“Eric, I’ll tell you the way this is going to play out. Any misconduct by you, especially criminal misconduct rising to the level of murder, nullifies your contract with HGH.”
“You can’t do that. How can you do that?” Eric’s head started spinning.
“I’m going to recommend that you be put on indefinite suspension, pending the outcome of the investigation and/or trial.”
“What trial? You’re firing me? I’m fired?”
“No. Suspended. Indefinitely. I’ll see if I can make it with pay.”
“I don’t care about the money! I have patients, they’re counting on me.”
“They’ll be fine.”
“No, you can’t!”
“We can and we will. Sam will run the unit with Amaka until you get back.”
“But when can I come back? How long will that be?”
“It’s up to the cops, Eric.” Mike clucked. “What the hell’s going on with you, lately? The incident with Perino? The sexual harassment claim? Now, this? Is it the divorce? Wait, hold on.” Mike covered the phone with his hand. “I have to go. Tom’s calling me.”
“But Mike—”
“Get a lawyer, Eric.” The phone line went dead, and suddenly there was a knock at the interview room door.
“Dr. Parrish, this is Detective Rhoades. I have two patrolmen here to assist you with your clothes.”
Eric thought fast. He didn’t know the number of his malpractice insurance company, but he knew someone who was great in any emergency, whose brother was a lawyer.
“Give me five minutes,” he called to the police.
Chapter Thirty-six
An hour later, the door to the interview room was opened, and Eric rose to meet his new lawyer, Laurie’s brother Paul Fortunato. In medical school, Laurie used to regale him with wild Paul stories, as if her younger brother were the id to her superego, but on first impression, Paul reminded Eric of Laurie; he had her curly black hair, strong face, and animated features—flashing espresso-brown eyes, fleshy lips, and a quick smile. Paul was in his mid-thirties, of short stature but fit, dressed in an expensively tailored dark suit with a shiny purplish print tie. He wore too much aftershave.
Eric extended a hand. “Hi. Eric Parrish.”
“I’m Paul. Good to meet you.”
“Heard a lot about you.”
“You, too. Please, siddown.” Paul gestured to the mesh chair and set a Footlocker bag and a slim metallic briefcase on the table. “Let’s talk first, then we’ll call in the local constabulary. They already gave me the 411. They have you talking to the girl at the yogurt place, following her home, and parking in front of her house. You want them to find your patient, but you’re not giving them any information and they think you’re stonewalling. I’ll have you out of here in fifteen minutes.”
“How?” Eric sat down, surprised.
“You’ll see.” Paul flashed a quick smile, evidently enjoying himself. “Laurie said you have questions for me. Ask away.”
Eric blinked. “I do have questions, but don’t you want to ask me whether I murdered Renée Bevilacqua?”
“Why would I do that?” Paul looked at him like he was crazy, rounding animated brown eyes.
“It’s a logical question.”
“Not for me, I’m a criminal lawyer.”
Eric hoped he was kidding. “Well, I didn’t do it. I had nothing to do with her murder.”
“Thank God. I only represent innocent clients.”
“Are you serious?”
“No.” Paul snorted.
“I want you to know I’m innocent.”
“I don’t care.”
Eric recoiled. “Really? How can that be?”
“Are you asking me about legal philosophy? We need to discuss this, why?” Paul shook his head, chuckling softly. “Laurie said you’re a typical shrink, yakkety-yak. I love my big sister, don’t you? She’s cute, right? I think she has a thing for you. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“No, she doesn’t. We’re friends.” Eric couldn’t smile. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I kid you not.” Paul nodded. “She talks about you a lot. She told me you were divorced. Why don’t you ask her out? What are you waiting for? She’s dyin’ on the vine.”
“How is this a more appropriate conversation than legal philosophy?”
