Paul clucked, tsk-tsk. “They dissed my boy here! What kind of crap is that? You can’t get a more dedicated employee, all he talks about is his patients. That’s why he’s perfect for you, Laur. Workaholics should be together so they can breed more workaholics, which will boost the economy and save the country. And when America does well, Europe does well, and the rest of the world follows. It all begins with you two, Laurie. You and Eric. Save the universe—or don’t. Your choice.”
Eric smiled, against his better judgment. “Laurie, we’re going to my house. We’re almost there. I’m going to cancel my private patients.”
“Text me the address. I’ll meet you. Bye, guys. Gotta go.” Laurie hung up.
Paul hit the button, looking over. “I did good, right? I’m quite the matchmaker.”
Eric wasn’t about to talk about his love life, or lack thereof, anymore. “Excuse me, I have to call my patients.”
“Go ahead, I won’t listen.”
“If so, I have a diagnosis for you.” Eric pressed in the phone number of his seven o’clock appointment, Jean Carfoni, whose number he remembered because it was similar to his own. He held the phone to his ear, waiting for the call to connect. He adored Jean, a middle-school teacher he’d been treating for depression caused by a long battle with CLL, a chronic blood cancer.
“Hello, who is this?” Jean said, picking up.
“Jean, hi, it’s Dr. Parrish. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel our appointment tonight. I’m sorry it’s such short notice. I’m hoping you haven’t left the house yet—”
“Dr. Parrish? Thank God! I’ve been calling you. Are you okay?”
Eric didn’t like the worry in her voice. “I’m fine, and I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.”
“You know, this is going to sound crazy, but I thought I saw you on TV. They didn’t say your name but I swear it was you, at the Radnor police station. The news was about the murder of that girl from Sacred Heart. It wasn’t you, was it?”
Eric couldn’t bring himself to lie. “I’m sorry, but I can’t explain. May I call you later to reschedule?”
“Yes, of course,” Jean answered, her tone puzzled. “Call when you can, Dr. Parrish.”
“Thanks, and I will. I have to go, good-bye.” Eric hung up, shuddering. “Damn it.”
“Don’t stress. Hang in.”
“Thanks.” Eric looked out the window, as twilight was taking over. People were driving home from work, talking and texting on their cell phones, but they were separate from him, in other vehicles, behind glass. He wasn’t of them, not anymore. The police suspected him of murder, and he might have been responsible for the death of a young girl. He had a suicidal patient, who had to be more desperate than ever. He didn’t have a job or a wife; he didn’t even live with his own child. Eric felt apart even from himself, wearing clothes someone else had picked out, generic gray sweats.
“Call your patients,” Paul said, softly.
Eric raised the phone to his ear, called information and got the number, then canceled on his other patient, who, mercifully, had not yet heard that he was suspected of strangling a young girl to death. When he finished the call, he filled Paul in within the confines of his confidentiality, and Paul listened carefully, dictating notes into his cell phone.
They took the back roads to Eric’s house, turning onto his street. As they got closer, Eric looked ahead to see that his front door had been broken, the wood splintered in two. “They broke the door down?” he asked, appalled.
“Sorry, bro. That sucks.”
“Is this more bullying tactics?”
“No, they were just trying to get in.”
Eric didn’t smile.
“No, really. That’s how they execute a search warrant. How else are they going to get in?”
“How about they call the landlord? And they leave it that way, with a broken door? That’s not secure.”
“It’s the Main Line, Eric.” Paul cruised to a stop in front of the house and turned off the ignition.
“Still.” Eric got out of the car and closed the door, noticing the silhouette of his neighbors at their front window, the entire family watching him. He wondered what they’d think of him, having seen cruisers pulling up to his house, cops busting down the door, and carrying out his personal belongings. He stalked to the front step and ran his fingers along the crack in the door, which zigzagged like lightning down the length of the wood panels. A sharp shard splintered in his hands. He hadn’t realized he felt proprietary about the place until this very moment, so he gained a home at the same time that he lost it, with a wrench in his chest.
