Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536)

by Lyle, D. P.

  The two stood side by side, leaning against the kitchen counter. McCutcheon hooked his thumbs over his belt as he looked down at Kevin. The boy shrank in his chair under his gaze. Rosemary sat next to her son, stern-faced, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Answer their questions,” Rosemary said.

  So far, Kevin had only sulked, head down, refusing, except for an occasional glance, to even look at the officers.

  “Mom, I’ll get in trouble,” Kevin mumbled into his own chest.

  “You’re already in trouble, son,” McCutcheon said.

  Kevin fidgeted and finally looked up. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “The mere possession of methamphetamine is a felony. You know what that means?”

  Kevin stared at him, his expression flat.

  “It means we could arrest you, take you downtown, stand you up before the judge, and you’d end up in juvenile detention until you’re eighteen. Is that what you want?”

  I was standing behind Rosemary and sensed her body stiffen at McCutcheon’s words. I gently touched her shoulder.

  Kevin mumbled something and then swallowed hard. Or tried to. I could tell his mouth was cotton-dry.

  “I didn’t get that,” McCutcheon said. “Is that what you want us to do? Haul you in?”

  “No,” Kevin said.

  “Then tell us what we need to know.”

  Kevin’s gaze returned to his lap.

  I moved to Kevin’s side and squatted down next to him, my eyes now level with his. He looked at me.

  “Listen to me,” I said.

  His knee began bouncing again.

  “I know you think you’re protecting your friends. I know you’re scared. But I also know your mother. She raised you to do the right thing. And from what I hear, until the last year or so you were doing exactly that.”

  He shrugged.

  “Every young man has to grow up and become a man. I did. Sergeant McCutcheon did. Your dad did.” He looked up at me. “What do you think he’d say if he was here?”

  “But he isn’t.”

  “No, he’s not. And that means you have more responsibility. Your mother is counting on you.”

  Rosemary removed a napkin from the holder that sat in the middle of the table. She dabbed her eyes.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he mumbled.

  “Then show her. What do you think she would do without you? Your dad isn’t here. And if you’re locked up she’ll be alone. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Then do what you know is right.”

  He sighed and then mumbled something, but I couldn’t understand him.

  “What?”

  He looked up at me and then toward McCutcheon. “I don’t know them. They’re not students.”

  “How many?” McCutcheon asked.

  “Two. A dude and his girlfriend.”

  Officer Griffin pulled out a notepad and began scribbling in it.

  “You know their names?” McCutcheon asked.

  “No.” Kevin shook his head. “Pete and Erin is all I know.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “Pete is tall and thin. Maybe your height but much smaller. He has long hair. Sometimes it’s in a ponytail about this long.” He held up his hands, palms about a foot apart.

  “How old?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Facial hair?”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “The girl?” McCutcheon said. “I think you said Erin was her name.”

  “She’s short. Wears jeans and oversized T-shirts. Or she did the couple of times I’ve seen her. She has long hair, too. Really long. Down to her waist.”

  “Color?”

  “Dark brown. Stringy. Looks like she doesn’t wash it much.”

  “They hang around the school?”

  “I guess.”

  “What do you mean, ‘guess’?”

  “I’ve never seen them there, but I know some people who have.”

  “Where did you meet them?” McCutcheon asked.

  “In a parking lot. Down near the beach.”

  “Which lot?”

  “Down behind that restaurant. The one with the big blue fish sign out front.”

  McCutcheon spun a chair around and sat across from Kevin. He leaned one forearm on the chair’s back. It was as thick as my leg.

  “Here’s the deal, Kevin. We aren’t going to arrest you or charge you with anything if you’ll do a couple of things for me.”

  “What?”

  “If you see them again, call me.”

  “Okay.”

  “And give us the names of the other people you know who have dealt with them.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why?” McCutcheon asked.

  “Mom?” Kevin said, giving his mother a plaintive look.

  “Do what they ask, Kev. You have to.”

  “But I’ll be a snitch. No one will talk to me.”

  “They’ll never know,” McCutcheon said. “We won’t use your name.”

  Kevin hesitated and then nodded. “Okay.”

  After Kevin came clean, Divya and I walked out with McCutcheon and Griffin.

  “Have you guys seen much of this?” I asked. “This new kid-friendly meth?”

  McCutcheon had the passenger door to their cruiser open. He propped one arm on the doorframe and looked at me. “A couple.” He looked across the roof to where Griffin was pulling open the driver’s-side door.

  “When was the last one?” I asked.

  “What—three weeks ago? Some kid got all squirrelly. Ended up in the ER. Wouldn’t say a word about where he got it. Labs showed amphetamines.”

  “Hadn’t that kid taken some ecstasy, too?” Griffin said.

  “That’s right,” McCutcheon said, shaking his head. “The things kids will do nowadays.”

