One Strange Accident

by Kay Wyont

  “Darn! You know how I love cop food.” Danny’s smile broadened.

  “That’s it. No more television for you.” The chief was smiling now, too. He got up and walked to the window, putting his hands in his pockets. His favorite thinking position. We got him, Randy thought. Let him work it out. I can almost see the wheels turning. Finally sitting back down, Chief Sanchez said, “So this kid kills four people, admits he did it, and doesn’t lawyer up. Is he acting, or does he really feel guilty?”

  “If that was an act, Chief, I’ll nominate him for an Academy Award,” Danny replied.

  Randy broke in. “If he was acting, then why did he try to kill himself? It wasn’t some idle gesture on his part. You know what I mean, that half-hearted attempt to slash your wrists we’ve seen. This kid was deadly serious, and he almost succeeded. As is, he may never come out of the coma.”

  “I saw that in your report. What did the parents say? Did they have any clues to a motive?”

  “They’re as confused as the rest of us. They said they’ve never had any real problems with him. Listening to them talk, he was the perfect son. Of course, I don’t expect parents to badmouth their kid, but we pretty much got the same story from all his friends. We didn’t find anyone who had a bad word to say about him, and most of them are in shock. They can’t believe he’d do something like that.”

  “Well, they did say he’d been overweight, but that was all,” Danny said. “He went to some clinic or other to lose the weight.”

  “I seriously doubt that eating too many Twinkies would make you drive into a crowd of people. They tried the Twinkie defense in San Francisco in the late seventies, and it didn’t work then, either. Although, that guy was convicted for involuntary manslaughter instead of murder, so it might have had some effect,” Chief Sanchez said.

  “How do you remember all that stuff?” Randy asked.

  The chief shrugged. “No idea. My wife swears the only way she could get me to remember our anniversary would be if she got arrested on that date. It’s a gift. And a curse.”

  “And no more television for you, either, Mr. Monk.”

  Randy shook his head. “When you two are done playing ‘Name that Catchphrase,’ I’d like to get back to work.”

  “Randy’s right, Beckman. Shape up.”

  “You first, boss,” Danny mumbled.

  “I heard that, mister! All right, I’ll give you one more week, but if you can’t give me anything solid by then, case closed.” The chief caught Danny’s smirk. “Yes, I’ll admit it. You’ve sucked me in, too. It doesn’t make any sense and there’s something to be said for gut instinct. If it wasn’t for Tom’s gut instinct, we’d still be looking for that serial killer, so I’ll give you a little more time. But only one more week.”

  “Thanks, boss!” Randy breathed a sigh of relief. “Any insight where we should look?”

  “No, but I do think you need to close any loopholes. It sounds far-fetched but go talk to that weight loss clinic in case the kid’s lawyer knows about the Twinkie defense, too. If the kid ends up going to trial, I don’t want the defense springing any surprises on us, like maybe a weight-loss drug made him go whacko. Other than that, you’re on your own. And on the clock. One week! That’s all you get. Got it?”

  “Got it, boss. Thanks.” Randy stood, dragging Danny up with him, then headed to the door.

  “Let’s be careful out there, boys,” Sanchez called.

  Randy groaned. “And now I’m back on Hill Street Blues.”

  The chief’s laughter followed them down the hall.

  Danny glanced back. “He sure has lightened up recently.”

  “Maybe he’s relieved to finally have the mayor off his back after all the good press the department got on our last case.”

  “Could be. I don’t suppose he’s afraid you’ll yell at him again if he loses his temper.”

  “Not much scares Sanchez, and that hasn’t changed. Besides, can’t you let that go? I didn’t yell at him. I just expressed my opinion.”

  “Loudly expressed your opinion. A plethora of opinions, if I remember correctly.”

  “Funny! Well, whatever the reason, I like this new version. He’s always been a good guy and a very good cop. He didn’t get where he is by playing politics. He worked hard to get his promotion and he’s been the chief long enough now to stop worrying about failure. I’m just glad he’s learning how to relax and control his temper.”