Paul came up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and started to say something, but Eric looked over.
“Don’t make a joke,” he snapped, more harshly than he intended.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll help you clean up.”
Eric felt a regretful pang. “Sorry I snapped.”
“Dude, if you don’t snap after what you’ve been through, then you need a shrink.” Paul clapped him on the back, and Eric smiled, and together they moved the broken door aside, entered the house, and walked through the entrance hall into the living room.
“Oh no.” Eric scanned the mess with a sinking heart. Couch cushions had been turned over, and professional journals, reference books, and novels had been torn from the bookshelves and scattered on the rug. The drawers of the entertainment center hung open, and the DVDs had been dumped. A bag of laundry beside the door, which he had intended to drop off at the dry cleaners, had been turned upside down on the hardwood floor.
“Before you ask me, the answer is yes, they can do this.”
“Why do they?”
“I’ll play devil’s advocate and say that they’re being thorough.” Paul picked up a plaid shirt from the laundry pile and held it up. “May I burn this?”
“I had my laptop on the coffee table. They took my laptop. They just take everything I own? Invade my privacy, just like that?” Eric crossed to the coffee table where his laptop used to be, but all that was left was the gray power cord. Ugly blackish soot covered the table in patches, which he assumed was fingerprint dust.
“They would typically get a computer in an investigation like this, and I read your warrant, it was included in the scope.”
“They see everything I have? The papers I’m working on, my work and personal email, all my pictures?” Eric thought of the pictures of Hannah and Caitlin he’d taken, the albums of beach vacations, trick-or-treating, and birthdays. He’d backed them up in the cloud, wherever that was, but even if he didn’t lose them forever, he couldn’t stand the notion that strangers would be pawing through them, seeing the most personal moments of his life. “Paul, it’s my life.”
“I know.”
“Let’s go to my office. It’s this way.” Eric hustled from the living room, glancing into the kitchen on the way, which was also a mess. Blackish fingerprint dust marred the counters. All of the cabinet doors had been left open, and the drawers had been pulled out. Pots and pans sat willy-nilly on the counters, and the freezer door had been left open. “They search the freezer?”
“To see if you’re hiding drugs. Or Häagen-Dazs.”
Eric stormed ahead to his office. “Paul, if the patient files aren’t included in the scope of the warrant, does that mean they can’t look at them? They’re not even allowed to look at them, are they? That’s a violation of my patients’ rights, and I won’t have it.”
“No, they’re not.”
“I keep them in a locked cabinet.” Eric opened the door to his office and flicked on a light. His desktop computer was gone, leaving only the surge protector. His desk and end tables had been dusted for fingerprints, leaving more dirty black patches. His bookshelves had been emptied, and his books, papers, and journals scattered all over the rug. He crossed to the wood file cabinet where he kept his patient files and tugged on the brass handle, but it was locked, the way he left it.
“Still locked. Exhi
bit A, the silver lining.” Paul smiled.
“Guys, you here?” said a voice behind them, and they both turned to see Laurie standing in the threshold. She had on a blue cotton sweater, khakis, and running sneakers, with her hair twirled up in a tongue depressor. She was holding two boxes of pizza. “The cavalry is here with carbohydrates.”
“Yes!” Paul went over to Laurie and kissed her on the cheek. “Mom would be so proud of you. What’s better than a nice Italian girl? There’s a reason it’s a stereotype, people.”
“Thanks for coming,” Eric said, walking over. He took the warm pizza boxes from her and set them on his desk amid the clutter.
“Eric, I can’t believe they did this to your place.” Laurie’s expression looked strained as she eyed the office. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. You have to tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ll fill you in.”
“I’ll help you put the house back together. We can clean it up in no time.”
“That’s just what I said! We must be related!” Paul went over and opened the pizza box. “Please tell me this is double cheese, triple sauce.”
“It is, and the one underneath is mushroom.”
