“What are you talking about?” Debbie demanded. She was becoming progressively alarmed. “Implanted reservoirs?” He had completely lost her, and his sudden enthusiasm was scary. She had a feeling that she had somehow made things worse for Clayton.
George stared at Debbie. “What about it?” he asked. “Can you get this kind of information about Tarkington and Wong for me from the ER records?”
“Absolutely not!” Debbie stated categorically. “None of these people were my patients. I’m the charge nurse. One thing that the hospital admin has driven home to us is the sanctity of individual health records. My accessing patient records would be a clear violation of HIPAA, which I remind you is taken very seriously at the medical center. You know that. Anytime someone tries to access a medical record who is not directly involved in the patient’s care on an ongoing basis, a red flag goes up in the medical records department.”
“You’re right,” George said. He had been severely reprimanded after he had accessed Kasey’s records without authorization, even though he was engaged to her. At the time he’d been surprised at how quickly he’d been caught.
“Listen,” Debbie said, trying to do some damage control. “This thought you have that death is stalking you is ridiculous. I’m sorry, but it is crazy. As your friend I must tell you that you have to just let it go. You have been a victim of coincidence. Believe me, if you persist, you’re risking getting yourself in trouble.” She thought about saying it was a certainty but didn’t dare, thinking he’d smell a rat.
“Thanks for your advice,” George said, but his mind was churning. He had another idea. Suddenly he thought Paula might be able to answer his questions. Amalgamated had to have a master list of iDoc beta-test participants. Then he thought of something else: “I remember the names of Tarkington’s and Wong’s oncologists. I wonder if I call them, if they might be willing to tell me if the two patients were with iDoc. It wouldn’t be divulging their medical histories per se.”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. Listen! I’m going to say it again. You have to let this drop. You are letting your imagination run away with itself, and you are going to get yourself in deep shit if you’re not careful.” Debbie stood up. Suddenly she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Clayton was not going to like it. She didn’t know exactly why she felt that way, but she did. “I gotta run,” she said as she headed for the door.
George was snapped out of his reverie. He appreciated Debbie’s unexpected visit, as it had focused his thinking. “Are you sure you have to go? I really appreciate your dropping by. I can get out the Jack Daniel’s again.”
“No. Thanks. I really have to go. I feel better having spoken with you. Thanks, George.”
“Sure. Anytime. Should we call a taxi?”
“No, I drove.”
“Then I’ll walk you out to your car.”
“It’s not necessary. I’m a big girl!”
“I insist,” George said. “I really do appreciate your coming by.”
He walked her out to her car in front of his apartment building. He gave it one last shot to get her to stay or even go out to a local bar, but she was intent on leaving. He waved as she pulled out into the traffic.
He headed back into his apartment complex, perplexed by her hot-and-cold behavior. The light was on in Sal’s apartment. Good. It must be the sisters. He debated whether or not to say hello and extend his sympathies, but he wasn’t sure they would even remember him.
He got to his front door and changed his mind. He decided he should make the effort to say hello and find out if there were any plans for a service. As he approached the apartment he could see into Sal’s living area. There weren’t two older women inside, but two men. Thirtyish, in dark suits and ties! They seemed pretty damn busy, too, whatever they were doing.
George glanced at the super’s door, thinking about inquiring exactly who was in Sal’s apartment. But imagining that the man was drunk as usual, he decided to just see what he could learn on his own. He went out to the rear of the building to check out Sal’s parking place. In it he saw a large, late-model black SUV with dark tinted windows. He doubted it was another tenant’s. More confused than ever, he returned to Sal’s patio fence.
George hunched down to avoid being seen from inside Sal’s apartment. At the same time he glanced around the complex hoping no one was watching him. He didn’t want to risk another run-in with the police, which must have been precipitated by someone seeing him climbing over Sal’s fence.
Through the sliding glass door he could see all of the living area and the kitchen. The men in the suits were seemingly searching the apartment, as he had done. One was actually vacuuming Sal’s faux oriental carpet with a handheld DustBuster. Weird! George wondered what, if anything, he should do.
For lack of an alternative plan, he decided to check in with the super, drunk or not. With some reservation, he rang the bell. When the super opened the door, George saw that, as expected, the man was plastered. Having come as far as he had, George plowed ahead. “I thought you might want to know that there are two men in DeAngelis’s unit searching the place.”
“I know. I gave them a key.”
“Who are they?”
“Police. Or something or other,” the super replied, scratching his head. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a week. He was holding on to the door frame for support and still wobbling.
“They don’t look like police.”
“They had badges. And a paper that was some kind of warrant.”
“What are they looking for?”
“No idea.”
George was confused. “You didn’t ask?”
The super, whose name was Clarence, had to think that one over. “I might have. Can’t remember.”
George realized this was hopeless and turned to leave. “Okay, thanks.”
“Sal’s sisters are in town,” Clarence yelled, as if he just remembered it. “There’s a memorial service they got planned for tomorrow. Hang on.” He reached to a table just inside his door and grabbed a piece of paper. He held it as far away from himself as he could while attempting to read it. “Carter’s Funeral Home. Two o’clock. If you want to go. Said they wanted to bury him as quick as can be and skedaddle out of town.”
“Thanks, Clarence.” George walked off. He was amazed that the service was scheduled to take place on the Fourth of July, not that he imagined too many people would want to show up.
George headed back to his apartment, still curious as to who exactly was searching Sal’s. If they were government agents of some sort, as Clarence thought, he’d have to guess they were FBI. But why in thunder would the FBI be searching Sal’s apartment?
28
With a nervous smile Debbie Waters rang Clayton’s doorbell and surveyed the home and surrounding manicured grounds, noticing an extra car in the driveway. This was the life she wanted. She was in her mid-thirties now and the clock was ticking. She knew she had a smoking-hot body, at least according to some male friends. But how long was that going to last? What she didn’t want to do was end up living an ordinary, middle-class life. Every day in L.A. she saw both extremes: the haves and the have-nots. She deserved to be a have, and Clayton was her ticket.
His home was near the top of a winding road in Bel Air. It was too big for the lot it sat on, but wasn’t anywhere near as large as some of his neighbors’. Still, his place was impressive. Especially to an ER charge nurse earning $89,000 a year. A nice salary, yes, but not for this zip code.