Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Eric took a deep dive into Stevie Cross’s financials, and nothing there suggested a payoff.
Whatever had Cross breaking the law, it wasn’t about money.
A search of his home hadn’t yet turned up anything linked to today’s events.
His phone records were also clean. So what made a forty-something man with a decent job throw his life away?
Was it linked to this mysterious man who infected the hospital’s mainframe?
And if so, what influence did this man have over Cross that he’d protect his identity? Was it fear or loyalty?
Eric pushed one of the pictures Neal had sent over across the table. And so much for it being some guy in his fifties. This kid in the picture was in his twenties. “Who is he, Mr. Cross?”
“I never got his name.”
Eric could call bullshit on that response all day, but it wouldn’t do any good. “You’ve got a chance to clean up your mess here, earn some credit, even get yourself a deal.”
Cross knotted his arms and looked away.
Eric laid out the other two photos and met with the same response. He gathered them up again and pushed out from the table. “Suit yourself. I’ll find that young man, and once I do, there’s no room for a deal.”
Cross remained stoic, and Eric left the room even more frustrated.
But at least Eric would get a little break from Cross.
When Neal sent the pictures, he also asked if Eric would have time to talk with Wyatt Beal.
Eric said he’d make time. It was more productive than spinning out here, that was for sure.
And having learned about a four-year-old girl who would die without her heart transplant was fueling him.
Eric didn’t have children of his own, but he didn’t need to be a father to know that the world lost out when a child was taken.
Since Wyatt Beal was the managing partner at a prestigious law firm downtown, Eric headed straight to their offices.
Walking through the door, there was no mistaking the dense energy, not alleviated any by the decor. Dark wood, hunter green, and brass. It recalled images he’d seen of gentlemen’s clubs from a bygone era.
“Good afternoon.” The receptionist, a young woman in her mid-twenties, possibly thirties, was watching him from the front desk.
As he made his way through the sitting area, he considered a man like Wyatt could have plenty of enemies himself. It was possible someone with an issue against him was going at his wife. Eric shook the notion aside, blaming it on his overactive detective mind.
“How can I help you, sir?” the receptionist asked.
Eric held up his badge. “It’s urgent that I speak with Wyatt Beal immediately. There is an issue involving his wife.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Beal isn’t in the office at the moment.”
“Then let me know where I can find him, and I’ll go there. As I said, this is an urgent matter.”
She looked from him to her monitor, to her phone, back to him.
“Let me try to reach him.” She picked up the phone and avoided eye contact while she waited for Wyatt to answer.
Which he did not. Eric heard the ringing, followed by Wyatt’s voicemail greeting.
“He’s not picking up.” She slowly returned the receiver to its cradle.
“I need to know where he is. Right now.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Ricardo’s.”
Eric hustled from the firm, and seven minutes later was entering the upscale restaurant with its dark-wood tables and chairs and richly painted walls. Beal knows what he likes…
“Good afternoon. A table for one?” The young man at the host stand preemptively grabbed a menu from the holder.
“Actually, I’m not here to eat.” Eric’s stomach rumbled, betraying him. “I’m looking for one of your customers.” He flashed his badge and stepped past the host to look around the restaurant.
“Sir, you can’t just…” The host’s words petered out, and when Eric glanced over his shoulder, the man was flailing his arm in the air.
Eric spotted Beal at a cozy corner table with a leggy blonde and headed over.
He stood at the edge of the table for a good few seconds before Beal and his companion looked up.
It was an intimate setting even if it included a battery-operated tealight in the centerpiece.
There was a bottle of red and a wineglass in front of each of them.
The two of them were holding hands across the table.
Wyatt turned to face him, annoyance carved into his scrunched facial expression. “Yes? Is there something I can do for you?”
Eric swept his jacket back to disclose his badge that was clipped to his waistband. “Detective Birch, Metropolitan PD. I need to talk with you about your wife, Megan.”
At least the woman had the decency to blush at the mention of Megan and pull her hand back. “Wyatt, I’m just going to go freshen up,” the blonde said, getting up.
“You bet, sweetheart. Take your time.”
Not even hiding the affair… That is one approach. Eric took a seat where Wyatt’s date had vacated. “You might have heard that Founders Hospital went into full lockdown this morning?”
“No, I’ve been busy. And Megan knows about Crystal. My wife and I have had an open relationship for years. We both have highly demanding careers. Heck, she’s at the hospital more than she’s home. What’s going on?”
It was interesting Wyatt felt the need to justify himself and strange that he didn’t put things together for himself.
“Your wife is in danger,” Eric said, spelling it out.
“There was a meeting with the board of directors this morning, and she was in attendance. At some point, this meeting was interrupted by a woman with a gun.”
“Dear Lord.” Wyatt put a hand over his heart.
“We don’t know why this woman is there or what she wants, but we need to know if anyone has threatened your wife recently.”
“Meg gets… uh… threats all the time.” For an experienced lawyer, Wyatt was stammering. All his composure was gone.
Eric noted how he referred to his wife less formally, suggesting affection and respect still existed. “Any recently?”
“I don’t know. Nothing she mentioned to me. Actually…” Wyatt’s eyes widened.
“Don’t hold back now.”
“I think I remember her saying something about being in fear of her life.”
“That’s something you think you remember?”
“I know that makes me sound horrible, but when we’re home together, she’s constantly yammering away. I’m doing good to catch half of what she says.”
Yet, he probably heard every word out of his mistress’s mouth. “Did she say why?”
“If she did…” He waved a hand, leaving the rest to be implied as him not listening.
“This being in fear of her life, this was recently?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Did she mention any names?”
“No, but she keeps copies of any written threats she receives in her home office.”
“I’ll need to see those immediately.”
“Sure.” Wyatt signaled a server to bring the check.
Eric had considered before coming here that if the lockdown was about revenge, such as harming or killing Megan Beal, there would certainly be a better place.
His mind on that was changed. As Wyatt had said about Megan, “She’s at the hospital more than she’s home.
” The hospital CEO could very well be the target.