For a while the two men stood talking, gesturing every so often towards the van and the house. At last the man in the overalls went back inside.
Katzka walked towards Abby's.
She let him in the front door. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Who's the driver? Why's he been following me?"
"He says he has no idea what you're talking about."
She followed him into the living room. "I'm not blind! I've seen that van here before. On this street."
"The driver says he's never been here before."
"Who/s the driver, anyway?"
Katzka pulled out his notebook. "John Doherty, age thirty-six, Massachusetts resident. Licensed plumber. He says this is the first call he's ever made to Brewster Street. The van is registered to Back Bay Plumbing. And it's full of tools." He closed his notebook and slid it into his coat pocket. Then he regarded her with his usual detachment.
"I was so sure," she murmured. "I was so sure it was the same one."
"You still insist there was a van?"
"Yes, godammit!" she snapped. "There was a van!"
He reacted to her outburst with a slightly raised eyebrow. She forced herself to take a deep breath. A burst of temper was the last thing this man would respond to. He was all logic, all reason. Mr Spock with a badge.
She said, more calmly now, "I am not imagining things. And I'm not making them up."
"If you think you see the van again, get the licence number."
"If I think I see it?"
"I'll call Back Bay Plumbing, to confirm Doherty's information. But I really do believe he's just a plumber." Katzka glanced towards her living room. The phone was ringing. "Aren't you going to answer it?"
"Please don't leave. Not yet. I have a few things to tell you."
He had already reached for the doorknob. Now he paused, watching as she picked up the phone.
"Hello?" she said.
A woman's voice responded softly, "Dr. DiMatteo?" InstantlyAbby's gaze shot to Katzka's. He seemed to understand, just from her glance, that this call was important. "Mrs Voss?" said Abby.
"I've learned something," said Nina. "I don't know what it means. If it means anything at all."
Katzka moved to Abby's side. He had done it so quickly, so quietly, she'd barely registered his approach. He bent his head towards the receiver to listen in.
"What did you find out?" said Abby.
"I made some calls. To the bank, and to our accountant. On September 23rd, Victor transferred funds to a company called the Amity Corporation. In Boston."
"You're sure about that date?"
"Yes."
September 23rd, thought Abby. One day before Nina Voss's transplant.
"What do you know about Amity?" asked Abby.
"Nothing. Victor's never mentioned the name. With a transaction this large, he'd normally discuss it…" There was a silence. Abby heard voices in the background, then the sounds of frantic shuffling. Nina's voice came back on. Tenser. Softer. "I have to get off the phone."
"You said it was a large transaction. How large?"
For a moment there was no reply. Abby thought perhaps Nina had already hung up. Then she heard the whispered answer.
"Five million," said Nina. "He transferred five million dollars."
Nina hung up the telephone. She heard Victor's footsteps, but she did not look up as he came into the bedroom. "Who were you talking to?" he asked. "Cynthia. I called to thank her for the flowers."
"Which flowers were those again?"
"The orchids."
He glanced at the vase on the dresser. "Oh, yes. Very nice."
"Cynthia says they're going to Greece next spring. I guess they're tired of the Caribbean." How easily she lied to him. When had it started? When had they stopped speaking the truth to each other?
He sat down beside her on the bed. She felt him studying her. "When you're all better," he said, "Maybe we'll go back to Greece. Maybe we'll even go with Cynthia and Robert. Wouldn't you like that?"
She nodded and looked down at the bedspread. At her hands, the fingers bony and wasting away. But I am never getting better. We both know that.
She slid her legs out from under the covers. "I have to use the bathroom," she said.
"Shall I help you?"
"No. I'm fine." Rising to her feet, she felt a brief spell of lightheadedness. Lately she'd been having the spells often, whenever she stood up or exerted herself in even the slightest way. She said nothing about it to Victor, but just waited for the feeling to pass.
Then she continued slowly into the bathroom.
She heard him pick up the telephone.
Only when she'd shut the bathroom door did she suddenly realize her mistake. The last number she'd called was still in the phone's memory system. All Victor had to do was press Redial, and he would know she'd lied to him. It was just the sort of thing Victor would do. He'd learn she hadn't called Cynthia. He'd find out, somehow he'd find out, that it was Abby DiMatteo she'd called.
Nina stood with her back pressed to the bathroom door, listening. She heard him hang up the phone again. Heard him say, "Nina?"
Another wave of lightheadedness hit her. She dropped her head, fighting the darkness that was beginning to cloud her vision. Her legs seemed to melt away beneath her. She felt herself sliding downwards.
He rattled the door. "Nina, I need to speak to you."
"Victor," she whispered, but knew he couldn't hear her. No one could hear her.
She lay on the bathroom floor, too weak to move, too weak to call out to him.
She felt her heart flutter like a butterfly's wings in her chest.
"This has to be the wrong place," said Abby.
She and Katzka were parked on a rundown street in Roxbury. It was a neighbourhood of barred storefronts and businesses on the verge of collapse. The only apparently thriving enterprise was a body building gym a few doors down. Through the gym's open windows, they could hear the clank of weights and occasional masculine laughter. Adjacent to the gym was an unoccupied building with a For Lease sign. And next to that was the Amity building, a four-storey brownstone. Over the entrance hung the sign:
Amity Medical Supplies Sales and Service Behind the barred front windows was a tired-looking display of company products: Crutches and canes. Oxygen tanks. Foam mattress pads to prevent bedsores. Bedside commodes. A mannequin wearing a nurse's uniform and cap straight out of the sixties.
Abby gazed across the street at the shabby display window and she said, "This can't be the right Amity."
"It's the only listing in the phone book," said Katzka.
"Why would he transfer five million dollars to this business?"
"It could be just one branch of a larger corporation. Maybe he saw an investment opportunity."
She shook her head. "The timing's all wrong. Put yourself in VictorVoss's place. His wife is dying. He's desperate to get her the operation she needs. He's not going to be thinking about his investments."
"It depends how much he cares about his wife."
"He cares a lot."
"How do you know?"
She looked at him. "I know."
He regarded her in that quiet way of his. How strange, she thought, that his gaze no longer made her feel uncomfortable.
HARVEST
He opened his door. "I'll see what I can find out."
"What are you going to do?"
"Look around. Ask a few questions."
"I'll go in with you."
"No, you stay in the car." He started to step out, but she pulled him back.
"Look," she said. "I'm the one with everything to lose. I've already lost my job. I'm losing my licence. And now people are calling me a murderer or a psychotic or both. It's my life they've fucked up. This could be my one chance to fight back."
"Then let's not screw it up, OK? Someone in there could recognize you. That would certainly tip them off. Do you want to risk that?"