Every Fifteen Minutes

by Lisa Scottoline

  Eric looked over to see the door to the visiting room opening, and Max was brought in by a uniformed detention officer. The boy had no handcuffs on or anything of that sort, and the detention officer remained by the door as Max crossed the room toward him, with a smile. Eric rose, thinking the boy looked better than he had last visit, two weeks ago. His aspect seemed brighter, his brown hair cut away from his eyes, and he’d put on some weight, which made him look stronger in his gray sweat suit, the winter uniform here. He seemed taller, too, but that could have been Eric’s imagination.

  Eric extended his hand. “Max, are you growing?”

  “Little bit.” Max grinned, shaking his hand firmly. “The doc said I’m in a growth spurt. Can you believe that?”

  “Ha!” Eric sat down. “Good to see you. How’re you doing?”

  “Good, thanks.” Max sat opposite him, meeting his eye with a new animation. “Guess what, my mother’s getting married.”

  “That’s great,” Eric said, meaning it. He had visited Marie and Zack recently, at their invitation. Marie had gotten out of rehab two months ago, landed a job, and Zack had moved in with her.

  “I’m getting a dad for Christmas.” Max rolled his eyes.

  Eric chuckled. “When’s the date?”

  “December, next year. They’re waiting ’til I’m out.”

  “Great. So, how do you feel about it?”

  “I’m happy about it.” Max nodded. “It’s a good thing. I like him. He’s a nice guy and he’s a good influence on my mom. I don’t think she would’ve gone to rehab without him pushing her.”

  “You’re probably right.” Eric remembered Laurie’s saying that she thought Zack was too good for Marie, but he pushed that from his mind. “How’s school?”

  “Boring and easy, but that’s okay.” Max shrugged. “I’m tutoring fifth-graders in math. They need the help.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “You know what I like? The Language Arts class. I never liked it at Pioneer, but I like it here. How weird is that?”

  “Not weird, good. Good for you.”

  “They make you do what they call ‘reflective writing,’ which is like writing in a journal, but you can write whatever you want, like, free-form. It sounds stupid, but I like it. I’m trying poetry.” Max shrugged, sheepishly. “Only because there’s nothing else to do, since they don’t allow video games.”

  “Poetry is better than video games.”

  “I knew you would say that. It’s such a dad-thing to say.”

  “There’s a reason I say dad-things.” Eric smiled, though since the summer, he’d clarified his relationship to Max in his own mind. Eric no longer felt so paternal toward Max and was clear now that the only person he parented was Hannah. He had his hands full with her, since she was currently lobbying to repaint the entire house pink. Outside.

  “Therapy’s going good, too.” Max smiled, happily. “I really like Dr. Gold.”

  “She’s terrific.” Eric had been happy to refer Max to one of his old friends, Jill Gold, an OCD expert affiliated with the Beck Institute in Philly, which was on the cutting edge of cognitive behavior therapies. The juvenile detention center had cooperated in coordinating its treatment of Max with Dr. Gold’s private treatment, which would aid in Max’s progress not only now, but after he left their care.

  “She’s been talking to me a lot about Gummy, and that’s sad.”

  “I’m sure.” Eric could see Max’s face darken when he thought about his grandmother, his grief evident.

  “It’s like, I see these good things happening now, like my mom quitting drinking, and I think, why didn’t she do that before? Like, when my grandmother was alive? It would’ve made her really happy.”

  “Right, of course. But you know, sometimes people grow up only after their parent passes. I’m not saying that’s the case with your mother, but it might be.”

  Max pursed his lips, sighing. “Anyway, I’m doing better with my OCD. Dr. Gold’s been working with me, doing the flooding techniques. I’m down to tapping once an hour, on the hour.”

  “Good for you.”

  “It takes forever, though. It took all this time to get it down just that much.”

  “I know, but it works if you stay with it.”

  “I’m good ’til ten o’clock.” Max’s gaze shifted to the wall clock, which read 9:10.

  “It will get easier, you’ll see.”

  “That’s what she says.” Max met Eric’s eye, with new animation. “You know, she’s single.”

  “Dr. Gold? No she’s not, she’s married.”

  “No, she got divorced. It was final last month. I heard her talking to one of her friends on the phone.” Max cocked his head. “Are you ready to, like, date?”

  “No, I’m not, Max.” Eric was still processing the fact that Laurie had turned out to be a sociopath, and she was currently in prison, awaiting trial. He prayed that she was getting the help she needed, but he was in no position to help her. Paul had never spoken to him again, which he understood.