  “Me, too. Okay, we’ve got one more week. Off to the clinic. Do you know the name?”

  “Let’s call Mr. Caldwell. He’ll know.”

  “ETERNAL WEIGHT LOSS.” Danny pointed at the sign as Randy pulled into a strip mall parking lot on the northwest side of town. “That’s it right there. Look what their sign says. They guarantee results, or your money is cheerfully refunded. I bet you could sue them for false advertising. My guess is they wouldn’t be too cheerful about giving any money back. And how long do they guarantee it?” He rambled on as he got out of the car. “If you gain fifteen pounds over the next fifty years, do they refund all your money?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Try to stay focused, if that’s even possible for you.”

  “I’m just looking out for you, buddy.” Danny lowered his voice as they entered the clinic. “I’m proud of you for cutting back on the drinking, but don’t think I haven’t noticed that paunch coming back.”

  “Shut up!” Randy said through gritted teeth. “Besides, it’s only ten pounds.”

  “Ten pounds a day, maybe.” Danny grinned.

  “I swear I’m going to punch you in the head one of these days.” Randy looked around the stark clinic. “This place looks like a hospital. You’d think they’d put some pictures or something up in here. Maybe some before-and-after posters of smiling, skinny patients. Even a nice potted plant would help. This place is so sterile it’s almost depressing.”

  “Now who’s not focused? Since when did you take up interior decorating?”

  “Do you suppose anybody works here? Or comes here?” Randy scanned the vacant reception desk and waiting room for signs of life, but not even a fish tank or bad mood music broke the bland backdrop.

  “Maybe they have one of those bells we could ring,” Danny suggested.

  “I don’t see one, but I heard a buzzer when I opened the door.”

  “I’m glad somebody heard it. They evidently didn’t.”

  “Hello? Anybody here?” Randy called.

  “Hey! There’s a fat guy out here who needs your help!”

  “I swear for chicken, I’m going to punch you,” Randy said. “If they’re not even open, you’d think they’d lock the door.”

  “Maybe they OD’d on kale or something. They could be unconscious back there. Should we go check?”

  Randy was saved from answering when a door behind the reception counter opened and a short, obese woman hurried out. “I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting, gentlemen. I was in the back and didn’t hear the buzzer. May I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Monroe and that’s Detective Beckman.” Randy flashed his badge. “We’re investigating a car crash that happened at Fiesta Texas, and we’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, I heard about that crash. It was so sad! But what does that have to do with us?”

  “We’ve been given to understand the driver of the vehicle was one of your clients.”

  “I certainly hope they weren’t, but even if they were, I can’t discuss any of that. Our client information is covered under HIPAA laws.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Ms...?”

  “It’s Mrs. Mrs. Winslow.”

  “So, Mrs. Winslow, do you prescribe prescription drugs at your clinic?” Randy asked.

  “Oh, no. We’re a totally drug-free business. We firmly believe that effective weight loss can be achieved through means other than poisoning your body with drugs.” She sounded like a talking publicity brochure for the clinic.
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  “I see. Well, then, you’re not covered under HIPAA. The only thing governing you is your clinic’s privacy policy.”

  “Really? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound right.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m positive,” Randy said. “So, if you don’t mind, as I said, we have a few questions we need to ask.”

  “You know what? I’m just not comfortable with that. Let me get Dr. Higgins. He’s the owner. I’m sure he’ll know what to do. I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Winslow disappeared back through the door.

  “Wouldn’t you think they’d have someone working the counter who didn’t look like a weight loss program gone bad? I wonder if they refunded her money cheerfully,” Danny whispered.

  “Shut up.” Randy couldn’t keep a touch of amusement out of his voice.

  “Why? You have to admit she doesn’t make a stellar advertisement for the place.”