“Good point! Touché!” Paul chuckled. “Okay, I never ask my clients if they did it. Why? It’s legally insignificant. I’m not a dirtbag, I’m a purist. I represent the Constitution, it’s the purest law we have, not bought and paid for, like now. Our forefathers were geniuses, not thieves. Lofty enough for you? The Constitution guarantees your rights, but cops and prosecutors cross that line all the time. My job is to push ’em back, shove ’em back, wa-a-a-ay back!” Paul did a cheer. “Go, team! Feel better?”
“No.”
Paul seemed not to hear him. “You need somebody to stand up for you. You’re the little guy, you just don’t realize it yet. The Commonwealth has all the aces, and you don’t even know you’re playing cards.” Paul rubbed his hands together. “Just so you know the legalese, you can stand on your privilege, which is codified by statute in Section 5944. In Pennsylvania, you can’t be examined in any civil or criminal matter as to any information acquired in the course of your professional services on behalf of your client. It’s a very strong privilege, and it can’t be waived without the written consent of your client. The only exception is for future harm and that isn’t interpreted to prove past conduct. Now ask me your questions. The Keystone cops are waiting for us.”
“Don’t underestimate these guys. They seem to be moving really quickly.”
“They have nothing else to do.”
Eric remembered what Caitlin had told him. “My ex-wife says Detective Rhoades is very tenacious. She’s an assistant district attorney.”
“Oooh, I’m scared. Meanwhile, why’d you marry an A.D.A.? Was she pregnant? Do prosecutors even have sex? Or maybe they do, but they don’t enjoy it?”
Eric couldn’t get a bead on this guy. “Are you having fun? Because it seems like you are.”
“Yes, I am. I love my job. I protect people and I win. Watch me. Let me do my stuff.” Paul threw up his hands. “Now ask me your questions already! This is the worst date ever! Too much foreplay!”
Eric smiled, despite himself. It actually felt good. “Okay, the police are searching my office at the hospital and my house, and they took my car. Can they do that?”
“Yes, but it’s grabby. Next question.”
“Paul, I run a psychiatric unit, and what the cops did at the hospital jeopardizes some very sick people. My patients need routine and calm. Disruption like that can set them back days, and their insurance companies only allow them a limited number.” Eric thought of Perino. “For example, I treat a schizophrenic who thinks the CIA is after him. It doesn’t help that uniformed police arrest his psychiatrist and search the unit. Can the cops really do that?”
“Yes, they can, and if you ask me, the schizophrenic is right. The CIA really is after us. So’s the NSA and the rest of the alphabet.”
Eric let it go. “What about my patient files? The cops told me it wasn’t within the scope of the warrant, but I don’t know what that means.”
“When police obtain a search warrant, they have to specify what they’re searching for and what they intend to seize. The cops aren’t requesting patient files because they know the hospital would take them to court. They’ll do it later, but not yet.”
“They took my phone. Can they do that, too?”
“Yes, buy a new one. You’re probably a week away from an upgrade. Whenever I need a new phone, I’m always a week away from an upgrade.” Paul rolled his eyes. “You want to see some real criminals? Look at AT&T. Verizon. Sprint. Bankers, mortgage companies, the Fed. Then move on to Congress. Those are the guys that belong behind bars, not you. The law is made by people who are bought and sold, but that wasn’t true in 1776, in my hometown.
Next question?”
“They want me to give them my clothes. Can they do that?”
“Eric, they’re doing you a favor. You dress like a middle-aged lesbian.”
“Okay, enough.” Eric smiled again. “I see where Laurie gets it from.”
“Any other questions?”
“No.”
“Excellent! I’m going to call in the locals.” Paul pointed at Eric. “Clam up, Ralph Mouth. I’m going to make a speech and try not to say the F word. I’m doing great so far, right?”
“Great.”
“My wife’s idea. Because of the kids. We have a swear jar, like a TV family. All we need is a laugh track.”
“My ex-wife curses all the time.”
“Really? Maybe she was okay.” Paul held up the Footlocker bag. “By the way, I brought you sweats and a new phone, and I’ll give you a ride back to work.”
“They suspended me. Can they do that?”
