“Yes, I suppose. But Ron—”
“Hear me out.” He sounded like a CEO now, his words delivering a direct order. “The attorneys also tell me that if we refuse to allow access to the records, and we prevail in the court proceedings, we open ourselves up to enormous civil liabilities if the kid turns out truly to be a murderer and he goes forth to do it again. All of this before we even try to calculate the public relations disaster that would result from that turn of events:’ He paused a long moment to let his words settle in Denise’s brain.
“So here’s where we stand,” Dorfman summarized. “On the one hand, we have an obligation to the greater good, to assist the police in their efforts to protect society, and to bring an admitted killer to justice. On the other hand, we have an ethical obligation to ourselves and to our industry to protect that which is ours, if only on principle. You can probably guess what the legal department wants me to do, but you’re the one who talked to the boy. You’re the one who got us into this. I want to hear what you think we should do:’
This wasn’t fair! Denise wasn’t an executive, never wanted to be.
She was a talk show host, nothing more and nothing less. She wasn’t paid to carry this _ sort of burden. Where did Dorfman get off unloading this on her shoulders?
As quickly as the protests flashed through her brain, they were followed by the answers. She had forced him into a crack. She had taken such pleasure defending the high ground against attacks from that cop, Thompkins, that she’d left Dorfman with no “wiggle room,” no face-saving route of escape or compromise. And she’d done it in front of millions of people. Suddenly she was filled with admiration for her great-grand boss. He wasn’t even angry at her for pushing him into a very public corner. He was, however, waiting for her answer.
“Ron, I think you might have missed one important issue here,” she said carefully. “I know what the legal department says, and everything you said makes sense, but this is bigger than just our rights versus the rights of the community. There’s a scared little kid in the mix here. Maybe my emotions have been sucked deeper into this than they should have, but my heart really goes out to that boy. I want to hold his hand and help him out of this. But I can’t do that. I can’t do anything to help him at all. I guess… Dammit, Ron, the odds are stacked too high against him. He’s just one little boy trying to fight a losing battle, and it just doesn’t seem fair to give them access to computer records when they already hold all the cards.” There, she said it. And she sounded just like an irrational, overly emotional woman.
Ron chuckled. “You’ll forgive me if we don’t present that argument in court,” he said. While the words were patronizing, the message was not. Another deep draw on the cigar, followed by a long, measured exhalation. “Well, Denise, here’s what we’re going to do tomorrow. I’m going to bet my job, and yours, and a substantial chunk of this company’s assets, on the assumption that this boy is telling the truth, and that he will not, in fact, embark on a multistate crime spree. We’ll argue to the court that our telephone records are private, and that we won’t share them with anyone.”
Denise was stunned. It was not what she’d anticipated. Able to think of nothing more profound, she simply said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This might be the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.”
“It’s certainly one of the most courageous?’ The words came directly from her heart.
This time, it was Dorfman who was caught off guard. “Why, thank you, Denise,” he said. “We chief executives don’t get to hear things like that very often.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, you did a good job today. I appreciate it. Hope you sleep better tonight than I wilclass="underline" ’ He hung up, leaving Denise staring at her phone.
Enrique couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well?” he insisted.
A huge smile blossomed on Denise’s face. “He said we did a good job.”
Chapter 15
JDC Superintendent Harold Johnstone went ballistic at the very notion that Sergeant Hackner would believe such slander about one of his most loyal and effective employees. “I heard what that little bastard had to say on the radio this morning, and every word of it is a lie. Ricky Harris worked at this facility for five years, and had a spotless record. I will not allow you to defame the—”
Hackner cut him short with a quick gesture of his hand. “We’re not defaming anyone, Mr. Johnstone. We’re simply asking questions.” In the manner of most police officers on official business, Hackner referred to himself in the first person plural.
“Then you should know that your questions are offensive,” Johnstone retorted. He was a big man, at least sixty pounds overweight, who apparently bought his clothes hoping that one day he’d fit into them comfortably. His shirt collar was perpetually open, with his tie cinched as tight as the girth of his neck would allow. The buttons on his shirt strained to the point of causing danger to anyone sitting in front of him. A walrus mustache completely concealed his upper lip. Large, flapping jowls completed the image of a bureaucrat who’d been in his position a few years longer than he should have.
Even though he’d repeatedly relearned the evils of judging books by their covers, Hackner found it difficult to muster respect for this man.
“Mr. Johnstone,” Jed said measuredly, clearly annoyed at the irrelevance of all of this, “you may take offense if you wish, or you can answer the questions in the spirit in which they’re offered. I really don’t care. Either way, there are issues that remain unresolved, and it’s my job to resolve them. Your job is to cooperate. Unless, of course, you have something to hide.” Hackner couldn’t resist that last jab. Johnstone was one of those guys who was simply fun to piss off.
The superintendent rose from his chair, using his arms to lift at least half of the load. “How dare you imply that I’m somehow culpable—”
Hackner waved him off again, instantly sorry that he’d goaded him further off the subject. “Sit down, sit down. I’m sorry about that last comment. It’s been a long day.”
Johnstone studied Hackner’s face for a long moment, gauging the other man’s sincerity. Hackner was well-practiced at concealing his real thoughts, so Johnstone was appeased.
“Indeed, it has been a very long day,” Johnstone said, returning to his seat. “This entire episode has been very unsettling. Nathan Bailey killed a fine supervisor whom I will miss a great deaclass="underline" ’
Hackner’s eyes narrowed considerably. “You know, that sentiment is a substantial departure from what we’ve been led to believe.”
Johnstone frowned. “After the lies that Nathan told on the radio, I don’t wonder that you feel that way.”
Hackner shifted in his seat. He sensed that there was a game being played here, the rules of which he was only dimly aware. Johnstone was certainly smart enough to know that Nathan’s allegations would make a huge splash in the press, and that his career trajectory would ultimately be determined by the public’s perception of how he ran his little domain. He had every reason in the world to equivocate.
“Why was Nathan placed in the Crisis Unit last night?”
Johnstone looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid we can only conjecture. Ricky hadn’t had a chance to write any notes before he was murdered.” His choice of words demonstrated that he, too, knew how to goad a potential adversary. “My guess is that there was some sort of behavior problem.”
“Did the other kids notice any behavior problem?”
Johnstone chuckled and shook his head.
Now the fat fuck is patronizing me, Hackner thought.
“Sergeant Hackner,” Johnstone explained, “in this facility, we use a lot of euphemisms in an effort to project our mission as something less… well, disturbing than it really is. We are, in fact, a prison. Our residents are really inmates, our housing units are really cell blocks and our supervisors are really guards. We know this, you and I, because we are part of the system. But it makes us feel better somehow to think of this place as a sleepover camp for disadvantaged children. It is no such thing. Even the children are not children, in the sense that people in the world think of them. They are human flotsam, assigned here by the courts because society doesn’t want them anymore. In this place, a behavior problem becomes a very relative term. In your world a fight among kids in the hallway in school is a behavior problem. Here, it’s an everyday occurrence. I don’t ask our kids questions about other kids’ behavior. Not only would I not believe their answers, but I wouldn’t put them in a position of having to give information to me. To do so may well involve them in a behavior problem from which they would not be able to walk away.”