Every Fifteen Minutes

by Lisa Scottoline

  “That’s just what I think,” Eric said, touched and happy. He leaned over and was about to kiss her when his phone started ringing. “Damn it.”

  “Saved by the bell.”

  “Very funny.” Eric slid the phone from his pocket, and the screen showed the hospital’s number. “I should take this.”

  “Go ahead. Dinner’s in ten minutes, but I can lower the heat if I have to.”

  “Thanks.” Eric touched the screen to answer the call. “This is Eric Parrish,” he said, but all he could hear was static, and the voice on the other end was breaking up. “Hello? Hello?”

  “Eric, go to the hallway,” Laurie called to him. “Remember, the reception’s bad lately.”

  Eric hustled from the room and into the hallway. The phone call was still breaking up. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  “Dr. Parrish…” a woman started to say, but static swallowed her sentence.

  “Hello? Hello?” Eric kept moving to get a signal, passing the bathroom and walking toward the two rooms off the hallway, Laurie’s home office and her bedroom. “This is Eric Parrish. Hello, hello?”

  “Dr. Parrish? Are you there?”

  “Hold on, can you hear me now?” Eric ducked through the open door to Laurie’s office, which he’d never seen. It was small, cozy, and characteristically cheery. White shelves full of books ringed the room, ending in a white metal file cabinet. A white desk and a black ergonomic chair sat next to the door, against a wall covered with colorful art posters by Chagall, Miro, and Rothko.

  “Yes, hi, this is Julia Meehan. I got your number from the directory.”

  “Julia who?” Eric heard her clearly but didn’t recognize her name. He sat down at Laurie’s desk.

  “From IT, at the hospital. Anyway, remember you asked me to look up who accessed Ms. Teichner’s file after her discharge?”

  “Oh, yes. Hi.” Eric remembered.

  “Sorry I freaked out when you came in yesterday. It’s so spooky working near the morgue. I hate when I’m the last one to leave work, that’s why I lock the door.”

  “That’s okay. Sorry I didn’t give you my real name.” Eric eyed the things on Laurie’s desk, a silver laptop, and a row of windup toys—a bright yellow chick, a blue robot, and a tiger that did backflips.

  “No worries. My boss told me it’s okay to give you the info.”

  “Go ahead.” Eric knew the name would be Sam’s, but it would be good to have it verified.

  “That file was accessed by Dr. Sam Ward and Dr. Laurie Fortunato.”

  Eric didn’t think he’d heard her right. “Who did you say? The last one?”

  “Dr. Laurie Fortunato.”

  Eric realized the explanation. “Oh, of course. She accessed it yesterday for me. She showed me the file.”

  “Yes, Dr. Fortunato accessed it yesterday.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Wait, hold on. She also accessed it two months ago. Post-discharge.”

  Eric didn’t understand. “That can’t be.”

  “It is. She logged in twice, once yesterday and once two months ago.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. If you want the exact dates and times, I can give them to you. I can even tell you how long the file was kept open, each time. Do you have a pen and paper?”

  “Hold on.” Eric looked around for a piece of paper, but there wasn’t any on the clean desk. He glanced at the black mesh wastebasket next to the desk, which was almost empty except for a few crumpled bills and envelopes. He grabbed an envelope and slid a pen from his shirt pocket. “Go ahead.”

  “Dr. Fortunato accessed it yesterday, and on April 18. The patient was discharged April 15.”

  Eric felt too numb to even make a note. “When did Dr. Ward access it?”

  “The same day as Dr. Fortunato, April 18. Dr. Fortunato accessed it at 9:05 A.M., and Dr. Ward accessed it at 9:30 A.M. She had the file open for five minutes, and he had it open for ten minutes.”

  Eric felt stunned. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t understand. Laurie had told him she’d never accessed a patient’s file after discharge, but she’d accessed Virginia’s, right before Sam. His gaze fell on the windup toys, without really seeing them. Then something shiny caught his eye, glinting at him from the bottom of the wastebasket.

  “Dr. Parrish? Are you there?”

  “Yes. Fine, thanks. Good-bye.” Eric hung up, shaken. He didn’t know why Laurie had lied to him or why she had accessed Virginia’s file, especially the same day as Sam. He didn’t think Laurie had even heard of Virginia until last Friday night, when Max had brought her into the ED.