  “Dr. Gold reminds me of you, and you guys have a lot in common. She has a daughter, too, about Hannah’s age. Maybe you should give her a call, like, for a date.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Eric still felt so sorry that all of this had happened because someone was trying to ruin him, leaving so many lives in pieces and so many people in grief, including Max. He had said as much to Max, Marie, and Zack, as well as to Anthony and Peg Bevilacqua, who had accepted his apology with grace and courage. Linda Perino had filed suit against the hospital, but she had pointedly not named Eric as an individual defendant, and HGH had already offered her a substantial settlement.

  “Dr. Parrish, you should do more than think about it. I think Dr. Gold’s hot, for someone, like, her age.”

  Eric smiled. “Her age is my age.”

  “I know. See, that’s another thing you have in common. You can be olds together.” Max laughed.

  “Enough. I have a surprise for you.”

  “What?”

  “Merry Christmas.” Eric reached in his coat pocket, pulled out a present, and placed it on the table in front of Max. It had been wrapped by Hannah in giftwrap from Frozen. He didn’t have time to get any proper holiday paper, between his job as Chief, his private practice at home, and being a hands-on dad, which he loved. He was even getting along better with Caitlin. His life felt as if it were finally falling into place, even though he was, well, crazy busy.

  “What’s this?” Max smiled, picking up the gift. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

  “It’s something little. Open it.”

  “Aw.” Max tore the wrapping paper off to reveal a black Eveready flashlight. “Ha!”

  “Remember what I said about the flashlight?”

  “That it’s a phallic symbol?”

  “No!” Eric laughed.

  Max laughed, too, then it subsided. “I’m joking. I remember.”

  “So, this is your flashlight. You’re just at the beginning of exploring the cave. Keep it with you at all times.”

  “But you’re supposed to be with me.” Max grew serious, his face falling.

  “You don’t need me, not anymore. You can do it yourself and you’re doing a wonderful job. If you need a hand to hold on to, you have Dr. Gold’s. She’s right there with you.”

  Max swallowed hard. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’ve been visiting you every week, but I’m thinking that from now on, you should call me when you want me to visit. Whenever you want me to come, just call. I’ll be in your life as long as you want. How’s that?”

  “Okay.” Max blinked, nodding. “Just so you’re not ditching me.”

  Eric’s throat caught. “No, I’m not ditching you.”

  “Good. Because Dr. Gold will be here any second.”

  “Here? Why?”

  “I told her you wanted to take her to brunch.”

  “You did what?” Eric looked over to the door of t
he visiting room, and it was swinging wide open.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m a big fan of thanks-yous. Here’s where I thank the experts and kind souls who helped me with Every Fifteen Minutes. It should go without saying, but doesn’t, that any and all mistakes in the novel are mine.

  First, I’m indebted to my best friend, Sandy Steingard, whom I knew well before she grew up to be one of the most well-respected psychiatrists in the country. She’s brilliant, compassionate, funny, and generally wonderful, and she helped me understand how psychiatrists think, and in particular, how the fictional psychiatrist in this book might think. I am forever in her debt, for this and many other reasons. That’s why this book is dedicated to her, with gratitude and much, much love.

  Thanks to Dr. Marc Burock, Medical Director of the Inpatient Psychiatric Unit at Bryn Mawr Hospital, part of the Main Line Health System. Dr. Burock took time out of his busy day to answer all of my questions, not only about psychiatry but about practice and procedures in a typical suburban hospital. Though the hospital in this novel is completely fictional, it was during my interview with Dr. Burock that I heard the hospital’s delivery lullaby, which plays in the novel, so even though that custom may be hard to believe, it’s true.

  Thanks so much to Tom Mendicino, Esq., senior counsel of Main Line Health System, who took time to meet with me and helped me understand the legalties of life in a large hospital system. Tom was invaluable in getting the facts and law right, and I thank him very much. Thanks, too, to his colleagues Jane Herling, Esq.; Della Payne, Esq.; and Sharon Sorokin James, Esq., who met with me as well, so I was brainstorming with a crack legal team. Last but not least, thanks to Terry Dougherty, Director of Human Resources at Bryn Mawr Hospital, and here’s a big hug of thanks to the hardworking and adorable Mary Kate Coghlan, who helped facilitate the interviews!

  Thanks to psychiatrist Dr. Lisa Goldstein, who spent hours with me, answering all my questions about adolescent psychiatry, and in particular the treatment of OCD. Dr. Goldstein is a sweetheart, and she helped me construct the treatment and understand other facts that underline the fiction of this book.

