Page 22 of Every Last One
“What do you want?” Hartley asked.
Eric pulled his badge without taking his eyes off Hartley. “Detective Birch. You’re Brent Hartley?” Asked purely for the record.
“Yeah.”
“I need to talk to you about an incident at Founders Hospital.”
“Hold up. They said if I went quietly, they wouldn’t press formal charges or take me to court.”
“This isn’t about the office supplies. You may have heard about the lockdown at Founders Hospital.” Eric decided he’d feel him out before dragging him down to the station and sticking him into an interrogation room. But he’d do it from the step. A peek over Hartley’s shoulder showed a narrow path wormed to and from the door. Entering would be taking a risk to his personal safety. In more ways than one. It was hard to defend oneself within a square foot of space, and who knew what bacteria was thriving in there?
“I don’t watch or listen to the news.”
“You were let into the server room where you uploaded a virus to take out the hospital’s system. Then you left before the place was locked down.”
Hartley’s face paled, and his mouth gaped open.
Eric snapped his fingers. “Hartley. You need to get talking and fast.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been home. Founders fired me three weeks ago.”
As a veteran detective, Eric trusted his ability to read people. There were only so many types of personalities, and during his career, it felt like he’d seen them all. Hartley looked baffled. “Are you telling me you have no ill will against your former employer?They fired you and took your pension.” Eric tried to entice a reaction for a better gauge on the man.
“I hate them, but as you can see, I’m here, not there.”
He made a solid point, but he could have hit and run like Cross had. Eric imagined it was possible for the virus to be time-delayed. “See, the problem comes in because your claim of innocence doesn’t line up with what I’ve been told.”
“Then you were lied to. You said a virus? I don’t know jack about computers, unless working Word and Excel count. Certainly nothing like how to infect the hospital’s system.”
“Why would someone tell us you did this when you didn’t?” Eric could think of one reason. That Cross wanted to waste Eric’s time. While he was busy chasing false leads, the real culprit remained unidentified. But he had to see this through. “Come on, we’re going down to the station.”
“Seriously? I’m not saying a word until I get a lawyer.”
“As per your right.” Eric cuffed him and had him taken back to the station. He followed the police cruiser, hoping Cross’s lawyer had arrived so Eric could talk to him and ideally make some progress.
It turned out Cross was ready to go, and Eric made up a coffee and headed to the observation room for a look at Cross and his attorney through the one-way mirror.
Cross paced, appearing more frayed than before. He kept running his hands down his face and raking his greasy hair with his hands, contributing to the problem.
Eric entered the room without knocking, and Cross flinched and paused mid-pace.
“If you could sit…” Eric gestured to the empty seat beside the lawyer and set the coffee there.
Cross sat down and eyed the offering with skepticism.
“Go ahead. I brought it for you.” Eric turned to the lawyer. “Sorry that I didn’t think to bring you one.”
The lawyer smiled tightly and slid his business card across the table. Eric didn’t pick it up, barely glanced at it, but caught the name. Gaylord Pearson. His parents must have hated him.
The lawyer leaned forward, but his rigid movement told Eric he was poised for a fight. “My client is ready to talk if you can guarantee his safety.”
“His safety? What about the eleven hundred people inside of Founders Hospital right now?”
“My client has nothing to do with that.”
Eric was the one to smile tightly this time. He could lay it all out, how they might not be in this mess if not for him, but attacking Cross would shut him up. Eric was forced to dance. “We’ll disagree on that. But let’s say your client has reason to be concerned with his welfare. Before I can give you any guarantee, I need to hear what he has to say.” Eric leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms as if disinterested. In truth, Eric saw all this talk of fear for his life to be hyperbole. Especially if he were meant to believe Brent Hartley was violent.
Pearson gestured at Cross for him to speak.
