“I’m not going to desert him. He still needs help. He should be on a suicide watch. Do you know if he is?”
“Eric, that kid put you right where you are now.” Paul leaned forward, placing his hands facedown on the table. “We don’t have time to talk about it because you’re about to get heat like you’ve never had in your life.”
“What do you mean?”
“You still have information that they need on Bevilacqua. They want to know what Max told you about Renée in his sessions, why you sent the cops to find him, and why you followed her to work and home. They want to know everything you know about Max and his involvement with her murder.”
“If he was involved.” Eric wasn’t about to tell Paul what Max had told him in the video game store. It was still privileged, and just because they weren’t in his office didn’t mean it wasn’t confidential.
“Yes, if he was, but they have a lot of questions and they know you have the answers.”
“I don’t know who killed that girl.”
“But you know more than they know, don’t you? You know things that you won’t even tell me, right? I can tell by the look on your face. The live legal issue is Renée’s murder, and they’re going to pressure you to give them the information.”
“I have a privilege to respect, and nothing’s changed since earlier today.” Eric thought about it. “In fact, the stakes are only higher. My patient tried to commit suicide tonight. He has nobody in the world but me, and I can’t betray him now, or I tell you, he will kill himself.”
“Today, at the Radnor police station, you claimed your privilege and they let you walk out. That’s not what’s going to happen tonight, not after the fiasco at that mall. As you say, the stakes are higher now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember what I told you today, about the power of the Commonwealth? And how they have all the aces when you don’t even know you’re playing cards?”
“Yes.”
“As a legal matter, whether you get charged with a crime, and the extent to which you are charged, lies completely with the discretion of the prosecutor. The D.A. herself would be here if she weren’t in the hospital, and I promise you, she’s calling the shots. Anyway, the state is gunning for you. Why? You have information they need and they have a way to get it.”
“How?”
“They’re going to try to squeeze you. You give up what the kid told you in therapy about Renée, and they will make everything go away—the feds will drop any federal criminal charges against you arising out of the terrorism statutes, Upper Merion will drop any charges against you for obstructing the administration of the law by going into the mall, and Radnor will drop the potential murder or conspiracy to murder investigation against you in connection with Renée.”
“So if I give him up, I save myself.”
“Yes.”
“I should trade his life to save my ass?”
“You got a problem with that?” Paul didn’t crack a smile.
“I still won’t violate my privilege. If I divulge, he’ll see it as a betrayal. He’ll lose the only person he has left. He could kill himself.”
“Then we’ll play it by ear, at the meeting.” Paul exhaled, slowly. “Let’s move on to a related point. My defense for you will be to delineate you from Max. To try to distinguish how what you did tonight is very different from what he did. That makes a big difference, legally.”
Eric hated the turn the conversation was taking.
“Pennsylvania doesn’t have a good statute concerning interference with the police, which is basically what you did. The most they could charge you with is obstructing the administration of law and other governmental functions, but that’s only a misdemeanor of the second degree. Normally, charges could come from your actual misconduct, but you didn’t assault anyone, disturb the peace, cause a riot, or physically resist arrest. A case like yours, where your conduct didn’t harm anyone and caused a good outcome, the most I think they could throw at you would be a minor charge, like disorderly conduct and with an ARD disposition, which is arbitration. It’s the best-case scenario.”
“They have to charge me with something?”
“Yes. You can’t disregard their orders in a hostage situation. The consequences can be too dire. They won’t do nothing—unless we give them the information they want.”
Eric’s head was spinning. “So what’s the bottom line?”
“If you stick to your guns, then you’re going to spend the night in jail.”
“Can’t I bail myself out? How much will it cost?”
“You haven’t been arraigned yet, and these things take time. I can guarantee you they’re going to drag their feet, but that’s not even the big gun.”
“What is?”
“Their next move is to call you before the grand jury. You have a right to refuse to answer questions of the police and prosecutor, but you have to answer questions before the grand jury unless you have a valid privilege, like the Fifth Amendment or your statutory privilege under Section 5944.”
“So then, I’m good, right?”
“Wrong. The prosecutor could then bring you before the supervising judge of the grand jury and he will determine if you can lawfully refuse to answer questions. The prosecutor would argue to him that you should divulge because of the state’s interest in the health, safety, and welfare of its citizenry. And they’re going to win. The court order will force you to reveal the information.”
“That can’t be the law.”
“That can be the politics, and it’s close enough on the law. Judges have discretion, like I told you, and it’s not just about that girl’s murder anymore, it’s about shutting down the King of Prussia Mall. K of P is the biggest mall in the country, bigger than the Mall of America since the expansion, 2 million square feet. Employs seven thousand people and it’s a major tourist attraction, bringing money into the county.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I looked it up, and my wife shops until I drop. As I was saying, if you think that the King of Prussia Chamber of Commerce and the economic clout behind the mall are not going to influence the supervising judge of the grand jury, you’re mistaken. And state judges are elected, not like merit appointments. Those judges get the gig because they have coin and juice, not because they look good in black. And let’s be real, who doesn’t?”