“Prolly. See what I mean? Criminals.” Paul scowled. “We’ll discuss it later. I’ll drive you home. Give them your Amish outfit, we’re leaving.” He turned around, crossed to the front door, and opened it. “Detective Rhoades?”
“Right here.” Detective Rhoades appeared at the door, a sour expression on his face, with Detective Pagano behind him.
“Step into my office.” Paul gestured them into the interview room, deadpan.
“Thank you.” Detectives Rhoades shifted his gaze in Paul’s direction. “I’d like to resume the discussion, since you two have had a chance to confer.”
“Thanks, but no.” Paul shook his head, neatly. “The interview’s over. You’re not charging him, and he’s not answering any more questions. Don’t tell me, let me guess—you didn’t Mirandize him.”
“He’s not in custody.”
“I take it that’s a no. You didn’t read him his rights?”
“Correct. He’s not being arrested.”
“You may not have arrested him, but we both know he was in custodial interrogation.”
“It wasn’t.” Detective Rhoades folded his beefy arms, but Paul looked him directly in the eye, unintimidated.
“You didn’t read him his rights because you didn’t want to tip him off. You knew he was a suspect when you picked him up, yet you neglected to inform him of that fact. He’s a respected doctor, and he’s trying to do the right thing. You tricked him.”
“We didn’t read him his rights because it wasn’t required by law.”
“The judge will disagree with you. If you move against my client, I’ll file a motion to suppress your videotape.” Paul gestured at the black window. “Plus you picked him up at work, for maximum terroristic effect. You didn’t even care about the mental health of the patients on his unit, all of whom are straight-up nuts, if not right about the CIA. That’s bullying and intimidation. How do you sleep at night?”
“I don’t like your attitude.” Detective Rhoades frowned.
“Neither does my wife.” Paul gestured to Eric. “My client is happy to leave you with his dorky shirt and Mom jeans. I’m embarrassed by the way he dresses—and I’ve represented pimps.”
Detective Rhoades cocked his head. “You know, every lawyer from Philly is just like you. Smart-assed.”
“And every cop from the sticks is just like you. Needs a mint.” Paul motioned the detectives out the door. “Let’s leave our baby boy in the dressing room, shall we? He’s old enough to find his own zipper.”
“I’ll send in a patrolman to preserve the chain of custody,” Detective Rhoades said, leaving the interview room.
The room emptied, and Eric glanced at his watch, with a start. It was almost six fifteen, and he saw patients at home tonight, starting at seven o’clock.
He’d have to hurry.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Eric emerged from the police station with Paul, and the two men barreled through the media blanketing the sidewalk. There were more reporters than before, holding up cell phones, microphones, and videocameras. Photographers raised portable metal grids of klieglights and used camera flashes, which went off like so many tiny explosions. The reporters dogged the two men, filmed their every step, and shouted questions:
“Mr. Fortunato, who’s your client?” “Sir, who are you?” “What’s your name? “Why did you change clothes?” “Is this in connection with the Bevilacqua murder?” “What were you doing in there for so long?” “Come on, give us a comment!”
Eric kept his head down, hiding his face. The media knew that Paul was a criminal lawyer, and unfortunately that identified him as a suspect, unlike when he’d entered the building. Then he could’ve just been someone giving information, which was what he’d thought he was. But the reporters smelled blood and chased them to the parking lot.
“Paul, is he a person of interest or suspect?” “Did they confiscate his clothes?” “Why didn’t they arrest him?” “Is there any new information in the Bevilacqua case?” “Do the police have any leads?” “Come on, please, give us a quick statement. Tell us who he is. This is your chance to get out in front of this!” “Sir, sir, what’s your name? Do yourself a favor and make a statement before the police do!”
Eric and Paul broke into a light jog toward Paul’s black Mercedes SUV, which was parked illegally in the packed parking lot. Paul chirped it unlocked on the fly, and they reached the car and jumped inside the front seat. Paul started the engine, and the reporters surrounded the SUV.