“I’m a mushroom guy,” Eric said, suddenly hungry.
“Eric, get with it.” Paul opened the top box, releasing an aromatic steam. He slid out a gooey slice of pizza, bending over to hold it away from his suit. “She knows you’re a mushroom guy. She remembers. You might be the dumbest smart guy I ever met. Anyway, I’m out of here.”
“Now?” Eric asked. “I thought you wanted to talk about the case.”
“I got what I needed in the car.” Paul went to the door and stopped in the threshold, biting off a strand of melted mozzarella. “You can fill me in tomorrow. I’ll call.”
Laurie turned to Paul. “Why are you leaving? I just got here.”
“Exactly. I’ll leave you two friends alone.” Paul turned neatly around and walked away, down the hall.
Eric and Laurie fell briefly silent, listening to Paul’s footsteps on the hardwood as he left the house, and Eric sensed that they were newly uncomfortable in each other’s presence, since Paul had said the unsayable. Eric didn’t know if Laurie really did have a thing for him, and in any event, there was no romance in the air, only tomato sauce.
“Thanks for the pizza,” Eric said, reaching for the second box. “I really do love mushroom.”
“I do, too,” Laurie said quickly. “I didn’t really remember that you liked it, I got it because I like it. I mean, who doesn’t like mushroom pizza? It’s awesome.”
“Right. I’m starved, I can’t remember the last time I ate.” Eric opened the pizza box and was sliding out a hot slice when the landline phone started ringing on the desk. He held the slice, leaned over quickly, and picked up the receiver. “Hello, this is Dr.—”
“What have you done, Doctor?” a woman yelled, slurring her words. “What have you done to my son?”
Eric recognized the voice, instantly alarmed. “Marie? What’s the matter? Is Max back?”
“Get over here right now!”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Eric sat in the passenger seat of Laurie’s white BMW, and she pulled up across the street from Max’s house and cut the ignition. The street was dark and quiet except for the yapping of dogs in one of the houses. He and Laurie had gotten here quickly because she drove almost as fast as her brother, and Eric had updated her on the way over.
“Thanks for the ride, I won’t be long.” Eric reached for the door handle.
“Eric, can’t I come?” Laurie hung on the steering wheel.
“No, we agreed.” Eric didn’t have time to fuss. He wanted to get inside the house. Given what Marie had said on the phone, he knew it wasn’t likely that Max had come back, but he held out hope. “It’s too weird a situation. There’s too many variables.”
“You think I can’t handle variables? Do you know what I do for a living?”
“You agreed you would wait.”
“You knew I wouldn’t keep my word.”
“I don’t want to argue with you. I have to go.” Eric opened the door, climbed out of the car, closed it behind him. He hustled across the street, and Laurie did the same thing, sprinting to catch up with him on the sidewalk.
“I’ll be helpful, you’ll see.”
“This is not helpful. This is worrisome.” Eric hurried up the front walk with Laurie at his heels.
“You used to like me.”
“That was before.”
“I really remembered that mushroom was your favorite. I just didn’t want to admit it before.”
“I know that. Now once we get inside, stand behind me. Understand?” Eric knocked on the metallic screen door, but the front door was open and he could hear a reality show on the TV, inside the living room. The TV went suddenly mute, and Marie appeared at the doorway.
“Get in here right now. Who is that with you?”
“Hello, Marie, this is Dr. Laurie Fortunato. She treated your mother in the emergency room, last week—”
“Whatever, don’t try to change the subject. Come in.” Marie backed up, and Eric let himself in through the screen door and entered the living room, stepping protectively ahead of Laurie.
“Is Max here? Did he come home?” Eric looked around, but the house was dark and quiet, like before. The end tables showed the usual signs of clutter, with the same plastic glasses and half-finished vodka bottle. The big-screen TV played on mute, the air conditioner rattled away.
“No, he didn’t, as if you didn’t know that!” Marie folded her arms, standing in the middle of her living room.