Eric’s thoughts raced. He sensed where Paul was going.
“The judge will give them an order that compels you to divulge, maybe not all of what you know, but a lot more than you’re willing to divulge now. If you don’t obey that order, you’re going to jail for contempt of court.”
“For how long?”
“Until you comply. A contempt of court sentence can be open-ended. Judges have the same kind of discretion that district attorneys do. They all work for the same boss. The almighty dollar.”
Eric tried to wrap his mind around the details, but he knew he was in deeper trouble than before. “They can’t send me away forever.”
“They can—until you comply. There’s not a lot of law on the subject or cases about shrinks, but do you want to be the one who makes new law?”
“How can you go to jail if you don’t commit a crime?”
“The crime would be failure to comply with a court order. If you don’t divulge after the court orders you to, you’re in contempt. Do you see what you’re up against?”
The scary part was, Eric did.
Chapter Forty-three
Ten minutes later, Eric found himself seated at the table next to Paul, and the interview room brimmed with personnel getting settled in mesh chairs and along the wall. Several FBI and ATF agents stood at the back of the room, next to someone from Homeland Security, and they had introduced themselves to Paul when Eric was brought in, nodding at him briefly as they gave Paul their business cards. The federal agents hadn’t introduced themselves to Eric, and he got the gist that he had become a lesser life form, a prisoner
. The them, in the us against them.
On the wall facing him was an observation window like the one at the Radnor police station, but its surface was more reflective. Eric avoided his own reflection. He didn’t want to see the way he looked in police custody. They’d taken the firefighter’s jacket, which afforded him at least some cover, and he felt more vulnerable than ever in the generic gray sweat clothes, without his phone, pager, and employee ID lanyard. He’d become generic himself, a forty-something white guy, of average height and build, a common criminal.
Eric and Paul sat across from Detective Rhoades of the Radnor Police, as well as Captain Alan Newmire of the Upper Merion Police, who looked to be in his forties and was remarkably tall, maybe six-five, with bristly salt-and-pepper hair that refused to stay in place and hooded bright blue eyes in a longish, lined face, with a fresh sunburn. He had on a black uniform, his chest enlarged by the bulletproof vest underneath, which made a thick rim at his collar like a turtle’s shell. To his left sat A.D.A. Pete Mastell, whom Eric could identify on sight as a junior prosecutor, still in his thirties, with dark, gelled hair and sharp brown eyes that were always on high alert. Eric felt a residual kinship with him, flashing on the D.A.’s Office picnics and softball games he’d gone to with Caitlin, but they were his friends no longer. On the contrary, he considered himself lucky that Caitlin wasn’t from the same D.A.’s Office. The thought led him to Hannah, with a wave of sadness. He hadn’t talked to her last night and felt oddly cut off from her, too.
Paul clapped his hands together. “Folks, Dr. Parrish has consented to meet with you to cooperate and resolve this matter. It goes without saying that he doesn’t have to do any such thing. That said, let’s talk procedure. I’m not going to have a panel of top brass interrogating my client. So you folks need to appoint somebody to be your designated driver, and we will answer questions from him.”
Everybody on the other side of the table reacted—lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and a gentle snort of derision emanated from the assistant district attorney.
Captain Newmire raised his index finger, as if he were summoning a waiter. “Fair enough, I’ll be the point man.”
“Thank you. Also, is there a reason the federales are in the room?” Paul gestured at the federal agents standing along the back wall. “It’s intimidating, but I’m sure that’s not your intent.”
The agent on the end answered, “I’m Special Agent Sorenson of the Philadephia bureau, and we have an interest in these proceedings.”
Paul waved airily at the observation window. “I feel you, but why can’t you go stand in whatever room is behind there?”
“We’d just as soon stay, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind, but I’ll see if Dr. Parrish does.” Paul turned to Eric. “Can you deal with a studio audience?”
“It’s fine,” Eric answered, sensing that there was a method to Paul’s madness. The lawyer was establishing a jokey, though completely serious, dominance, and by asking Eric if he agreed, it made him feel more powerful. He shifted in his chair, sitting straighter.
“One final point, before we begin.” Paul’s tone turned conversational. “Dr. Parrish doesn’t want me to toot his horn, but he risked his life tonight to save others. He ran into that mall because it was the right thing to do. His actions resulted in the hostages’ being released unharmed and the shooter being in your custody. I think that my client is a hero. So do they.” Paul nodded out the window, toward the media. “Those guys tomorrow, they’re going to say the same thing. They saw him run in, saw the kids run out in their cute little soccer jerseys, saw him escort the shooter out and save the day. Dr. Parrish deserves your thanks, and the fact that he is sitting here before you, treated like a felon or even a terrorist, is beyond me.”
“Mr. Forunato—”
“Please, call me Paul. I’m trying to make nice.”
“Fine, Paul.” Captain Newmire smiled, less tightly, and turned to Eric. “Dr. Parrish, your counsel and you take the position that you did the ‘right thing’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“but we disagree. You were expressly prohibited from entering the mall. You proceeded irregardless. You violated state and federal law, interfered with an emergency police action, impersonated a first responder, and recklessly endangered the lives of others.”