“This is awful!” Eric recoiled, shocked. Camera flashes popped all around, and a massive set of klieglights switched on, flooding the SUV with white-hot light. He turned instinctively away.
“Don’t hide your face. Hold your head high and look forward. Don’t look at them.” Paul threw the car into reverse and backed out, honking the horn.
“Be careful not to hit anybody.”
“Why? That’s my favorite part.”
“I took an oath. Do no harm.” Eric faced forward, forcing himself not to make eye contact with any of the reporters. He’d seen scenes of the media like this in movies, but he never realized how chaotic it was in reality.
“I took an oath too. But I crossed my fingers.” Paul kept reversing and honking, scattering the reporters. “You know, the cops could come out and do crowd control, but they won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they want the pressure on you. They want you to be film at eleven. Like I told you, they got the aces and you’re just figuring out there’s a card game.” Paul put the car into forward gear and hit the gas, steering toward the exit.
“They’re not going to follow us, are they?” Eric could see in his peripheral vision that reporters were running to their cars and news vans parked along Iven Road.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lose them. You’re riding in eight cylinders of a tax-deductible getaway car.” Paul took a quick left, zooming past the picket fences and privet hedges in front of the tasteful homes on the back street, then took another right turn through the lovely neighborhood behind Lancaster Avenue.
“I’m supposed to see patients in my private practice tonight.” Eric glanced at the dashboard clock, which read 6:32. “I have the first appointment at seven o’clock, at home.”
“Get the new phone and cancel them. You can’t see patients tonight. I need to get the facts of your case.” Paul glanced at the rearview mirror, taking another right turn.
“I can’t divulge confidential information to you, either.” Eric slid the phone from his pocket, hating what he had to do. He never canceled an appointment, and his private patients needed him, too.
“I have to know as much as you can tell me. The boy, the girl, and the frozen yogurt.” Paul pulled the Mercedes into the bumper-to-bumper traffic, heading west.
“My house is in the other direction.” Eric looked down at the new phone, missing his old phone, which contained his entire life, plus a cute picture of Hannah on the home screen. He’d missed talking to her last night and he’d have to make sure he spoke to her
tonight.
“I’m leading them the opposite way, just in case. But I actually think we did lose them.” Paul checked the rearview again, with a grin. “See, criminal law can be fun!”
“Way to go,” Eric said, grateful. Suddenly the ringing of a cell phone reverberated inside the car, and the lighted GPS screen on the dashboard changed to read Laurie Calling …
“It’s big sis!” Paul hit a button on the steering wheel, answering the call. “Hey, honey! Mission accomplished! The Eagle has landed! Tell me how much you love me.”
“I love you, Paul.” Laurie’s voice sounded amplified and mechanical over the speaker system. “You’re smart, you’re not dumb, like everybody says.”
“‘I can handle things! I’m smart! Not like everybody says. I’m not dumb! I’m smart and I want respect!’”
“‘You broke my heart, Fredo. You broke my heart.’”
Eric didn’t know what they were talking about. “What are you guys saying?”
Laurie chuckled, over the speakers. “It’s The Godfather, the extent of my brother’s cultural literacy.”
Paul nodded, driving. “I’m Fredo, she’s Michael. She gets to be Michael because she’s older.”
“Because I’m smarter,” Laurie shot back.
“Way harsh, sis.” Paul grinned. “Anyway I’m rolling home with your boyfriend. Keep it up and I’ll take him back to the hoosegow.”
“Paul, he’s not my boyfriend, he’s my colleague.”
“Yeah, right, he said you were friends. Ha!”
Eric ignored the awkward moment. “Laurie, thanks for calling Paul. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“Yes!” Paul hit the steering wheel in delight. “Another satisfied felon!”
Laurie groaned. “Paul, calm down. Where are you guys? Eric, aren’t you coming back to the hospital?”
Eric tasted bitterness on his tongue. “I can’t. Believe it or not, I’m on indefinite suspension.”
Laurie gasped. “Are you kidding me?”
“I know.”
Every Fifteen Minutes Page 24