  Mrs. Winslow returned and held the door open for them. “Dr. Higgins will see you, gentlemen. Come this way, please.”

  They followed her down a short hallway that culminated at another door with a metal plate that read “Dr. Roland J. Higgins, BS, MS, PhD.” She ushered them through, then retreated back down the hall.

  Dr. Higgins appeared to be in his fifties, slightly balding, and fit enough to be an advertisement for his own clinic. When the detectives entered, he turned off his laptop, which had local news about the plane crash.

  No wonder you don’t have any business, Randy thought. You’re too busy looking at your laptop. Put it on the other side of your desk, so visitors won’t see you watching the news instead of working.

  Standing up, Higgins offered his hand to Randy. “Terrible news about that plane crash, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, although it could have been much worse. At least nobody died except the pilot.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I don’t know if Mrs. Winslow told you or not, but I’m Detective Monroe, and this is Detective Beckman. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” Higgins waved to a pair of chairs in front of his desk and flashed a congenial smile. “Have a seat, gentlemen. I’m always glad to help the police. What can I do for you?”

  “We understand you saw a young man named Rick Caldwell. What can you tell us about him?”

  “Well, there are so many, I don’t know. Let me pull his file.” Higgins went to riffle through the filing cabinet in one corner of the room.

  Randy took a look around. In stark contrast to the reception area, this office was covered in memorabilia and picture frames showcasing many photos of weight-loss success stories in all their before-and-after glory. Several of the pictures showed rather dramatic results. Maybe I should come here. I wonder what his weight-loss secret is. Equally impressive were the framed diplomas on the office wall, including several degrees in psychology and a doctorate from Yale.

  Returning to his desk, the doctor said, “I have his file here, gentlemen. What do you want to know?”

  “How long was he a patient?” Randy studied the doctor’s face for a reaction. Let’s see how much you really know, Dr. Higgins. Client or patient?

  “He wasn’t ever a patient; he was a client. There is a difference. I don’t mean to be picky, but if it was a doctor/patient relationship, HIPAA rules would apply, so we wouldn’t be talking. We saw him for about four months, but he completed his goals with us some time ago, so we haven’t seen him recently. I heard about that crash at Fiesta Texas on the news. Mrs. Winslow said he was the driver?”

  “Yes, sir, he was.”

  “That’s strange. When I heard the name on the news, I didn’t make the connection. So, you’re saying our Ricky Caldwell drove into a crowd of people? How sad. Although, it really wasn’t that bad.”

  Danny narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? Four people died. That’s about as bad as it gets.”

  “Not really. After all, there were some people left alive. Seems to me like it was rather lucky. Only a few people died, so he didn’t quite finish the job, if his intent was to kill as many as possible.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.” Danny’s face looked as disgusted as Randy felt.

  Higgins was quick to pick up on their discomfort. “I might have worded that wrong. Forgive me.” Dr. Higgins interlaced his fingers and leaned toward the detectives. “I certainly didn’t mean to sound so unfeeling about such a tragedy. I only meant that actions like that are meant to harm as many people as possible, so it’s fortunate that he didn’t kill as many as he’d surely planned.”

  Randy weighed how much to tell him. “Well, we’re not sure it was planned at all. The story the reporters are spinning doesn’t completely mesh with Rick’s side of things.”

  “You talked to him? I thought I read in the paper that the driver was in a coma. I didn’t think he’d be able to talk to anyone. What did he say?” Higgins smiled. “Professional interest only, of course. Maybe I can remember something from my talks with him that should have been a warning sign.”

  “He’s in a coma now, although he wasn’t initially. But we can’t discuss in detail what he told us. Confidentiality, as I’m sure you can understand. Based on your experience with him, was there anything Rick was taking which could have affected him, like steroids? Anything along those lines?”

  “If he was taking anything, he didn’t get it here. We don’t use drugs in our clinic.”

