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“The surnames mean nothing to me, but a lot of our patients have extended family or friends who stop by to visit. I can keep an eye out for anyone with those names if you believe it will help in your investigation.”
“You don’t have a sign-in sheet?”
“We do, for the most part,” Amelia replied with a small shrug of repentance. “Unfortunately, it’s not used all the time like it should be. Some of the family members just waltz on in and bypass the desk altogether. If I’m not here to remind them, they forget to sign in more often than not.”
“…appreciate the tour, Mr. Risner. We’ll be in touch with you by the end of the week,” a woman said as she glanced at her husband for his agreement. “Thank you for everything.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jim replied as he shook the couple’s hands. “I hope that I’ve eased your concerns regarding your mother’s possible stay with us.”
“As I’m sure you’ve already gathered, that is Jim Risner,” Amelia whispered with a nod in the man’s direction. “In my opinion, he’s a bit young for such responsibility, but he’s good at the public relations side of things. I’ll introduce you.”
Brook finished her coffee and stood before tossing the Styrofoam cup into the garbage can. The couple was in the midst of putting on their jackets and gloves to brave the cold, and Jim Risner still stood a few feet away with a smile on his face.
Not once had the man looked her way.
“Take care,” Jim called out right before the husband held open the door for his wife. Only then did Mr. Risner turn his attention toward Brook for a proper introduction. “Amelia?”
“This is Brooklyn Sloane,” Amelia said before quickly following up with the reason for Brook’s visit. “She’s working with the FBI on a string of homicides. You remember Debbie Horton, don’t you?”
“How could I forget?” Jim replied with a frown as he shook Brook’s hand. “A tragic loss. What is it that you would like to know, Agent Sloane? I’m sure Amelia has already shared with you that we aren’t permitted to give out personal information on our patients.”
Amelia furrowed her brows at Jim’s response.
“I’m not a federal agent. I’m consulting with the FBI on a case, although I’m not here regarding your residents, per se,” Brook replied with an even tone. “Two of the victims in our investigation had relatives who were patients at your facility. Special Agent Parker of the FBI stated that he spoke to a Leonard Buchert after Felicia Rhimes’ abduction.”
“Are you saying that Leonard knew about Felicia being Gregory Fleming’s great niece?” Amelia asked as she clasped her hands together. “I don’t know why he didn’t say anything to us. He mentioned to me that he spoke with an agent regarding Debbie, but I didn’t ask him any other questions.”
“Leonard Buchert used to work here in payroll, although he retired around twelve months ago,” Jim shared in a tone that made it seem as if he hadn’t cared for the man. “I didn’t realize there was more to the story, either. I apologize if anything fell through the cracks, Ms. Sloane.”
“Is there a reason that Special Agent Parker didn’t speak with you?” Brook asked, finding it odd that Sid would have chosen someone in payroll. She would have to check on his reasoning, because she couldn’t come up with a valid reason that he would do so in such a high-profile case. “Did you refer him to Mr. Buchert, by chance?”
“I remember Agent Parker,” Amelia interrupted, speaking instantly upon her memory being jogged. “Jim, I do believe that was when you were in Tallahassee for the annual conference.”
Jim nodded as if Amelia’s reasoning made sense. It almost seemed to be a casual ritual between the two of them. Still, Brook found it odd that Agent Parker wouldn’t have followed up on the lead. Unless, of course, he hadn’t found anything that could connect the other victims.
“Do you happen to have Leonard Buchert’s contact information? I’d like to go over his previous statement with him,” Brook explained, relaxing somewhat after Jim nodded his approval and again gestured toward Amelia. She’d retreated toward the desk, leaving Brook alone with him. “Do the names Grace Willow or Jenny Capshaw mean anything to you?”
“Jenny Capshaw? As in the woman who was abducted from that coffee shop a couple of weeks ago?” Jim asked in what seemed like genuine shock. Due to him fitting some aspects of the profile, Brook was reserving judgement. “Not that I can recall, and I don’t believe we have a patient here by that surname. That’s just awful. It’s been on the television all day. I was in the common area just ten or twenty minutes ago, and the news anchor was giving an update. You were there when the bloody handprint was found yesterday. I recognize you now.”
“Amelia mentioned that guests have to sign in when they visit a patient,” Brook said, hoping that Jim wouldn’t consider those sign-in sheets to be part of the facility’s patient confidentiality policy. She also didn’t want him to dwell too much on her involvement. “How long do you keep those sheets?”
“They go back for many years, though the past twelve months we began to use a software application to replace the logbook. I’ve been doing my best to bring the facility up-to-date with our limited budget,” Jim said with some pride. He motioned toward the counter, but Brook couldn’t locate what he was pointing toward. He indicated that she should follow him. “Here. This tablet is for guests to sign in when they visit their family members or friends.”
The way the hallway to the left curved, Brook hadn’t been able to spot the small section of the main counter that contained a tablet with a sign notifying guests to check in before proceeding any farther into the building. Had she been attempting to visit someone, she would have eventually spotted the sign and followed the instructions that were taped to the hard surface. The tablet itself was secured to the counter by an anti-theft device.
“If I were to obtain a warrant for the entry logs from three years ago, how long would it take you to turn over the forms?” Brook asked, hoping that Jim would offer them to her without the hassle of going to such extreme. “A day or two? A week?”
“No more than a few days,” Jim replied as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants. “We’d like to do our part, and those sign-in sheets have nothing to do with the current HIPAA laws. They are for the facility’s internal compliance to ensure the safety of our patients. All of our files are kept in a storage room in the back.”
“I appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” Brook replied as she reached out for the piece of paper that Amelia was holding overtop the counter. “Thank you for Mr. Buchert’s contact information. I know that Debbie Horton and Felicia Rhimes’ family members were patients here three years ago, but please contact me if you can recall anything that stands out to you from back then. Even the slightest detail could have a significant impact on our investigation.”
“Who exactly is Felicia Rhimes again?” Jim asked in confusion. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Gregory Fleming,” Amelia informed him as she remained behind the counter. “He was moved to the hospice facility across town around three years ago. It was right around the time that—“
Brook almost missed the sharp glance that Jim had sent Amelia. Had Brook not been in the middle of handing each of them her business card that she’d had in the pocket of her dress coat, she would never have caught it.
“Right around the time that…?” Brook asked, repeating Amelia’s statement word for word.