  Eric found himself staring at the shiny spot in the wastebasket. He set his phone and pen down, reached inside the wastebasket, moved aside a tissue, then did a double-take.

  Blood rushed to his head, striking him dumb. It was almost beyond belief, but at the same time, it was absolute confirmation.

  Eric felt his heart break.

  But he knew what he had to do.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Eric came back into the kitchen, trying to compose himself. The room still smelled delicious, but now it turned his stomach. “The phone’s been crazy like that all day. Sorry about that.”

  “No worries. Have a drink.” Laurie turned, draining the last of her drink. “I might be getting tipsy. Don’t try to take advantage of me until after dinner. I have everything planned, you’ll see.”

  Eric faked a smile, but his blood ran cold. It terrified him to think what she had planned. Unless he missed his guess, he’d walked into the lion’s den. But he had a plan of his own.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t look so good.”

  Eric thought fast. “Oh, it was just the phone call.”

  “Who was it?” Laurie uncapped the Tanqueray and poured herself another splash.

  “Amaka, checking on some things for tomorrow, but she’s so sad. It’s been tough on them about Sam. They’re taking it hard.”

  “I’m sure.” Laurie emptied the leftover tonic into the glass. She didn’t bother to get new ice, and Eric wondered if her drinking was part of her plan.

  “They need time to process it. We all do. We all loved him, so it’s hard to believe what he did and what he was. It doesn’t jibe with the person we knew.”

  “Of course not. It’s such a betrayal.”

  “That’s part of it, but not all.” Eric started speaking from the heart. In a way, he couldn’t not. “I wish I’d seen it coming, I wish I’d known. I liked him. I … trusted him. I can’t believe it.”

  “I know, it’s tough.” Laurie puckered her lip, in sympathy.

  “He was a friend.” Eric paused, taking a chance. “I wish you had known him better.”

  “Yeah, me too. He seemed like a nice guy.” Laurie nodded, her expression sympathetic.

  “He was. We all felt that way. I wonder if his wife knew. She probably didn’t. I wish I’d known, I could’ve helped him.”

  “Helped him do what?” Laurie cocked her head, pausing in mid-drink.

  “Helped him get better. Alleviated his suffering. I could have treated him. He didn’t want to be the way he was, or to do the harm he did. He was sick.”

  “You’re wrong. He wasn’t sick, he was evil. He chose to be the way he was. He must’ve liked the choices he made.” Laurie frowned as she set down her glass, her mood darkening, and Eric wasn’t sure where it was going, but he was going along.

  “I disagree. Evil isn’t a choice, it’s a label. A short answer. Evil doesn’t go far enough. Evil doesn’t stand up to analysis, from a psychiatric point of view. Sam had an illness.”

  “What was his illness then, from a psychiatric point of view?” Laurie folded her arms, and Eric met her eye.

  “He manipulated others for his own gain. He used people as puppets so he could ruin me and become Chief. He felt nothing for others. All of his emotions were for show. His act fooled everyone on the unit, for years. He even fooled me. Bu
t none of that was a talent, a skill, or a choice on his part. It was a symptom.”

  “Of what?”

  “He was a sociopath. Whatever his motivation, it wasn’t the root cause of what he did. His illness is the root cause. His planning only proves how very, very sick he was.” Eric watched her face darken, eyes harden, and smile flatten, and Laurie began to change before his eyes, becoming who she really was, about to shed the mask completely. He kept talking, provoking her. “We’re unsure whether sociopaths are born or bred, but I think it’s a bit of both, and the weight of the literature agrees. Sociopaths are sick people and they lead horrible lives.”

  “How do you know that?” Laurie lifted an eyebrow, betraying her contempt. “Have you ever treated a sociopath?”

  “Yes, two. I did med checks in the clinic at Albion Penitentiary in western Pennsylvania during my training. Both of the sociopaths I treated were in prison for life, for murder. I remember when I was with one patient, his eyes were stone cold. He had the ‘shark-stare,’ all of the stereotypical symptoms.”

  “Like on TV.” Laurie snorted.