  “Was Rick at risk for any sort of psychological snap? Were there signs of serious depression related to his weight?”

  “He only had about twenty pounds to lose, so he wasn’t drastically overweight. And, he didn’t exhibit depression or undue mental strain because of it. I always had the impression he didn’t really want to be here. Losing weight didn’t seem that important to him.”

  “Then why did he come to a weight loss clinic?”

  “I think it was solely because of his parents, in particular his father. They wanted him to. Like I said, I’m not sure his weight bothered him all that much. But they were pretty insistent.”

  “So, you can’t think of anything that could have contributed to the accident?”

  “No, detective, I can’t. Was it really an accident, then? Ricky didn’t set out to hurt anyone?”

  “That’s the question we’re here trying to answer.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know. And, please, keep me posted on Ricky. If he comes out of the coma, I’d like to go visit him.”

  Danny looked impressed. “That’s awfully nice of you, doc. Do you give all your clients that kind of treatment?”

  Higgins chuckled and returned Rick’s folder to the filing cabinet, indicating the other files as he did so. “Well, we are kind of like one big family here, but Ricky’s special. He’s such a great kid. I like to think he’s more than just a client, he’s a good friend.”

  “Well, thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, please give us a call.” Randy handed the doctor one of his cards.

  “Certainly.” Higgins flicked the card lightly and set in on his desk. “Let me escort you out.”

  “So, doctor,” Danny said as they followed him down the hall, “if you don’t use drugs here, how do you help your clients lose weight? Is it through nutrition counseling or something like that? I saw you have a money-back guarantee, so you must be good, or you’d lose a fortune.”

  “We are good, detective. We use nutritional counseling, of course, along with stress reduction therapy, hypnosis, cognitive psychology, and things along those lines. In other words, we use a holistic approach here.”

  “Cognitive psychology?”

  Dr. Higgins suddenly stopped and turned around. “Perception, specifically. Basically, how people understand the world around them through their interpretation of stimuli. That applies to food as well as anything else.”

  “Forgive me for being stupid, but I don’t know what that means,” Randy said.

  “I’m sur
e you’re not stupid, detective, but I could have explained it a little better. Basically, understanding why you eat can help you better choose when and what you eat. Once you know what your personal triggers are, you can control them. For example, let’s say you eat every time you are under stress from work or have a fight with your wife. If you can recognize when you’re under stress, you’ll know that’s one of your food triggers, and you can learn to substitute something else for the food. Instead of hitting the refrigerator when you’re mad at the wife, you now choose to exercise, read a good book, or go for a walk, something like that. Find whatever works for you, just not eating. It’s a simple concept that can have drastic results when properly applied.” Finished with his explanation, he continued down the hall.

  “Judging by the pictures in your office, your techniques must work,” Randy said.

  “They do, you just have to be willing to try them.” Dr. Higgins opened the door to the reception area. “Again, if there’s anything else we can do, let us know. And please keep us posted on Ricky, if you can.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Higgins.” Randy nodded to Mrs. Winslow at the front counter as they left.

  Danny buckled the cruiser’s seatbelt around his still-slim middle. “Mrs. Winslow needs to become a client of Dr. Higgins if he’s as good as he thinks he is.”

  “You’re right about one thing. I’m surprised she’s the first person you see when you get to the clinic. If I walked in there wanting to lose weight, seeing her might make me think twice. Not that I have room to criticize anyone.” Randy patted his stomach before backing out of the parking space.

  “I know. Weird, right?”

  “I’ll tell you another thing that’s weird. If Higgins is supposed to be such good friends with Rick, then how come he calls him Ricky? Rick told us he hates that name.”

  “Maybe it’s part of his therapy technique. Call Rick by the same name his parents use. Maybe that’s supposed to create a bond or something like that.”

  “Maybe, or maybe he’s trying to impress us with how close he is to Rick. Not sure why it would matter, but it’s one explanation. He is rather pompous.”