“Yes, how can I help you?”
“My son is taking a chemistry class this summer, and I must have picked up his backpack instead of my own because I have his books. Do you know what time the class meets and in what building?”
“Let me check the time of the class. Yes, here, the class is from noon to three o’clock, so he’s missed most of it. Too bad.”
“What building is the class held in? I’m in the neighborhood, so maybe I’ll drop it off anyway and say hi.”
“Aren’t you nice? There’s only the one building, so you’ll see when you pull into the parking lot.”
“Okay, thanks.” Eric hung up, checking the dashboard clock, which read 2:15. He wondered if he would ever again check the time and not wonder if Max was doing the same thing somewhere, counting down to the moment when he could perform his rituals.
Eric reached Exton, passed the Church Farm School, looking for signs for Springdale Road, and took a left into the parking lot, scanning the area. He didn’t know when colleges started looking like corporate parks, much less being situated in them. He took a left into the parking lot, which was medium-sized, and reversed into a space farthest away from the entrance, cutting the ignition. The space gave him the best view of what appeared to be the only entrance to the school, next to the signs that read Delaware County Community College Is a Smoke-Free Campus and Bucks for Books!
The entrance was of smoked glass underneath a brown-painted façade, and the building that housed the college was part of the corporate center and shared its architecture: new, modern, and orangey brick, with a few windows. There was no bucolic grass common on which to hang out, talk, or throw a Frisbee, and only a handful of students stood talking outside the entrance, their backpacks slung over one shoulder and their plastic headphones slung around their necks.
A few students headed toward their cars, and Eric watched as the doors opened and more young people trickled out in dribs and drabs, talking and laughing before they went their separate ways. He waited ten minutes, which turned into fifteen, then twenty, keeping an eye on the students leaving the building. Just when he thought that he’d missed Todd, he spotted a student who he thought might be him. The student was tall and about six foot two, with blond hair like Todd’s, and he left the building talking with two pretty female students, all of them smiling.
Eric checked Todd’s Facebook picture to be sure, and as the blond boy walked closer, Eric realized it was Todd. He had the same broad shoulders in a vintage gray T-shirt and droopy green cargo pants, and his smile was the same: easy and vaguely cocky. Eric edged up in his seat, waiting to see which car Todd would go to because the lot was still fairly full.
One of the girls laughed loudly, the sound coming through Eric’s open window, then she waved good-bye and walked to a row of cars parked along the right. Todd walked to the left with the other girl, and in the next moment, he threw his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek, then she stopped and smiled up at him, whereupon Todd kissed her fully on the mouth.
Eric blinked, surprised. He didn’t know what to make of it. Either Todd was Renée’s boyfriend and had moved on heartlessly soon after her death, or he wasn’t her boyfriend in the first place and Eric’s theory was wrong. Eric didn’t understand, but he didn’t have time to parse it now. He scrolled to the camera function on his phone and started snapping pictures of Todd and the girl as they broke up the clinch, walked together to an olive gray Jeep Wrangler, and both of them got in, with Todd in the driver’s seat. Todd reversed out of the space and exited the parking lot, and Eric took a picture of his license plate.
Eric eyed the photo of the license plate, in thought. What he had learned about Todd made him think that the boy should be investigated further, but for a moment, Eric wasn’t sure where to go with the information. It would be foolhardy to go to the police himself, given that he was out on bail, nor could he call Marie, who would probably be eager to hear anything that could help to exonerate Max.
It struck Eric that the tables had turned, as an ethical and legal matter. Previously, his confidentiality had prevented him from giving to the police evidence that would put Max on the hook; now, it was preventing him from giving evidence that would take Max off the hook. The sword cuts both ways, and Eric was going to be principled about his confidentiality. But he could divulge what he’d learned today, outside of what Max had told him.
He turned to the phone function and pressed Call.
Chapter Fifty-two
“Paul, how are you? Got a minute?” Eric sat behind the wheel, idly watching students leave the college.
“Sure I was just about to call you.”
“Let me go first.” Eric didn’t feel like his news could wait. “I discovered a viable suspect in Renée Bevilacqua’s murder and I want to know what we do next. I’m thinking you could tell the police, because I know I can’t communicate with them directly.”
“You’re kidding, right? Who are you, Nancy Drew? You find the hidden staircase?”
“Paul, listen. If you go on Facebook, you can find the page of a nineteen-year-old named Todd Schuler, who goes to Delaware County Community College, and there’s a picture of him with Renée at Pickering Park, taken a month ago.” Eric still had to be careful about keeping confidential what Max had told him in therapy, but he didn’t have to keep confidential what he had learned otherwise.
“Okaaaay,” Paul said, slowly. “So you’re Facebook-stalking people, I can live with that. I do the same thing to a girl who dumped me. Looks like she’s with a real loser now, which makes me very happy.”
“I believe that Todd Schuler was Renée’s boyfriend, and I think the police should investigate that. Isn’t it fairly typical, that when a wife is murdered, they look at the husband? I think I even read that somewhere, that they look at the nearest and dearest. Well, Todd Schuler was the nearest and dearest, so we need to find a way to tell them. Can you tell them?”
