JONATHAN KELLERMAN. THERAPY

He shrugged, ate more popcorn.

Milo said, “You’re a modest man, Mr. Koppel.”

“I know what I am and what I’m not.” Koppel turned his head to the side, as if recoiling from insight. His jowls quivered. “Do you have any idea who murdered Mary?”

“No, sir. Do you?”

“Me? No, of course not.”

“She was murdered in her home,” said Milo. “No signs of forced entry.”

“You’re saying someone she knew?” said Koppel.

“Any candidates, sir?”

“I wasn’t privy to Mary’s social life.”

“How much contact did you and she have?”

“We stayed friendly, and I kept up my spousal support.”

“How much support?”

“It evolved,” said Koppel. “Immediately after the divorce, she got nothing except the furniture in our apartment because we were both starving students. When I started to earn a decent income, she called and asked for support. We agreed on a figure and over the years I’ve increased it.”

“At her request?”

“Sometimes. Other times, I decided to share some of my good luck.”

“Keep the ex happy,” said Milo.

Koppel didn’t answer.

“Sir, how much were you paying her at the time of her death?”

“Twenty-five thousand a month.”

“Generous.”

“It seemed fair,” said Koppel. “She stuck with me when I needed her. Helping through those panic attacks even after I cheated on her. That deserves something.”

Milo said, “Twenty-five thousand a month. I went through her bank records, never saw any back-and-forth on that level.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Koppel. “Mary lived off her practice and re-invested what I gave her.”

“In what?”

“We’re partnered on some of my properties.”

“She let you hold on to what you owed her and put it back in properties.”

“Mary did very well partnering with me.”

“Who gets her share of the partnered properties now that she’s dead?”

Koppel’s fingers grazed the rim of the popcorn bowl. “That would depend on Mary’s will.”

“I haven’t found a will, and no executors have come forth.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” said Koppel. “For years I’ve been telling her to do some estate planning. Between her practice and the properties, she was building up a comfortable estate. You’d think she’d have listened, being so organized about everything else. But she was resistant. My opinion is she didn’t want to think about death. Her parents died pretty young, and sometimes she had premonitions.”

“About dying young?”

“About dying before her time.” Tears beaded Koppel’s lower eyelashes. The rest of his stubbled face was impassive.

“She have those premonitions recently?”

Koppel said, “I don’t know. I’m talking back when we were married.”

Milo said, “Assuming there’s no will, what happens to her real estate holdings?”

“If there are no creditors or heirs,” said Koppel, “they’d revert to me. A hundred percent in the case of the ones whose mortgages I carry—I own a little financing company, allows me to keep things in-house. Those that are bank-financed, I’d have the choice of paying off Mary’s share or selling.”

“One way or the other, you’d get everything.”

“Yes, I would.”

Milo crossed his legs.

Koppel emitted a deep, rumbling laugh.

“Something funny, sir?”

“The implication,” said Koppel. “I suppose there’s a logic to it, Lieutenant, but do the math: Mary Lou’s holdings net out to . . . I’d say one and a half, maybe two million dollars, depending on the real estate market. I grant you that isn’t chicken feed. Eventually, she could’ve retired nicely. But to me, a sum like that isn’t significant . . . you say you’ve looked into my holdings?”

“Two million’s a drop in the bucket,” said Milo.

“That sounds ostentatious,” said Koppel, “but it’s true. A couple of million wouldn’t make any difference.”

“During good times,” said Milo.

“Times are good,” said Koppel. “Times are always good.”

“No business problems?”

“With business, there are always problems. The key is to see them as challenges.” Koppel placed the popcorn bowl between his knees. “What makes it easier for me is I have no interest in acquiring material goods. I do real estate because it seems to be what I’m good at. Since I don’t need much—without the burden of stuff—I’ve always got free cash. Meaning there’s no such thing as a bad market. Prices go down, I buy. They go up, I sell.”

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