Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536) (3 page)

Chapter 4

“I've been hearing good things about the health fair,” George Shanahan said. “It seems like everybody I know is going.”

George Shanahan was everything Evan admired. Wealthy, cool, well dressed, and president of Hamptons Savings and Loan. He brokered deals for some of the most expensive property in the Hamptons and therefore the world. He helped some of the world's wealthiest families manage their real estate investments and their sizable portfolios. He rubbed elbows with presidents and heads of states, never mind senators and congressmen and Fortune 500 CEOs.

Shanahan sat behind his expansive desk with his perfectly manicured hands folded before him. He wore an expensive gray suit that highlighted the slight graying at his temples. His pale blue eyes were alive and his smile almost electric.

“It's going to be big,” Evan said. “There'll be events for kids of all ages. Even a charity walk on Sunday.”

“Count us in for that. My wife, Betsy, is already psyched up for it. She's been training.”

“We already have over two hundred walkers signed up.”

“That many?”

“It'll be bigger. I'd bet even more people will sign up at the event.”

Shanahan nodded. “What about your fund-raising? Has that been going well, too?”

“It's so cool. We've passed our goal. Thanks to people like you.”

Evan considered George Shanahan a real coup. Not that Shanahan didn't give generously and often to charity, but getting an appointment with him was no easy task. His daily schedule seemed always filled with buyers, sellers, big-dollar investors, and other bankers. The kind of people who wore suits to work. Expensive suits. Custom-tailored suits. Evan tried for weeks to get a sit-down but had no luck. He even showed up in a suit one day. Not all that expensive a suit, but a suit nonetheless. Nothing. No way past the gatekeeper—Claire, Shanahan's stern, all-business, middle-aged secretary.

Until he softened her up with the old Evan R. Lawson charm, that is. And a box of chocolates. And flowers. Finally, she gave in. Said she'd never seen anyone try so hard. She even smiled as she looked at him over the half-glasses she wore roped around her neck. That was last week. And once Evan had made it inside the inner sanctum, Shanahan didn't hesitate to offer a very generous donation.

Shanahan shrugged. “Hamptons Savings and Loan has been part of this community for a long time. Since my father started the business. I feel a personal obligation to support worthy causes, and I can't think of one better than a health and fitness fair that supports our hospital, school, and Jill Casey's community clinic. I've been hearing very good things about it.”

“She is ferocious about it,” Evan said. “It's her baby and she takes it very seriously.”

Shanahan pulled open a drawer and removed a check. He gave it a wrist snap and then handed it to Evan. “I know it's a little more than I had promised. I hope you don't mind.” He smiled.

Evan looked at the amount. “Mind? Dude, this is so generous. Thanks.”

“As I said, this is my community, too.”

The intercom on his phone buzzed and he punched a button.

“Mr. Shanahan, your appointment is here.”

“Thanks, Claire.” He stood and walked Evan to the door. “I ran into Nathan Zimmer the other day. HankMed came up.”

“Oh?”

“He said he's very impressed with you and Hank. Divya, too, of course.”

“I'm impressed with him, too,” Evan said.

“He said you were all coming to his big party.”

“Yes, we are.”

His hand rested on the door handle, but he hesitated. “Nathan's parties are always over the top.”

“I know. That's why we're having trouble deciding what to wear.”

Shanahan laughed. “Join the crowd. My wife can't either. And until she does, I can't.”

“I'm thinking maybe a spy would be cool. What do you think?”

Shanahan studied him for a minute. “Maybe the town crier. Or a newspaper publisher.” He snapped his fingers. “I've got it. A bookkeeper. You'd make a great bookkeeper.”

Why did everyone keep saying that?

Two police officers arrived at the Moxley home ten minutes after Rosemary called. And she called as soon as I showed her the baggie of pink pills.

