Eve waited until they were out of Henry’s earshot. “There were sedatives and hallucinogens in her system. A bunch of long, complicated names, and some elements we have to wait for the lab to ID. Being as you’re a doctor, I’m telling you I’ll clear you to talk to Morris and Berenski if you think you can be any help putting that part together.”
“She might have taken a sedative, but I can promise you, she wouldn’t have taken a hallucinogen, not knowingly. The sleepwalking—three incidents Henry knows of, which doesn’t mean there weren’t others when he didn’t wake up. That’s a concern. As is the money, and the fact she hid all those cards from Henry, didn’t tell Marcus. She didn’t tell him, or he’d have told me when he asked us to come over, possibly talk with her.”
She gripped Eve’s hand, then Peabody’s. “Someone manipulated her, fed her drugs, caused her to kill Marcus and herself. Why?”
“Find out what she ingested. Leave the rest to us.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Considering the herbs and sleep aids, Eve made the psychic nutritionalist the first stop. Doctor Hester housed her business in a street-level shop in Soho, tucked between a health food store and a bakery.
She’d go for the bakery every time.
The reception/retail area held shelves full of apothecary-style bottles, instructional and motivational discs, candles and crystals.
The girl at the counter sported multiple visible piercings: ears, eyebrow, nose. And a tat of a winged dragon on the back of her right hand.
“A bright and healthy morning,” she said, each syllable heavily weighted with the Bronx. “What service can we provide for you?”
“We’re looking for Doctor Hester.”
“Doctor Hester is preparing for a consultation. If you’d like to book—”
Eve pulled out her badge, held it up.
“We’re fully licensed in accordance with all city, state, and federal laws.”
“That’s not my worry right now. Get your boss.”
“Hang a minute.” She slid off the stool and went through a door behind the counter area.
Eve watched Peabody ease over toward a section of metabolism boosters.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Easy for you when your metabolism runs like a rabbit, and mine’s a slug on Zoner. Besides, they’re all natural products.”
“Nature’s a vicious bitch.”
A woman came out—short, lavender hair that matched her eyes, a deep purple dress that flowed to her knees. Her data listed her at fifty, Eve recalled, but the perfect, unlined skin carved ten away.
“What can I do to help you?”
“What can you tell me about Darlene Fitzwilliams?”
“Ah, a tragedy. I heard a media report. You’re looking for answers. Seeking death is rarely an answer.”
“Was she a client?”
“I don’t remember her.”
“She had your business card, a pamphlet, and a bottle of your Natural Rest.”
“I see. Casseopia? Would you check, please?”
Casseopia settled on the stool again, swiveled to her counter comp. “Darlene Fitzwilliams, fifty-minute introductory consult, August three of last year. No follow-up on record.”
“Would you pull my notes on that?” Hester gave Eve a quiet smile. “A single consult. It’s difficult to remember the details.”
“I figured you’d . . . intuit that sort of thing.”
The smile never wavered. “My gift is one that intuits, as you say, the inner person. Such as . . .” She turned to Peabody. “You shouldn’t worry so much about your weight. Good nutrition, regular exercise, of course, but you have a very healthy, robust body. Your perception of your body is harsher than the reality.”
“Really?”
“Natural metabolic boosters such as chen pi, sheng jiang, rou gui can be helpful. But you’re young, healthy, and active. It’s the sweet tooth,” she added with a knowing smile, “that challenges you.”
“Your notes.” Casseopia offered Hester a handheld.
“Thank you. Oh yes, so sad,” she murmured as she read. “The loss of her parents, so sudden and tragic. She wasn’t sleeping or eating well—all that stress and grief. I did recommend a sleep aid, and a nutrition plan, and suggested additional sessions to work on emotional healing and acceptance. But . . .”
Hester lowered the handheld. “I remember her now. She wanted to contact her parents.”
“Her dead parents.”
“I understand the skepticism. Contact with those who have moved on in the cycle is not my gift.”
“Your pamphlet says otherwise.”
Hester shook her head. “I can assist, and there are certain herbs and practices that can open and enhance the gift if one has its root. I didn’t sense that root in her, and couldn’t ethically encourage her. She took the aid, and the plan, but didn’t contact me again.”
“She came in a couple more times,” Casseopia said. “I checked for you. She bought more Natural Rest in October and again in December. Purchased some candles and some bath salts.”
“I wish I could have given her more, but I didn’t have the answers she looked for. I’m afraid I don’t have the ones you seek either.”
“Anything in here that causes hallucinations?”
“I don’t traffic in hallucinogens, even natural ones. I believe reality is to be embraced.”
“The Natural Rest stuff, could it cause them in combination with other herbs?”
“I would have given her a list of herbs, foods, medications to avoid while taking the product. I wouldn’t have recommended it if she had been a proponent of altered-reality substances. She was clean, Lieutenant, as both of you are.”
“If you can tell that by looking, we could use you in Illegals testing.”
“That’s not my path. I hope you find the answers you need on yours.”
“She seemed pretty straight,” Peabody commented when they walked out.
“For a psychic nutritionalist. No buzz anyway, but we’ll see what the lab says about the sleep aid. Meanwhile, we’ve got a couple more right in this area, then one in the East Village. And I want to talk to the lawyer. See if you can get her to come in, save us a trip uptown.”
* * *
They interviewed three psychics—waking up one who claimed to commune with spirits only between the hours of midnight and five a.m.
“Nothing there.” Eve got back in the car, aimed it toward Cop Central.
“The second one we talked to? Mikhal Lombrowski? He was the real deal. The others, maybe they had something, but mostly they were looking to score. He was genuine.”
“Why him?”
“My dad’s a sensitive, and he kind of reminded me of my father. He wanted to help her—that’s what came through for me—but he couldn’t give her what she wanted, so like she did with Hester, she cherry-picked, and moved on.”
“I tend to agree. It’s also telling that she went to all of these before she started making those weekly withdrawals. We need to find the one she settled on.”
As she pulled into Central’s garage, Peabody glanced at her signaling ’link. “Huh. The lawyer’s on her way in. We don’t get that kind of result often.”
“Set us up a conference room and give Dickhead a goose on the tox.”
“You want me to goose Dickhead?”