  Finally, I read a lot about the life of a psychiatrist, a patient, sociopathy, and other mental illnesses. Here are a few of the sources I used, and I heartily recommend them: Simon Baron-Cohen, The Science of Evil; Judith Beck, Cognitive Behavior Therapy; Louis Cozolino, The Making of a Therapist; Kevin Dutton, The Wisdom of Psychopaths; James Fallon, The Psychopath Inside; Peter and Ginger Ross Breggin, Talking Back to Prozac; Robert D. Hare, Without Conscience; Kent Kiehl, The Psychopath Whisperer; Jane McGregor and Tim McGregor, The Sociopath at the Breakfast Table; J. Reid Meloy, The Psychopathic Mind; Dinah Miller, Annette Hanson, and Steven Roy Daviss, Shrink Rap; Daniel Smith, Monkey Mind; Scott Stossel, My Age of Anxiety; Martha Stout, The Sociopath Next Door; M. E. Thomas, Confessions of a Sociopath; and Robert Whitaker, Mad in America.

  Thank you to the Radnor Police Department, which is real, but again, the personnel and characters in the novel are fictional. Still, I needed help to get the procedure right and for that I want to thank Lieutenant Christopher Flanagan, who patiently answered all of my questions. Thanks, too, to Chief/Superintendent William Colarulo, Detective Christopher Four, and Corporal Walt Sherman. And a hug to Mary Ann Donnelley, who helped so much! Thanks to the Upper Merion Police, too.

  And thank God for the King of Prussia Mall.

  I’m a lawyer, but criminal law wasn’t my field, and this novel raises cutting-edge criminal law questions. I needed help, even rescuing, and I turned to my dear friend, as well as brilliant and dedicated public servant, Nicholas Casenta, Esq., of the Chester County District Attorney’s Office. Nick answered all of my middle-of-the-night email questions, and he cited chapter, verse, and statutory provision, as always. Nick has helped me with every single book so far, and I wouldn’t dream of writing without his advice and expertise.

  Thanks to Stephanie Kalogredis, Esq., for in-the-clutch trust-and-estates advice.

  Now to my publishing family!

  Thank you to my editor, Jennifer Enderlin, who improved this manuscript so much with her expertise and great good heart. And big love and thanks to the brilliant, fun gang at St. Martin’s Press, starting with the terrific John Sargent, Sally Richardson, Jeff Dodes, Jeanne-Marie Hudson, Brian Heller, Jeff Capshew, Jen Gonzalez, Paul Hochman, Kim Ludlam, John Karle, Tracey Guest, Stephanie Davis, Anne-Marie Tallberg, Nancy Trypuc, Caitlin Dareff, and all the wonderful sales reps. Big thanks to Michael Storrings, for astounding cover design. Also hugs and kisses to Mary Beth Roche, Laura Wilson, Brant Janeway, and the great people in audiobooks. I love and appreciate all of you.

  Thanks to my agent, Molly Friedrich, who has guided me for so long now, and to the amazing Lucy Carson and Nicole Lefebvre.

  Thanks and another big hug to my dedicated assistant and best friend, Laura Leonard. She’s invaluable in every way, and has been for more than twenty years. Thanks, too, to my pal and assistant Nan Daley, and to George Davidson, for doing everything else, so that I can be free to write, write, write!

  Thank you very much to my amazing and brilliant daughter, Francesca, a wonderful writer in her own right, for her love, support, and great humor.

  About the Author

  LISA SCOTTOLINE is a New York Times bestselling and Edgar Award–winning author of twenty-three novels. She has 30 million copies of her books in print in the United States, and she has been published in thirty-five countries. She has served as the president of Mystery Writers of America, and her thrillers have been optioned for television and film. She also writes a weekly humor column with her daughter, Francesca Serritella, for The Philadelphia Inquirer, and those critically acclaimed stories have been adapted into a series of memoirs, the first of which is entitled Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog. She lives in the Philadelphia area with an array of disobedient pets. Visit www.scottoline.com or follow Lisa on Facebook or Twitter at @LisaScottoline or you can sign up for email updates here.

  Also by Lisa Scottoline

  Fiction

  Keep Quiet

  Don’t Go

  Come Home

  Save Me

  Look Again

  Daddy’s Girl

  Dirty Blonde

  Devil’s Corner

  Running from the Law

  Final Appeal

  Rosato & DiNunzio Series

  Betrayed

  Accused

  Rosato & Associates Series

  Think Twice

  Lady Killer

  Killer Smile

  Dead Ringer

  Courting Trouble

  The Vendetta Defense

  Moment of Truth

  Mistaken Identity

  Rough Justice

  Legal Tender

  Everywhere That Mary Went

  Nonfiction (with Francesca Serritella)

  Have a Nice Guilt Trip

  Meet Me at Emotional Baggage Claim

  Best Friends, Occasional Enemies

  My Nest Isn’t Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space

  Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog

  Thank you for buying this

  St. Martin’s Press ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14
/>
  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Lisa Scottoline

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES. Copyright © 2015 by Smart Blonde, LLC. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.