“Eric, you’re trying to do police investigative work by trolling Facebook, and I don’t think that’s how it works.” Paul chuckled. “Even though the local constabulary isn’t exactly the top of the law-enforcement food chain, I think even they can figure out to go look at her boyfriend. Let them do their job, and you need to chill. What’s going on with the reporters? Are they still on the lawn?”
Eric didn’t answer, since he was still in the parking lot at Delaware County Community College. “But the thing is, the police might not know she had a boyfriend.”
“I’m sure the police can find out she has a boyfriend. I mean, that’s not forensic expert stuff.”
Eric hesitated. “I think the relationship was secret. Her parents didn’t know.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I just met with Renée’s mother and—”
“You did what? You met with the mother of the murder victim? When? How?”
“She called me. She begged me to meet with her. I didn’t tell her anything, and I didn’t do anything untoward.”
“Eric, meeting with her is untoward, whatever that means. Who uses words like that anymore? What is your deal? What happened at this meeting? Where are you?”
“It was a brief meeting at a restaurant. She asked me, she begged me, to tell her what I knew about Max, and I didn’t. Then, at the end, she threatened to sue me, but I’m getting used to that.”
“Are you kidding? This is so dangerous for you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I knew you’d say no.”
Paul snorted. “Who else was there?”
“No one.”
“She didn’t bring counsel or anyone?”
“No.”
“Was she wearing a wire?”
“Of course not.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Paul groaned. “Did you record the conversation?”
“Of course not.”
“She could call the police. She could tell them anything. She could make up someth
ing you said, a confession even.”
“She’s not going to do that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do. She’s a heartbroken mother trying to get some justice for her child. What’s important is that she did not know that Renée had a boyfriend, in Todd. And that means the police probably don’t know.”
“Renée’s girfriends will know. My wife tells her girlfriends everything.”
“They might not tell, knowing Renée wanted to keep it a secret. They’d have no incentive to reveal her secrets after she died, if the police already have the killer.”
“Eric, if you could figure it out, the cops can figure it out. They have the Internet. I think.”
“But they’re not looking. Plus, Renée’s mother told me that it was Renée’s routine to walk the dog in the park every morning before school, and I think she was meeting Todd there. Todd could’ve killed her, and I have to tell you, I think he’s really a player.” Eric didn’t need to add the part that he’d learned from Max, that Renée had been crying after she had a fight with her boyfriend.
“Eric, how do you know he’s a player? High-school gossip? Is he in your homeroom?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. I have his license plate, too, I’ll text it to you. And the fact that Renée had a routine is significant. Anybody who was watching her would have known that she would be there walking the dog, all by herself.”
“Eric, please, stop—”
“Would you just call the police and tell them about Todd Schuler? And ask them to ask if anybody on the town watch saw his car around Pickering Park on the morning of the murder, or on other mornings?”
“If I do that, they’ll know it comes from you.”
“So what? I’m not going to answer any more questions from them. I thought about calling the tip line anonymously, but I don’t know if they follow through on that stuff.”
“They do, I think.”
“I don’t want to rely on that. I want to know it got communicated. I’d love to give the information to Marie, but I know you’re going to say we can’t call her.”
“Thank God, at least you listen to some of the things I say. No, we can’t call her. I’ll tell you why, I was about to call you. I just spoke with Max’s new lawyer, Lionel Bolton. He’s one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the city.”
“Terrific.”
“No, not terrific. I’m sure he’s taking the case because it’s so high-profile, and Lionel loves to take the little and make it big.”
“I think the case deserves to be big. Max needs a psychological evaluation, so they can get him the treatment he needs, and in the meantime, his lawyer can hold Newmire’s feet to the fire—”
“Eric, your naïveté, it touches me. You’re like an extremely brainy newborn.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only person whose feet are going to get held to the fire are yours. Lionel is not telling me his strategy, of course, but I’ve represented codefendants in conspiracy cases with him before. He doesn’t play well with others. His MO is divide and conquer.”
“How so?”
“He’s going after you, Eric. He’s gonna ride the theory that you manipulated Max, this weak-minded young boy.”
Eric scoffed. “Like the cops were saying? Why would I manipulate Max to kill Renée?”
“He doesn’t have to answer that question, not in front of a jury. All he has to do is create reasonable doubt. He’ll serve up somebody more culpable than Max and flip the facts of the case on their head. He takes your going to the mall and getting Max out as proof that you have unusual power over the kid—who looks as innocent as an altar boy. You, on the other hand, are a powerful psychiatrist, who today looks like a big bully, because by the way, somebody named Linda Perino is talking to the press and saying that you attacked her husband on your psychiatric unit.”
Eric couldn’t believe his ears. “I didn’t, that’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter what’s true, it only matters what gets reported. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lionel finds a way to get Mrs. Perino before every microphone in the tri-state area.”
Eric sighed inwardly.
“Max is going to get the best psychiatric care on the planet because his new lawyer is going to want to prove him mentally unstable, whether to get him off on the murder charge on an insanity defense, or to derail a criminal trial, in hopes that he’s not mentally competent to participate in his own defense.”