Sergeant Willard McCutcheon appeared to be a grizzled veteran. Thick-chested, massive forearms hanging from his uniform sleeves, crew-cut pewter hair—he looked like a Marine Corps drill instructor. Ex-military for sure. He oozed no-nonsense. His partner, Officer Tommy Griffin, was young. In fact, he looked too young to be a police officer. More like one of Kevin's classmates. Dirty blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a square jaw that I wasn't sure had ever needed shaving.

The two stood side by side, leaning against the kitchen counter. McCutcheon hooked his thumbs over his belt as he looked down at Kevin. The boy shrank in his chair under his gaze. Rosemary sat next to her son, stern-faced, arms crossed over her chest.

“Answer their questions,” Rosemary said.

So far, Kevin had only sulked, head down, refusing, except for an occasional glance, to even look at the officers.

“Mom, I'll get in trouble,” Kevin mumbled into his own chest.

“You're already in trouble, son,” McCutcheon said.

Kevin fidgeted and finally looked up. “I didn't do anything.”

“The mere possession of methamphetamine is a felony. You know what that means?”

Kevin stared at him, his expression flat.

“It means we could arrest you, take you downtown, stand you up before the judge, and you'd end up in juvenile detention until you're eighteen. Is that what you want?”

I was standing behind Rosemary and sensed her body stiffen at McCutcheon's words. I gently touched her shoulder.

Kevin mumbled something and then swallowed hard. Or tried to. I could tell his mouth was cotton-dry.

“I didn't get that,” McCutcheon said. “Is that what you want us to do? Haul you in?”

“No,” Kevin said.

“Then tell us what we need to know.”

Kevin's gaze returned to his lap.

I moved to Kevin's side and squatted down next to him, my eyes now level with his. He looked at me.

“Listen to me,” I said.

His knee began bouncing again.

“I know you think you're protecting your friends. I know you're scared. But I also know your mother. She raised you to do the right thing. And from what I hear, until the last year or so you were doing exactly that.”

He shrugged.

“Every young man has to grow up and become a man. I did. Sergeant McCutcheon did. Your dad did.” He looked up at me. “What do you think he'd say if he was here?”

“But he isn't.”

“No, he's not. And that means you have more responsibility. Your mother is counting on you.”

Rosemary removed a napkin from the holder that sat in the middle of the table. She dabbed her eyes.

“You love her, don't you?”

“Of course,” he mumbled.

“Then show her. What do you think she would do without you? Your dad isn't here. And if you're locked up she'll be alone. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then do what you know is right.”

He sighed and then mumbled something, but I couldn't understand him.

“What?”

He looked up at me and then toward McCutcheon. “I don't know them. They're not students.”

“How many?” McCutcheon asked.

“Two. A dude and his girlfriend.”

Officer Griffin pulled out a notepad and began scribbling in it.

“You know their names?” McCutcheon asked.

“No.” Kevin shook his head. “Pete and Erin is all I know.”

“What do they look like?”

“Pete is tall and thin. Maybe your height but much smaller. He has long hair. Sometimes it's in a ponytail about this long.” He held up his hands, palms about a foot apart.

“How old?”

“I don't know.”

“Facial hair?”

Kevin shook his head.

“The girl?” McCutcheon said. “I think you said Erin was her name.”

“She's short. Wears jeans and oversized T-shirts. Or she did the couple of times I've seen her. She has long hair, too. Really long. Down to her waist.”

“Color?”

“Dark brown. Stringy. Looks like she doesn't wash it much.”

“They hang around the school?”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, ‘guess'?”

“I've never seen them there, but I know some people who have.”

“Where did you meet them?” McCutcheon asked.

“In a parking lot. Down near the beach.”

“Which lot?”

“Down behind that restaurant. The one with the big blue fish sign out front.”

McCutcheon spun a chair around and sat across from Kevin. He leaned one forearm on the chair's back. It was as thick as my leg.

“Here's the deal, Kevin. We aren't going to arrest you or charge you with anything if you'll do a couple of things for me.”

“What?”

“If you see them again, call me.”

“Okay.”

“And give us the names of the other people you know who have dealt with them.”

“I can't do that.”

“Why?” McCutcheon asked.

