“There’s a shortage of respite workers,” Danielle said, looking at D.D. and not Greg. “Not enough training available, not enough people suited for the work. Given that families with special-needs children can’t exactly hire the teenager down the street, the families end up held hostage. They have the highest burn job on the planet and can never take a day off. Meaning the ones who have means …”

“Pay well,” D.D. filled in.

“Very well,” Greg supplied, a tad self-conscious this time. “And they network with other families with special-needs kids, and once the word gets around …”

“You got a pretty good gig moonlighting as a respite worker.” D.D. frowned at him. “Why the secrecy, though?”

“It’s considered a breach of protocol. Like a conflict of interest. I’m already being paid to help with kids here. To set up a side deal with the parents …”

“Double-dipping?” D.D. asked.

“More like … I think in the past, there were situations where an individual MC might have seemed aggressive about it. Like he or she was preying on overwhelmed parents to get work. That led to some rules.”

“You’re not supposed to work with the families outside of the unit,” D.D. translated.

“Exactly.”

“But you have been. For years.”

Greg flushed, looked down. “I swear, I’ve never solicited the work. They call me, not the other way around. I wouldn’t prey. I wouldn’t do that.”

“So why are you breaking the rules?” D.D. asked. “You claim you’re a good guy, but clearly you’re not coloring within the lines.”

“Money,” he said softly, not looking at Danielle. “I need the money.”

“Need the money? Or want the money?” D.D. pressed.

“Need.”

“Why?”

“My sister.”

“Feel free to extrapolate.”

“She’s institutionalized. Will be for life. And the hospital the state’s willing to pay for is more like a prison than a mental health facility. She’s my sister. I couldn’t leave her there.”

“So you found her a new place?”

“Private institution. But that means more money. State pays some. I make up the difference. To the tune of twenty grand a year.”

“Twenty grand?” D.D. asked incredulously.

“Matter of economics. Supply versus demand. When it comes to mental health, we don’t have enough supply, and every year, we have more demand. Ask Karen about it sometime. We used to see a handful of genuinely psychotic children a year. Now we make those same numbers within a month. We don’t know what the hell to do with these kids; how are the parents supposed to know?”

“What about your parents?” D.D. asked. “Can’t they help with your sister?”

“No.”

“Again, feel free to extrapolate.”

But Gym Coach Greg suffered from a sudden attack of muteness. He stared at the table, fidgeted with the beveled edge.

“Hey, Danielle,” D.D. said after another minute. “Take a hike.”