"Initiate a security lockdown immediately," he ordered. "Search all of his belongings."
Dana stared at him.
"Everything. Every pocket, every container, every item that came in with him."
Dana picked up the desk phone while Harland looked toward the staff room holding Isaiah's backpack. Outside, Maya continued toward the parking garage without looking back. Inside, the search for whatever Harland believed Isaiah possessed had just begun.
Dana lifted the desk phone and asked hospital security to restrict access to the emergency department because of what she described as a law enforcement security concern. She used the phrase with enough confidence that the employee on the other end did not challenge her.
Within moments, several badge-controlled doors changed status. Visitors were redirected away from the treatment corridor, and a security guard moved into position near the main entrance.
Nothing about the waiting room looked dangerous: an older couple sat beneath the muted television, filling out insurance forms; a man in a work jacket stood beside a vending machine, holding a paper cup of coffee; nurses continued moving between rooms, and the front desk phones continued ringing. Yet, the automatic doors no longer opened freely, and staff members who tried to enter the restricted corridor were told to wait for police clearance.
Lieutenant Charles Harland watched the changes without appearing hurried. He knew that panic attracted questions, while administrative language usually made people obey first and question later.
"Keep the explanation simple," he told Dana. "Temporary security restriction. Active police matter."
Dana covered the receiver with one hand. "Hospital administration may call back."
"Then tell them we're protecting an active investigation until the scene is stabilized."
"There isn't a scene."
Harland looked at her until she understood the warning in his silence.
Dana turned back to the phone. "Understood."
Beyond the restricted doors, Isaiah Williams sat upright on a narrow hospital bed while a respiratory treatment delivered medication through a mask. His hands remained cuffed in front of him, forcing him to hold his arms at an awkward angle. He had no visible injuries, but his chest rose too quickly, and his breathing remained shallow enough to concern nurse Evelyn Reed.
"Slow it down if you can," Evelyn told him. "Don't fight for every breath. Let the medication do some of the work."
Isaiah nodded, then pulled the mask away just enough to speak. "Can I have my inhaler?"
Evelyn looked through the open doorway toward the clear property bag on a counter several feet away. "I've already asked for it."
"Why do they have it?"
Before she could answer, an officer near the doorway said, "His property stays secured until Lieutenant Harland clears it."
Evelyn turned toward him. "His rescue inhaler is medication, not a souvenir."
"He's on a police hold."
"What kind of hold?"
The officer hesitated. "You'll have to ask the lieutenant."
Isaiah's brow tightened. "Am I arrested?" Again, no direct answer came. He lowered the mask for another moment. "I've asked three different people that."
Evelyn gently guided the mask back toward his face. "Save your breath for now. I'll deal with the rest."
She stepped into the hallway just as Dana approached from the liaison area. "I need his inhaler released," Evelyn said.
Dana barely slowed. "He's already receiving treatment."
"That isn't the point. His clinical team decides how his asthma is managed."