Paul interjected, “Please tell me you’re kidding. If not for Dr. Parrish, you’d be at the morgue tagging toes. That mall was a powderkeg.”
“Powderkeg?” Captain Newmire turned to Paul with a frown. “It was a hoax. The bomb was a shoebox and the perpetrator’s rifle was non-functional.”
“You’re missing the point, Captain,” Paul shot back. “The firepower didn’t come from a kid with a musket, but from you and every other police precinct in the tri-state, loaded with AR-9s and all the other toys the feds gave you as surplus from Iraq, not to mention armed SWAT teams, ATF, FBI, and whatever else. It was a military action with assault weapons, Humvees, and I even saw a SERT tank.”
“It wasn’t a military action.”
“It was overkill, plain and simple.”
“It was a reasonable reaction to a threat situation.” Captain Newmire stiffened, but Paul didn’t back down.
“You have the toys and you’re dying to use ’em. It was you and your men who created a potentially dangerous situation, and all Dr. Parrish did was make sure nobody got hurt. A bigger man would be able to thank him, but I won’t hold my breath.”
Eric remained silent, watching the reactions, especially to Paul’s last line. The FBI agent on the end folded his arms, and everybody stiffened. Eric cleared his throat, sensing that he needed to soothe some egos and dispell the bad vibes. “Gentlemen, I may not be a lawyer, but I’m enough of a therapist to tell you that we should move on. Counseling doesn’t always work, and not every marriage can be saved.”
Captain Newmire and Detective Rhoades chuckled unexpectedly, and there were tense smiles around the room, so Eric felt as if he had diffused the situation, which he was coming to think of as his hobby.
Captain Newmire nodded, easing back in his chair. “Fair enough, Dr. Parrish. I speak for everyone here when I say that we appreciate your cooperating with us and answering a few questions.”
“Thank you.” Eric managed a smile.
“The first question concerns your relationship to Max Jakubowski. How long has he been your patient?”
Eric braced himself to make his case. “Captain, as Detective Rhoades has probably told you, I take the confidentiality between me and my patients very seriously. I can’t answer questions about my therapeutic relationship to Max, anything he told me in therapy, anything relating to his diagnosis, or things of that nature.”
Captain Newmire pursed his lips, which were thin. He had a five o’clock shadow, salted with whitish hairs. “Let’s begin with what you can tell me. Max is your patient, correct?”
“Yes, although I revealed that to Detective Rhoades only because I’m permitted to reveal that when a patient is at risk for suicide. I divulged that information so they could go and find him, since he had been missing.” Eric paused. “Where is Max now?”
Captain Newmire hesitated. “In custody.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if anyone told you, but I am concerned about his mental state. There’s a substantial risk he might harm himself. He needs to be on suicide watch.”
“I got the message, thanks.”
“So you’re watching him?”
“Yes.”
Somehow Eric didn’t feel relieved. Captain Newmire said the right words, but his tone remained brusque and cool, unlike the hotter-headed Detective Rhoades, who now sat quietly, his meaty hands folded in front of him. “Have you questioned Max yet?”
“No.”
“Does he have a lawyer?” Eric felt a sharp kick to his right leg under the table, evidently from Paul, trying to shut him up.
“Not to my knowlegde, though his mother is trying to
find him one.”
Captain Newmire eyed him.
“What about a psychiatrist?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because practicalities prevent me from counseling him right now, and he needs psychiatric help. I can give you some numbers of my colleagues in private practice. You need to get him some help.”
“Oh, we do, do we?” Captain Newmire’s tone curdled, but Eric wasn’t surprised.
“Yes, you do. You have legal obligations to care for those in police custody. If he were bleeding from a wound, you’d get him a physician. He’s in obvious emotional distress, so he needs a psychiatrist.” Eric felt Paul kick him under the table again.
“Let’s move on.” Captain Newmire cleared his throat. “Now, you reported Max missing after he telephoned you on Tuesday night, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“What is your relationship to the deceased girl, Renée Bevilacqua?”
“I had no relationship to her. I didn’t know her.”
“But you met her at her place of business, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“You can tell me that because it doesn’t involve Max or your treatment of him, is that correct?”
“Yes, you just asked me a question about my whereabouts and I answered it.”
“Why were you at the frozen yogurt shop Tuesday night, speaking with Ms. Bevilacqua?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Captain Newmire lifted a graying eyebrow. “You know, I think of myself as a logical man. Methodical. It drives my wife nuts. And if you can’t tell me why you were at the yogurt shop, then it’s a logical conclusion that the reason involves Max Jakubowski. Now, we have learned that Max Jakubowski was Renée Bevilacqua’s SAT tutor at PerfectScore. Your being there at the shop was because of Max Jakubowski, correct?”
Eric started to answer, then stopped himself. “I can’t answer that. I can’t confirm or deny that.”
“Did Max introduce you to her?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Did you introduce Max to Renée?”
Every Fifteen Minutes Page 29
