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“I honestly don’t know,” Boynton admitted. “I never saw the content of her files. She was very careful about that. I just did scheduling and payments—insurance, that sort of thing. I don’t know what’s in her patient notes.”
“All right,” Jessie said, satisfied. “That’s all we need for now. Thank you so much.”
She hung up and turned to Grover.
“Andthat’swhy we need to see those files,” she told him.
“What?” he asked incredulously.
“Unless I can actually look at Britton’s patient case notes, there’s no way that I can know if a past patient had some kind of beef with her.”
“But aren’t those records private?” he asked.
“Typically yes,” she said, “but there are exceptions, including when the information may be relevant to an ongoing case. The file indicates that the detectives requested that information and received it. It wouldn’t be in the general case file accessible to everyone, of course. But it should be available on a thumb drive at Wilshire Station.”
Grover’s face hardened.
“Well, that’s where our road ends, then,” he said, “since that data isn’t available to us.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she replied with a grin.
Grover didn’t return the smile.
“I know you’re not suggesting that while you’re on medical leave, we leave this station and go to another location so you can review files for a case that you’re not officially assigned to. A phone call is one thing, but this is a different matter entirely.”
“Why?” Jessie asked. “We’re talking about going from one highly secure police station to another one, and I’ll be hiding in the backseat the whole way there. Where’s the risk? Ash Pierce isn’t going to be at Wilshire Station. I’m not in danger of slamming my head while reviewing patient files. It’s just doing what we’re doing now—document review. Only somewhere else.”
Grover shook his head in frustration.
“Can’t you just call the detectives on the case and ask for the information you need?” he suggested.
“This is supposed to be unofficial, remember?” Jessie said. “Once I call with a request, it will alert everyone connected with the case that I’m involved. That could put me at risk. Besides, they won’t give me the patient info anyway because I’m not working the case. I need to access it on my own, and I can only do that there."
“If they won’t give you the information, how do you plan to access it?” he reasonably asked.
“Let me worry about that,” she told him.
“Jessie,” he said, staring at her gravely, “I can only protect you to the extent that you’ll let me. This is a slippery slope you’re headed down and you’re in danger of taking a tumble. I want to strongly register my disapproval of this idea.”
Jessie nodded back at him, equally serious.
“Noted,” she said. “Now let’s go.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wilshire Station was a modern marvel compared to the dilapidated downtown Central Station that Jessie was used to.
After Grover parked, she led him through the parking lot to the main entrance. Unlike at Central, the floors looked like they’d been mopped this month and the reception desk wasn’t chipped. Thankfully, the lighting wasn’t fluorescent either, which Jessie often found exacerbated her head issues. The seats for visitors even had a bit of cushioning.
But Grover wasn’t impressed. He was already unhappy that she’d had to give her name and credentials to gain entry to the parking lot. The idea of them spending any time in public areas had him beyond edgy. Sensing that she was on the verge of pushing him too far, she moved fast.
“Hi,” she said to the duty officer behind the staff entrance desk, holding up her ID even as she pulled her baseball cap low over her face, “I’m Hunt, stopping over from Central Station.”
“You’re Jessie Hunt!” the young officer exclaimed, his eyes wide in recognition despite the cap.
“That’s right,” she said, leaning in and whispering, “but I’m here unofficially, just assisting on a case. I want to keep a low profile, so please, I’d love to just get in and out quickly and quietly.”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” he said, pushing over the entry log sheet. “I just need you to sign in. Same for your partner.”