  “Yes. The prisons are full of sociopaths, where you would expect to find them. In point of fact, there are more of them in everyday life than on death row. Most of them look normal, whatever that is.” Eric paused, thinking of Hannah. “But normalcy is a fallacy. Normalcy is an appearance. Normalcy is just for show.”

  “I never heard you talk like this.” Laurie frowned again, standing by the sink.

  “I’m a changed man, like you said, and frankly, I never got it before. I said it, but I never really got it.” Eric was telling the truth. He’d just had an insight, but he just wished it didn’t take a life-threatening situation to bring him there. “A sociopath has a very well-defined theory of mind. He thinks he’s superior, but it’s a false belief. He’s arrogant, but like any arrogance, it’s only a façade. A sociopath thinks he has a strong ego, but he has a very weak ego. Basically, a sociopath is delusional.”

  “I don’t agree with any of this.” Laurie recoiled, her lip curling in distaste. “I don’t know why we’re even talking about it.”

  “Because I was thinking about Sam. I feel sympathy for him. I pity him.”

  Laurie’s eyes hardened, but Eric couldn’t stop talking now. He knew he was poking a tiger in a cage, but he wanted to know if it was really true. She would never confess, but he wanted her to show herself, even to attack.

  “Laurie, think about it this way. A sociopath is hollow inside, empty of feeling. They’re sick, but they can’t face that fact. Because they can’t face that fact, they never get the help they need.”

  “What if they know what they are, but they don’t want help?”

  “That’s exactly how a sociopath feels—but it’s merely a symptom of the illness. That’s what the illness does.”

  “What if they like being the way they are?” Laurie’s eyes narrowed.

  “Also a symptom of the illness. But in reality, they’re missing out on the feelings that everyone else has. Love, joy, sorrow, grief, true happiness. The full array, the stuff of a real life. You call me Captain Emotion, but what else is there to life? What are the things we remember but the feelings we have? Any family photograph we own, it’s not about the picture, it’s about the emotion the picture provokes.” Eric felt his throat catch but stayed the course. “Sociopaths never know that joy. They hide behind their mask. They keep life at arm’s length. I pity them. They’re not living, and if they didn’t hide their mental illness so well, they could get the treatment they need. If we couldn’t cure them, then at least we could alleviate their suffering.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Eric.” Laurie raised her voice, and her dark eyes flashed with new anger. “You don’t know anything. All this mumbo-jumbo, there’s no science in it. You talk about a ‘theory of the mind,’ but it’s only theory, all of it. You’re the one who acts superior, but isn’t. You don’t know anything. Look at the choices you’ve made in your life.”

  “What do you mean?” Eric asked, modulating his tone.

  “Look at how long you stayed with Caitlin. You made a fool of yourself over that woman.” Laurie scowled. “You couldn’t see that she wasn’t worth the trouble, all this time. I’ve known you since medical school. Years and years, I’ve been your friend. You had to know I wanted you. You had to know I was waiting for you, but you didn’t choose me over her.” Laurie waved her hand angrily at the flowers. “You choose me now, after she dumps you. But that’s too little, too late. You never dumped her for me. You never saw that I was better. Prettier, smarter, more successful—I’m sure I’m better in bed. But you were too stupid to see it. And you’re too stupid to see anything with Sam. You’re too stupid to see anything right in front of your face.”

  “Am I?” Eric went into his pocket, pulled out the tissue, and watched Laurie’s eyes follow his motion.

  “What’s that?”

  “Never mind.” Eric swung the tissue low and away from her, like a tease. “Why did you access Virginia’s file after her discharge? Why did you lie to me about it?”

  “What are you talking about?” Laurie shot back. “I didn’t do that. I didn’t lie.”

  “Yes, you did. You accessed the file right before Sam did. You went into the file, saw his notations about the consult, and told him to delete them. You knew Sam better than I did. You used him like a puppet. He wasn’t the planner, you were. He wasn’t the mastermind, you are.”

  “What’s in that Kleenex?” Laurie glowered, and Eric took a step backwards, still holding the tissue away from her, taunting her.

  “You set me up from the beginning. It wasn’t happenstance that you called me to the ED for that consult Friday night. You had a plan. You wanted to ruin me because I didn’t choose you over Caitlin.”