  “The amphetamine the kid took, was it this same Strawberry Quick stuff?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” McCutcheon said. “He didn’t have any on him and, as I said, he refused to answer our questions.”

  I nodded. “I’ve read a little about this in the medical journals. Seems to be a new way of packaging an old drug.”

  McCutcheon held up the plastic bag and looked at the two pink pills inside. “Pretty sinister. Making that garbage look like valentine candy.”

  “That’s the marketing plan,” I said. “Make it look innocent. Fun. Safe.”

  McCutcheon sighed. “We’ll get this over to the lab and see what’s in it.”

  “Could you give me a call when you know? I need to get the word out to the local ERs about what we’re dealing with.” I handed him my card.

  “Will do. Hopefully this is just a couple of isolated deals. Hate to think we were going to have another drug epidemic like we had fifteen years ago when cocaine was everywhere.” He glanced over at Griffin. “Before your time.”

  “Thanks for coming out,” I said. I glanced back toward the house. “My gut tells me Kevin is a good kid. Just got himself mixed up in something.”

  “Isn’t that the way it usually is?” McCutcheon said. “Peer pressure is a dangerous thing.”

  Amen to that.

  McCutcheon handed me his card. “If you see or hear about any other cases, give me a call.”

  “Will do.”

  Divya and I watched as they drove away.

  “Why would anyone make something like that?” Divya asked. “Target kids that way?”

  “Money trumps all.”

  After leaving Shanahan’s office, Evan walked the two blocks down Main Street to Marcy’s Bodyworks, a popular yo
ga and Pilates studio. There were several in the Hamptons, but Marcy’s was at the top of the food chain. Where all the beautiful people worked out. Even a few Hollywood celebrities and high-end New York fashion models. Evan could have sworn the last time he was there he saw one of the Victoria’s Secret models. Marcy was considering taking a booth at the health fair but hadn’t quite decided. She’d said she would have an answer for him today.

  When Evan entered the studio he was greeted by a smile from Stephanie, the receptionist.

  “Evan,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine. I think I’m a little early for my appointment with Marcy.”

  “A little. She’s just finishing up a class and should be out in a minute. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Maybe one of those cool lemon waters you guys have?” Evan said.

  “I think I have some right here.”

  She spun in her chair and pulled open the small refrigerator she kept behind the reception desk. Evan heard glass rattling and then Stephanie straightened and extended a bottle toward him.

  “Here you go.”

  Evan twisted off the cap and took a swig. “I love this stuff.”

  “Me, too. I must drink ten a day.”

  The front door opened and two young brunette women came in. They looked like sisters. Or clones. Same height and weight. Each wore white shorts and a silk shirt, one dark green, the other lemon yellow. Each had a tan canvas sports bag dangling from one shoulder.

  “Hey, Stephanie,” the green-shirted one said.

  The lemon yellow looked at Evan and smiled.

  “You guys are early today,” Stephanie said.

  “Yeah. We’re going into the city later so we decided to come to Marcy’s earlier class.”

  “Have fun.”

  “We will.”

  They headed toward the dressing area. Just as they pushed through the door, lemon yellow glanced back at Evan and smiled again.

  “Who was that?” Evan asked.

  “Zoe and Amy. Two of our regulars.”

  “Are they sisters?”

  “Everyone asks that. No, but they look like it, don’t they?”

  “Sure do. Which one was wearing yellow?”

  Stephanie laughed. “The one that kept looking at you?”

  Evan felt his face redden. He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “That’s Amy. And she’s unattached.” Stephanie leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “In case you’re wondering.”

  “Who wouldn’t? She’s beautiful.”

  “One of the advantages of being a member. You should join. It would do you good.” She laughed again. “And not just in the fitness department.”

  “Maybe I will. As long as Marcy doesn’t try to kill me with her workouts.”

  “She usually does,” Stephanie said.

  “She usually does what?”

  Evan turned to see Marcy. She was wearing tight capri pants and a form-fitting sleeveless tank top, both black. A white towel hung over one shoulder. Her skin appeared flushed and glistened with sweat from her workout. Her short black hair was damp, with a few ringlets plastered to the side of her head.

  “You usually work us too hard,” Stephanie said. She handed Marcy a bottle of lemon water.

  “That’s what I’m here for. And when I finish hammering my clients I go out and pull the wings off small bugs.” She looked at Evan. “When are you and Hank going to join one of our classes?”

  “We were just talking about that,” Evan said. “I can, but for Hank the problem is finding the time.”

  “You’ve got to make the time. It’s important.” She jerked her head toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s head down to my office.”

  Her office was small and spartan. A simple office furniture megastore desk and three chairs, phone, and laptop computer. Bookshelves filled with fitness books and manuals covered one wall. A single large window, horizontal blinds cranked open, looked out onto Main Street. Marcy sat down behind her desk. She wiped her face with the towel, twisted the top off the water, and downed several healthy gulps. Evan took one of the two chairs that faced her.

