looking up more articles for Dr. Wettig. It wasn't until late that afternoon that she returned to Medical Records.

She requested ten more charts.

Vivian finished off the last slice of pizza. It was her fourth slice, and where she put it all was a mystery to Abby. That elfin body consumed calories like a fat-burning furnace. Since they'd sat down in the booth at Ginelli's Abby had eaten only a few bites, and even those were an effort.

Vivian wiped her hands on a napkin. "So Mark still doesn't know?"

"I haven't said a thing to him. I guess I'm afraid to."

"How can you stand it? Living in the same house and not talking?"

"We talk. We just don't talk about this." Abby touched the sheaf of notes on the table — the notes she'd been carrying around all day. She'd been careful to keep them where Mark wouldn't find them. Last night, when she'd returned home after McDonald's, she had hidden the notes under the couch. Lately it seemed she'd been hiding so many things from him, and she didn't know how long she could keep it up.

"Abby, you've got to talk to him about this eventually."

"Not yet. Not until I know."

"You're not afraid of Mark, are you?"

"I'm afraid he'll deny everything. And I'll have no way of knowing if he's telling the truth." She ran her hands through her hair. "God, it's like reality's completely shifted on me. I used to think I was standing on such solid ground. If I wanted something badly enough, I just worked like hell for it. Now I can't decide what to do, which move to make. All the things I counted on aren't there for me any more."