Eric felt a small measure of reassurance.
“But the way it works for the defense lawyer is that he has to get the jury somebody to hang. That’s going to be you. So here’s new rules. From now on, Max, Marie, and her boyfriend Sasquatch are the enemy. We have nothing to do with them. Total and complete separation. Church and state. Love and marriage.”
Eric couldn’t smile.
“Do I have your agreement on that?” Paul’s voice turned stern. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. If you don’t follow my directions, I’m going to drop you faster then Julie Stein.”
“Who?”
“The girl I Facebook-stalk. She dropped me in the middle of our first date. I took her to dinner and didn’t even make it past the bruschetta. She went to the bathroom and never came back.” Paul chuckled. “That’s what’s going to happen to you, Eric. I’m going to the bathroom and I’m not coming back. You’re going to be left holding your bruschetta.”
Eric could hear in the tone of his voice that he wasn’t kidding.
“Now what are you going to do?”
“First, will you tell the police about Todd Schuler?” Eric scrolled to the text function and texted Paul the photo. “I just sent his license plate to you.”
“Yes, I will do that. I’ll look like a smacked ass for you. I’ll tell them all the lunch-table gossip, who likes who, who’s wearing what, did you see Jenny’s eye makeup, whatever the hell you want me to do. But you need to go home and behave yourself. By the way, my sister says hi.”
“Say hi back.” Eric thought a minute. “Or I might go to the hospital, say hi to her, and sneak in a check on my patients.”
“Yes, that you can do. But stay off of Facebook or you’re grounded. Feel me?”
“Yes,” Eric answered, reaching over and starting the car.
Chapter Fifty-three
Eric reached the hospital by the end of the business day, and rush-hour traffic was in full swing. He steered to the parking lot, stopped at the entrance, and slid his parking pass into the turnstile, but the parking attendant stepped out of his booth and waved him away.
“Sir, sir! That turnstile is for doctors only!”
“It’s me, Bob!” Eric called back, sticking his head from the driver’s side window.
“Sorry, Dr. Parrish. Didn’t recognize the car. You get a new one?”
“Not exactly.” Eric wasn’t about to explain, but Bob was grinning.
“Hey, way to go last night at the mall! You did us proud!”
“Thanks,” Eric said with a smile. The turnstile went up and he cruised through, drove to his parking spot, and turned off the ignition. He got out of the car, locked it up, and made his way to the breezeway that led to the main building. Hospital staff, doctors, and nurses flowed from the exit, and Eric approached, swimming upstream. As he got closer to the breezeway door, he realized that people were looking at him, doing double-takes, and his very appearance caused a frisson of reaction. He caught one or two of the staff smiling at him, and somebody flashed him a thumbs-up, but one of the nurses frowned, looking away.
Eric could read her expression at a glance, and he had anticipated as much. He’d hoped that most HGH employees would know him well enough, at least by reputation, to know he wouldn’t kill anybody, but there had to be people who would disapprove of his protecting the killer of a young girl or suspect him of murder himself. Eric kept his head down, suddenly self-conscious, then spotted Ken Shu, one of his colleagues in oncology, flagging him
down.
“Eric, my God, I saw what happened at the mall. What you did was positively heroic. Was that young man one of your patients? He could’ve killed you!”
“No, I’m fine, I wasn’t in danger, thanks,” Eric said, grateful, though he wanted to keep going.
“I want you to know I’m behind you, and we know this thing will get straightened out. I can’t stand some of the negative things they’re saying, it’s ridiculous. It’s very difficult for laypeople to understand a physician’s privilege. The police and the press, it’s obvious they don’t get it.”
“Right, but I have to go, take care. Good-bye now. Thanks again.” Eric barreled ahead, hearing the murmuring and feeling the stares as he went by.
“Dr. Parrish!” A group of nurses looked over at him, and one cupped a hand to her mouth to call out, “Looking good last night! Way to go!”
“Thanks,” Eric called back as he entered the breezeway, a long corridor under a glass-walled canopy that led to the hospital, plastered on both sides with large multicolored posters of hospital PR. He braced himself when he saw that Morris Brexler was coming toward him from the opposite direction, his eyes hardening.
“Eric, you’re certainly in the news. What a hullabaloo. Of course, we’re behind you a hundred percent. My wife was delighted that you saved Neiman Marcus.”
Eric forced a smile. “Yes, thanks.”
“I was surprised to hear that you were taking the time off, though I trust it’s a good idea. Too many distractions. I imagine you have meetings with counsel and the authorities, things of that nature.”
“Yes, I do.” Eric couldn’t tell if Morris was suspicious of the reason for the suspension.
“How long do you expect to be off? A week, two weeks?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“We have a meeting of the Pharmacy Review Board next Wednesday. If you recall, we vote on Rostatin.”
“Oh, right.” Eric realized that Morris was asking because he had a vote to deliver to his cronies at the drug company. A golf boondoggle probably hung in the balance. “I’m sure I can vote by email. I’ll email Mike and copy everyone on the committee.”
Every Fifteen Minutes Page 35