  Evan got right to it. “So what do you think? We’re down to the last booth.”

  Marcy nodded. “We’re in.”

  “That’s great. I was hoping you would be.”

  “Stephanie and I will be there most of the time. And a couple of the other instructors will be there part time.”

  “You’re going to love your booth. It’s just down from where the HankMed booth will be. Close to the entrance so everybody will have to walk by it to get anywhere.”

  Marcy pulled open her desk drawer and lifted out a checkbook. One of those large ledger types. She flipped it open and began writing. “A thousand for the weekend, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sure we’re going to more than make it up by signing up new clients and selling our logo clothing. If not, it’s for a good cause.”

  She handed the check to Evan. He looked at it, folded it, and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll work on Hank and see if I can get him to join.”

  “What about you? You could sign up even if Hank can’t.”

  “Of course. Evan R. Lawson was built for Pilates.”

  Marcy raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell Stephanie to put you in one of my classes and we’ll see.”

  Chapter 5

  Felicia Hecht was fifty-two, widowed, and lived in a modest home near the water in Sag Harbor. She led us into her living room, where she settled onto an intricately patterned green love seat, Divya and I on the matching sofa across a glass-topped coffee table from her. The room was pastel green. The mantel over the stone fireplace held several framed photos. One of her and I presumed the late Mr. Hecht, another of a young woman who could only be her daughter, standing with a man behind two young children. Nice-looking family.

  She offered us coffee or something to drink, but we declined.

  “I told Dr. Lawson about your symptoms,” Divya said. “The headaches and nausea.”

  Felicia looked at me. “They’re very odd.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “The headaches start around here,” she said, indicating her right temple. “And then the whole right side of my head hurts. My face sometimes.”

  “How long do they usually last?”

  “Mostly a half hour or so, but sometimes most of the day. I just never know. When it comes on I always pray it will go away quickly. Sometimes they even keep me up at night.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  She offered a sheepish grin. “A few months.”

  “And you haven’t talked to anyone about it yet?” Divya asked.

  “It was so odd I wasn’t even sure who to see. I thought maybe it was all in my head. Due to stress or something like that.” She sighed. “But the other day I told Ellie Wentworth about them, and she said I should call you. That you’re the best doctor in the world and that if anyone can figure it out, you can. So here you are.”

  Ellie Wentworth was one of my favorite patients. Astoundingly wealthy, she lived in an East Hampton mansion and was famous for her hugely successful theme parties. She was also one of the most down-to-earth people I’d ever known, proving that rich people can be real people.

  “That’s nice of her to say,” I said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Glowing praise had always done that to me.

  “I trust her, so that’s why I called.”

  “We’re glad you did,” I said. “Is there anything you can relate these headaches to? Something you do or eat or anything that might make this more likely to happen?”

  “Maybe red wine. Maybe chocolate.” She loo
ked at me, her head cocked slightly. “But if you tell me I can’t have chocolate, I’ll find another doctor.” She laughed.

  “Hopefully that’s not part of it. But—” I shrugged, my hands open. “Sometimes chocolate can make migraine-type headaches worse.”

  “Is that what I have?”

  “Maybe. You mentioned stress. Have you been stressed lately?”

  “No more than usual.” She glanced at Divya. “But my friends tell me I worry too much.” She smiled. “I have to admit that I do.”

  “Can you relate the headaches to stress?” Divya asked.

  “Maybe. But to be honest I can’t tell which comes first. The worry or the pain. I mean, the pain makes me worry, but I’m not sure me being stressed really causes the pain. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Perfectly.”

  “So what is it?”

  “I have a couple of ideas, but let me examine you and get some tests done first.”

  Divya checked her blood pressure and pulse, saying they were normal except her pulse was slightly elevated at ninety-five. Her EKG showed the same but was otherwise normal.

  “I’m nervous,” Felicia said.

  “That would explain it,” I said as I stood, walked around the coffee table, and sat down next to her. “Just relax. I don’t bite.”

  Her lungs were clear and her cardiac exam normal, as were her carotid pulsations. I did a brief neurologic exam, which was also normal. I then palpated along the side of her head and temple.

  “Is any of this uncomfortable?” I asked, my fingers pressing into the soft area beneath her jaw.

  “No. And when it’s hurting I’ll press there, too, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. It seems deeper than that.”

  Divya was taking notes, so I said to her, “I don’t feel any masses or nodes. Her parotid gland is normal and nontender and there’re no areas of tenderness to suggest temporal arteritis or TMJ.”

  “What are those?”

  “Things you don’t have.” I smiled.

  “So what is it?”

  “Most likely what we call a mixed headache. That’s one with multiple causes. In your situation they are probably due to stress, perhaps with a migraine component.”