René was conscious of the professional divide between them—he a nationally recognized neurophysician probably on the board of a dozen important institutions and she a twenty-nine-year-old consulting pharmacist. She also reminded herself that a misstatement could get Alice Gordon and the other nurses in trouble. “I’m wondering how she managed to escape Broadview and get herself to the CVS and kill a complete stranger.”
“I’m familiar with the case, Ms. Ballard.” He smiled and sipped his wine, studying her with unblinking eyes.
She was not going to let his porcelain smugness derail her. “As you may know, I’m responsible for monitoring patients’ meds each month. When I went to check her folder, I discovered that several months’ worth of her charts were missing. Also, the order sheets were signed off by you rather than her primary care physician.”
“Because I’ve taken over for Dr. Colette.” His words had the honey-glaze patience of a teacher addressing a slow child.
“I see, but that still doesn’t explain Clara’s missing medical charts and those of four other patients under your care.”
If her discovery surprised him he did not let on. “They’re in Broadview’s computers.” His smile shaded into irritation, and he checked his watch.
“Then why was I told to consult you first when I asked to see them?”
“Just another firewall of patient confidentiality. Next question.”
Yeah. How did you get to be such an arrogant creep?
“Dr. Carr, I am licensed to have access to patient records—all patients’ records—not just some of them.”
“Then it’s an oversight to be corrected. Is that it?”
The feigned civility of Carr’s manner was annoying. Illegitimi non carborundum. Dad’s counsel. “No. The census sheets list forty-two patients, and a head count turned up forty-six.”
“Beg pardon?”
“There are four more residents in the AD unit than are registered. Four names I’ve not seen before, yet who have beds. And, frankly, Dr. Carr, I’d like an explanation because I’ve got to give one to my boss.”
Carr looked a bit nonplussed. “You’re very clever, Ms. Ballard. And may I call you René?”
“Dr. Carr, I’m responsible for the accuracy of all patients’ medical records on that ward as I am at all the homes I visit—”
Carr flapped his hand as if her words were gnats. “Yes, yes, of course.” Then he scanned the crowd, looking like a Serengeti gazelle testing the air for cheetahs. And while he did she noticed his outfit—tan hand-stitched boots that probably cost more than her Honda and a blue blazer with a breast-pocket shield of a black rearing stallion in a field of gold. Some designer’s logo she didn’t recognize.
“Ms. Ballard, I’m wondering if we might discuss this some other time.”
“Dr. Carr, I’ve been getting stonewalled on this since yesterday and possibly since I’ve been on the job. And given that this has become a police matter, I think I have a right to know what’s going on with residents in my homes.”
“Nobody is questioning your right to know. It’s just not the proper place.” He smiled widely and waved at someone in the crowd. “And now I’m being paged. Do you have a business card?”
She was being dismissed. She dug into her bag and pulled one out.
He produced a gold pen. “No, your home number and address, if you don’t mind.”
She looked up at him for an explanation.
“Chateau Dominique at eight tomorrow. Are you free?”
Christ, he’s making a damn date with me. “I guess,” she could hear the thinness of her voice. “But this is not a social matter.”
“No, but a much better venue.”
Go with it, she told herself, and wrote down her number and address.
“Is seven-thirty good?” But before she could file that away, Carr took her elbow. “Here’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said, and took her to Gavin Moy.
Moy smiled and shook her hand. It was soft and warm, like a fine glove left in the sun. He had a weathered, tanned face that looked as if it had spent time on a yacht or a golf course. What was striking about his appearance was his brilliant green eyes, which made her wonder if he wore colored contacts. His head was a perfectly tanned dome with a mixture of white and auburn on the sides. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blanchard.”
“Ballard.”
He nodded and scanned her up and down. “Nice pin,” he said looking at her lapel cat pin fashioned in black and white.
“It’s supposed to be my cat,” she said, feeling foolish.
Moy nodded and began searching the crowd. She could have announced that she had eaten the cat for breakfast and he could not have cared less. So why Dr. Carr’s insistence on their meeting?
“Nice to meet you,” he said, and pulled away with Carr.
Apparently Nick had taken in the scene, because he sauntered over with a fresh glass of champagne and took her arm. “Having a good time?”
“A blast.” She swallowed half her glass of wine. “Why do I feel like I’m stuck in a conspiracy movie and I’m the only one who doesn’t get it?”
“Maybe you are. What time is your date?”
“How do you know I have a date?”
“Because I know Jordan Carr. I also knew his ex-wife.”
“If first impressions mean anything, I’m on her side.”
Nick smiled broadly. “Well, maybe you should give him a chance. He’s a brilliant physician and someone who’s going places.”
“So, what should I know?”
“That you’re in for a lovely meal and some good wine.”
“Want to chaperone? Please?”
He laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
“What about the fifty questions I want answered?”
“I’m sure you’ll be satisfied.” He looked around for the waiter for a refill.
“And I think it’s time for Pellegrino.” And she plucked the fluted glass out of Nick’s hand and headed over to the bar feeling like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s jubilee.
When she returned Nick had removed from his jacket a magazine ad for a camera. “Not exactly a new Harley,” he said, and unfolded a photo of a large-format Mamiya camera. In what spare time he had, Nick liked to take nature photos and talked about taking time off to do a photo safari in the Canadian Rockies or the Grand Canyon someday. His office walls were covered with shots from Switzerland and Hawaii. “But it’s how I plan to enjoy the overrated golden years. And speaking of pictures, I’d like you to drop in at my office at the hospital. Got some interesting images you might like to see.”
“And, of course, you’re not going to tell me until then.”
“The next time you’re in Boston.” He checked his watch. “Thalia’s expecting me.” His wife of thirty-five years was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
“Okay.”
“If he touches you I’ll kill him,” he whispered.
“You won’t have to.”
They double-cheek kissed and he headed for the parking lot. She watched him go, thinking how happy she was to have him in her life. Thinking that if he were a dog he’d be a graying black Lab—solid, strong, smart, loyal, and affectionate.
Across the crowd she spotted Jordan Carr holding forth to several admirers clustered around him. And you, a Doberman, she thought—sleek, angular, and a little dangerous.
11
“HIS EYES ARE MOVING.”
“That’s good, he’s dreaming. See those spikes? There’s activity.”
“Jack! It’s me, Beth. Wake up. Please.” Gently, she tapped his hip, one of the few places where he had not been stung.
“I think we’re ready to take him now,” the nurse said. “We’ll be back in an hour.”