Vivian's answer came back in a shout. "Yeah. But I don't think it was that long ago. More like four years."
"Do you have any idea why he committed suicide?"
"It wasn't a suicide."
"What?"
"Look, can you hold on a minute? I'm going to change extensions." Abby heard the receiver clunk down and had to endure what seemed like an endless wait before Vivian picked up the extension. "OK, Grandma! You can hang up!" she yelled. The chatter of Cantonese was abruptly cut off.
"What do you mean, it wasn't a suicide?" Abby said.
"It was an accident. There was some defect in his furnace and carbon monoxide collected in the house. It killed his wife and baby girl, too."
"Wait. Wait a minute. I'm talking about a guy named Lawrence Kunstler."
"I don't know anyone named Kunstler. That must have happened before I got to Bayside."
"Who are you talking about?"
"An anaesthesiologist. The one before they hired Zwick. I'm blocking on his name right now… Hennessy. That's the name."
"He was on the transplant team?"
"Yeah. A young guy, right out of fellowship. He wasn't here very long.! remember he was thinking about moving back west when it happened."
"Are you sure it was an accident?"
"What else would it be?"
Abby stared out the window at the empty street and said nothing. "Abby, is something wrong?"
"Someone was following me today. A van."
"Come on."
"Mark isn't home yet. It's almost dark and he should be home by now. I keep thinking about Aaron. And Lawrence Kunstler. He jumped off the Tobin Bridge. And now you're telling me about Hennessy. That's three, Vivian."
"Two suicides and an accident."
"That's more than you'd expect in one hospital."
"Statistical cluster? Or maybe there's something about working for Bayside that's really, really depressing." Vivian's attempt at humour fell flat and she knew it. After a pause she said, "Do you honestly think someone was following you?"
"What did you tell me? You're not paranoid. Someone's really out to get you."
"I was referring to Victor Voss. Or Parr. They have reasons to harass you. But to follow you around in a van? And what does it have to do with Aaron or the other two guys?"
"I don't know." Abby drew her legs up on the chair and hugged herself for warmth. For self-protection. "But I'm getting scared. I keep thinking about Aaron. I told you what that detective said that Aaron's death may not be a suicide."
"Does he have any evidence?"
"If he did, he certainly wouldn't tell me."
"He might tell Elaine."
Of course. The widow. The one who'd want to know, who'd demand to know.
After she hung up, Abby looked up Elaine Levi's phone number. Then she sat gathering the nerve to actually make the call. It was now dark outside, and the drizzle had turned to a steady rain. Mark still wasn't home. She shut the curtains and turned on the lights.
All of them. She needed brightness and warmth.
She picked up the phone and dialled Elaine.
It rang four times. She cleared her throat, preparing to leave a message on the inevitable answering machine. Then she heard three piercing tones, followed by a recording:
"The number you have dialled is no longer in service. Please check your listing and dial again…"
Abby redialled, painstakingly confirming each number as she punched it in.
Four rings were followed by the same piercing tones. "The number you have dialled is no longer in service…"
She hung up and stared at the phone as if it had betrayed her. Why had Elaine changed her number?Who was she trying to avoid?
Outside, a car splashed through the rain. Abby ran to the window and peered through a crack in the curtains. A BMW was pulling into the driveway.
She offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
Mark was home.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mark refilled his wine glass. "Sure, I knew them both," he said. "I knew Larry Kunstler better than Hennessy. Hennessy wasn't with us very long. But Larry was one of the guys who recruited me here, straight from my fellowship. He was an OK guy." Mark set the wine bottle down on the table. "A really nice guy."
The maitre d' swept past, escorting a flamboyantly-dressed woman to a nearby table, where she was greeted with a noisy chorus of" There you are, darling," and'love your dress!" Their high-pitched gaiety at that particular moment struck Abby as vulgar. Even obscene. She wished she and Mark had stayed home. But he had wanted to eat out. They had so few free evenings together, and they hadn't properly celebrated their engagement. He had ordered wine, had made the toast, and now he was finishing off the bottle — something he seemed to be doing more and more these days. She watched him drain the last of the wine, and she thought: All the stress of my legal problems is affecting Mark as well.
"Why didn't you ever tell me about them?" she asked.
"It never came up."
"I would think someone would mention them. Especially after Aaron died. The team loses three colleagues in six years, and no one says a thing. It's almost as if you're all afraid to talk about it."
"It's a pretty depressing thing to talk about. We try not to bring up the subject, especially around Marilee. She knew Hennessy's wife. She even arranged her baby shower."
"The baby who died?"
Mark nodded. "It was a shock when it happened. A whole family, just like that. Marilee went a little hysterical when she heard about it."
"It was definitely an accident?"
"They'd bought the house a few months before. They never got the chance to replace the old furnace. Yes, it was an accident."
"But Kunstler's death wasn't."
Mark sighed. "No. Larry's was not an accident."
"Why do you think he did it?"
"Why did Aaron do it?Why does anyone commit suicide?We can come up with half a dozen possible reasons, but the truth is, Abby, we don't know. We never know. And we never understand. We look at the big picture and say, things get better. They always get better. Somehow, Larry lost that perspective. He couldn't see the long range any more. And that's when people fall apart. When they lose all sight of the future." He took a sip of wine, then another, but he seemed to have lost any enjoyment in its taste. Or in the food.
They skipped dessert and left the restaurant, both of them silent and depressed.
Mark drove through thickening fog and intermittent rain. The whisk of the windshield wipers filled in for conversation. That's when people fall apart, Mark had said. When they lose all sight of the future.
Staring at the mist, she thought: I'm reaching that point. I can't see it any more. I can't see zohat's going to happen to me. Or to us.
Mark said, softly: "I want to show you something, Abby. I want to know what you think about it. Maybe you'll think I'm just crazy.
Or maybe you'll be wild about the idea."
"What idea?"
"It's something I've been dreaming about. For a long time, now." They drove north, out of Boston, kept driving through Revere and Lynn and Swampscott. At Marblehead Marina, he parked the car and said, "She's right there. At the end of the pier."
She was a yacht.
Abby stood shivering and bewildered on the dock as Mark paced up and down the boat's length. His voice was animated now, more animated than it had been all evening, his arms gesturing with enthusiasm.
"She's a cruiser," he said. "Forty-eight feet, fully equipped, everything we'd need. Brand new sails, new nav equipment. Hell, she's hardly been used. She could take us anywhere we'd want to go. The Caribbean. The Pacific. You're looking at freedom, Abby!" He stood on the dock, arm raised as if in salute to the boat. "Absolute freedom!"
She shook her head. "I don't understand."