  “What’s in that Kleenex?” Laurie grimaced, as fixated on the tissue as a wolf on fresh meat.

  “Were you sleeping with him? Was he in love with you? Is that how you got him to kill Renée? That’s my bet, and here’s the trophy that he brought you, proof that he did what you told him. Proof of his love.”

  Laurie looked down at the tissue, as Eric opened it without touching its contents—a delicate gold necklace with a little plate on it that read FEARLESS. Eric remembered seeing it at the frozen yogurt shop. He remembered Max’s talking about it in session. It was Renée’s Bevilacqua’s necklace, and it would have Sam’s and Laurie’s fingerprints.

  “No!” Laurie shouted. Suddenly, in one horrific motion, Laurie grabbed the scissors from the sink and slashed her lower arm, sending blood spraying in the air like a gruesome red fan.

  “No, don’t. Stop.” Eric edged backwards passing the entertainment center. He spotted a video game player from the shelf, yanked it free, and threw it at her, but she ducked and it landed on the hardwood floor.

  “We were on a date, I drank too much.” Laurie started talking, as if to herself. “You tried to date-rape me, you grabbed a scissors. You held it to my throat. We struggled for it.”

  “No, Laurie, don’t!” Eric kept moving backwards toward the door. He heard noise out front. He had to stall for only a few moments longer. He’d called Detective Rhoades from Laurie’s home office after he’d found the necklace.

  “I got the scissors away from you, I tried to run out the front door.” Laurie advanced on him, the scissors poised. “I was almost outside but you tackled me. You ripped my shirt open. I had to kill you. It was self-defense.”

  “Laurie, stop.” Eric flung open the front door just as Laurie tore her own shirt open, clawing at the buttons and trying to rip them off, only to see Detective Rhoades running up the front walk with uniformed police, drawing their weapons and aiming them at her.

  “Dr. Fortunato, freeze!” Detective Rhoades shouted. “Freeze right there!”

  “No!” Laurie screamed, in a rage that came from her tortured psyche. She raised the scissors high, but Eric lunged for them on the downward stroke a
nd wrested them from her hand.

  Just before they reached his chest.

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  It was December, and Eric was pleased to see that the visiting room had been decorated for the holidays, though it wasn’t easy to make a juvenile detention center look cheery. Artwork by the residents lined the walls, painted Christmas trees, crayoned Santa Clauses, plus Hanukkah dreidels and Kwanzaa Unity cups drawn with varying degrees of skill; juveniles from ages ten to eighteen lived in the center’s secured detention wing, which contained thirty-six rooms, one of which was Max’s.

  The visiting room was modern, clean, and medium-sized, with thin blue carpeting and large glass windows that let in indirect light even on an overcast morning, with snow in the forecast. Ten small tables with heavy-duty plastic chairs filled the room, and Eric took his customary table and waited for Max. He kept his coat on because there was nowhere to hang it. In the corner of the visiting room stood a decorated Christmas tree, festooned with colored lights and inexpensive ornaments, and beneath it sat wrapped presents on a cottony carpet of pretend snow. This wouldn’t be the happiest Christmas for Max, but the boy was lucky to be here, not in a state prison for adults.

  Max had been sentenced as a juvenile as a result of a plea agreement orchestrated by his lawyer, his motion supported by three psychological assessments: the pre-trial evaluation from the psychiatric staff at the detention center, a risk-assessment and evaluation by a psychiatrist hired by Marie, and a substantial report by Eric himself. All three mental health professionals had agreed that Max suffered from OCD and depression with suicidal ideation, which had impaired his decision-making at the time of the offenses.

  The federal government had dropped its charges under the terrorism statutes, and the district attorney of Montgomery County had dropped the kidnapping charge in view of the fact that Max had no intent to inflict bodily injury on the hostages, as he’d been unarmed. In return for being sentenced as a juvenile, Max had pleaded guilty to counts of unlawful restraint, reckless endangerment, and terroristic threats, and received a sentence of a year in the detention center and three years’ probation thereafter, the maximum possible so-called “long tail” sentence. The judge had accepted the deal and ordered the sentence despite opposition from King of Prussia business groups, who wanted Max tried as an adult, if not burned at the stake.