“Mom?” Kevin said, giving his mother a plaintive look.

“Do what they ask, Kev. You have to.”

“But I'll be a snitch. No one will talk to me.”

“They'll never know,” McCutcheon said. “We won't use your name.”

Kevin hesitated and then nodded. “Okay.”

After Kevin came clean, Divya and I walked out with McCutcheon and Griffin.

“Have you guys seen much of this?” I asked. “This new kid-friendly meth?”

McCutcheon had the passenger door to their cruiser open. He propped one arm on the doorframe and looked at me. “A couple.” He looked across the roof to where Griffin was pulling open the driver's-side door.

“When was the last one?” I asked.

“What—three weeks ago? Some kid got all squirrelly. Ended up in the ER. Wouldn't say a word about where he got it. Labs showed amphetamines.”

“Hadn't that kid taken some ecstasy, too?” Griffin said.

“That's right,” McCutcheon said, shaking his head. “The things kids will do nowadays.”

“The amphetamine the kid took, was it this same Strawberry Quick stuff?” I asked.

“Don't know,” McCutcheon said. “He didn't have any on him and, as I said, he refused to answer our questions.”

I nodded. “I've read a little about this in the medical journals. Seems to be a new way of packaging an old drug.”

McCutcheon held up the plastic bag and looked at the two pink pills inside. “Pretty sinister. Making that garbage look like valentine candy.”

“That's the marketing plan,” I said. “Make it look innocent. Fun. Safe.”

McCutcheon sighed. “We'll get this over to the lab and see what's in it.”

“Could you give me a call when you know? I need to get the word out to the local ERs about what we're dealing with.” I handed him my card.

“Will do. Hopefully this is just a couple of isolated deals. Hate to think we were going to have another drug epidemic like we had fifteen years ago when cocaine was everywhere.” He glanced over at Griffin. “Before your time.”

“Thanks for coming out,” I said. I glanced back toward the house. “My gut tells me Kevin is a good kid. Just got himself mixed up in something.”

“Isn't that the way it usually is?” McCutcheon said. “Peer pressure is a dangerous thing.”

Amen to that.

McCutcheon handed me his card. “If you see or hear about any other cases, give me a call.”

“Will do.”

Divya and I watched as they drove away.

“Why would anyone make something like that?” Divya asked. “Target kids that way?”

“Money trumps all.”

After leaving Shanahan's office, Evan walked the two blocks down Main Street to Marcy's Bodyworks, a popular yoga and Pilates studio. There were several in the Hamptons, but Marcy's was at the top of the food chain. Where all the beautiful people worked out. Even a few Hollywood celebrities and high-end New York fashion models. Evan could have sworn the last time he was there he saw one of the Victoria's Secret models. Marcy was considering taking a booth at the health fair but hadn't quite decided. She'd said she would have an answer for him today.

When Evan entered the studio he was greeted by a smile from Stephanie, the receptionist.

“Evan,” she said. “How's it going?”

“Fine. I think I'm a little early for my appointment with Marcy.”

“A little. She's just finishing up a class and should be out in a minute. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Maybe one of those cool lemon waters you guys have?” Evan said.

“I think I have some right here.”

She spun in her chair and pulled open the small refrigerator she kept behind the reception desk. Evan heard glass rattling and then Stephanie straightened and extended a bottle toward him.

“Here you go.”

Evan twisted off the cap and took a swig. “I love this stuff.”

“Me, too. I must drink ten a day.”

The front door opened and two young brunette women came in. They looked like sisters. Or clones. Same height and weight. Each wore white shorts and a silk shirt, one dark green, the other lemon yellow. Each had a tan canvas sports bag dangling from one shoulder.

“Hey, Stephanie,” the green-shirted one said.

The lemon yellow looked at Evan and smiled.

“You guys are early today,” Stephanie said.

“Yeah. We're going into the city later so we decided to come to Marcy's earlier class.”

“Have fun.”

“We will.”

They headed toward the dressing area. Just as they pushed through the door, lemon yellow glanced back at Evan and smiled again.