Page 13 of Every Last One

SEVEN

11:30 AM

Metropolitan Police Department, Homicide Unit

Detective Eric Birch was sitting at his desk, trying to transcribe his scribbled notes into the system when his cell phone rang. “Birch,” he answered without looking at the caller’s identity.

“It’s Sergeant Medina. I’m not sure why I even bother trying to take personal time,” he griped as a way of greeting. “Tryingbeing the operative word there.”

Alex Medina was his boss and out of the city today for his grandchild’s birth. His daughter was having a scheduled C-section. For him to call, this had to be something urgent. “Everything all right?”

“There’s a loaded question. Keeping it to business, you’ve probably heard about the lockdown at Founders. There’s over eleven hundred people inside.”

“I have.” It had dominated most of the chatter around the station for the last hour and a half.

“Listen, you know how it is in situations like this. Every available unit and officer, regardless of rank, is boots on theground. I wouldn’t pull you into this if there was an option. I know you’re working the Gordon case.”

Don’t remind me…Thomas Gordon was pulled from the Potomac with a gunshot wound to the chest three weeks ago. No wallet or jewelry, and it presented like a fatal robbery. With little to go on, the investigation file felt bound for cold storage like Gordon’s body. A break from the murder could only help perspective. “Just name what you need.”

“Those on scene have a potential suspect for you to check out. It’s unknown whether he’s still inside the hospital or if he served as an accomplice and left before the lockdown. You have authorization to enter and search his home.”

“This person’s name?”

“Stevie Cross.” Medina provided the man’s address.

Eric wrote this down on the page in front of him. “Why is he a suspect?”

Medina brought him up to speed.

Access and a lousy credit score. Check.

Medina added, “If, by chance, you find him, treat him as hostile. We don’t take chances.”

“Which you don’t have to tell me.”

“And watch your steps, period. The FBI’s been called in to help with negotiations. Guess some rich boy is inside. Something Maddox. Name ring a bell for you?”

“It does actually.” Eric was certain he’d seen it in the news that morning. Some humanitarian story.

“Well, you know how the world works.”

Eric could fill in the gaps. His boss got especially moody when people pulled on their privilege. Even more so when the FBI became involved. Eric wondered if Sandra was one of the FBI negotiators called to the scene. “I’ll request an officer or two to accompany me.”

“And hopefully you can get them. Most of MPD’s resources are out scouring the area around Founders Hospital, collecting plate numbers.”

Officers,resources, interchangeable. “Understood. And who do I call with my findings?”

“Lieutenant Coleman. He’s acting as team leader today. You have his number?”

“I do.” Neal Coleman was an outstanding cop, worthy of respect.

“Great. Don’t call me.”

Medina ended the call before Eric could even think about asking his boss to elaborate on personal matters. Hopefully all was going well with his daughter and the birth.

Eric saved what he’d been working on and backed out of the system. He wasted no time signing out a car and driving across the city to the address of Stevie Cross.

Eric knocked on Stevie Cross’s door and rang the bell. No luck. And not a surprise, really, when it was highly probable that he was inside Founders Hospital.