“I didn’t know that.” Eric could smell the alcohol on her breath. Her eyes were at half-mast again, but this time she was dressed in a boxy cotton shift, stained on the flowery print in front.
“Okay, so why don’t you explain to me why the police were here today! They were asking all kindsa questions about Max, if he knew that girl who got killed, Renée, whatever her last name—”
“Bevilacqua,” Eric said, reflexively.
“I told them, I have no idea how Max knew that girl, or even if he knew that girl, there’s no way in the world Max would kill anybody, he would never kill anybody.”
Eric realized that Marie didn’t know that Renée had been one of Max’s students at PerfectScore. He wasn’t surprised by that, but he couldn’t tell her because he’d learned it in session.
“I kept askin’ them, why are you askin’ me this? Why are you comin’ to me? They went upstairs, they searched his room. They turned it upside down! My son didn’t know that girl!” Marie’s droopy eyes filmed, but then her rage returned. “They won’t tell me what’s goin’ on because it’s a police investigation, and that’s all they keep sayin’, it’s police information.”
Eric understood her confusion. Both he and the police were following their own rules about confidentiality, leaving Marie on the outs, bewildered and angry.
“I tell the cops, I’ve been askin’ you to find my son and his shrink has been tellin’ you to find him, and they say that was the other police station. I tell them there’s no way he knew that girl and they won’t tell me why they think he knows her.”
Eric didn’t interrupt her, trying to follow what she was saying, but her words were tripping all over each other, between the emotion and alcohol. A cell phone rang from her pocket, but she ignored it.
“So they ask me if they can look around, like in his bedroom and whatnot like you did, but I say ‘hell no,’ and they make some noise about going to get a warrant.” Marie raised her voice, spitting. “I say ‘go get your freakin’ warrant’ because my boyfriend will be home soon and he can stick your warrant up your ass for you.”
Eric could imagine how well that was received, if it was Detectives Rhoades and Pagano doing the questioning. Marie’s cell phone stopped ringing.
“So then I turn on the TV, and who do I see on the news but you! You comin’ from the p
olice station, they showed you! I saw you, even though you had on some disguise or something! You looked like a guy off the street, not a doctor! Not a psychiatrist!”
Eric realized she was talking about the sweat suit.
“At first I thought you were there about Max, trying to find him, but then they said on TV that it was to do with the murder of the girl, and then I realized the connection. What’s the connection? You’re the connection!” Marie pointed at him, stabbing the air with her finger. “You went to the cops and you told them that my son killed that girl! Why did you do that? How could you? How dare you! He was your patient!”
“Marie, I didn’t. Anything Max told me in session I kept completely confidential.” Eric felt like a hypocrite telling her that, even though it was true. The practical effect of what he had done was to put Max on the hook and he knew it, but he’d done it to save the boy’s life.
“He trusted you and you betrayed him! He would never kill anybody, he didn’t even know that girl!”
“I didn’t betray him.”
“Then what were you doin’ there? Why do they even know about you? You know what I think? I have it all figured out.” Marie pursed her lips. “I think you’re the killer. I think you killed that girl and you’re trying to blame it on Max! You framed Max! You’re framin’ my son for murder!”
“No, Marie, that’s not what’s going on—”
“That’s exactly what’s going on!” Marie shouted, her gaze slipping in and out of focus. “And you know what else I think? I think you killed my son! He’s not missing, he’s murdered. You killed them both!”
Eric stepped back, shocked. “Marie, no, I’ve been doing everything I can to find Max, to save his life. I care about him, and—”
“I don’t believe you! You must’ve been screwin’ that young girl and she probably told her parents, or something like that, and you shut her up! You killed them both! You murdered them both!”
“No. Marie—”
“You’re just like those guys on the First 48, who act like they’re all upset that their wife’s missing, but really they killed her! The whole time, it’s been you! You killed her and you killed Max, and he’s never coming back home, he’s never coming home again! I lost my mother, and now I lost my son. I don’t have any family left, no family at all!”
Every Fifteen Minutes Page 25