Diablo Mesa(71)

He passed the binoculars to Skip. “Take a look at those far hills.”

Skip looked and, after a moment, spied a chain-link fence crossing the landscape like a ribbon. He ran the binoculars along it and came to a closed gate. Signs that were too far away to read flanked the gate. Beyond, he saw some buildings, several skeletonized trucks, and an old wooden water tower with a staved-in tank.

“The proving range,” said Watts.

“Looks abandoned.”

“Yes.” Watts paused. “Abandoned—except for the fresh tire tracks leading to it.”





46



AS CORRIE PULLED into the parking lot, what she saw was not encouraging. Consolidated Dental Partners occupied a brand-new building in fake adobe style off St. Michael’s Drive. It didn’t look like a place that would be storing ancient dental files.

She hung her FBI lanyard around her neck and walked in. She had tried to call ahead but got only an answering service and then, finally, a low-level employee who knew nothing about dental records and seemed disinclined to learn. Corrie had thought Lime might accompany her, but he’d made it politely clear he thought the trip was a waste of time and that no dental records going back seventy-five years would ever be found.

Corrie’s research had come up with one large dental practice in Santa Fe, owned by a for-profit hospital chain that had bought up several dozen smaller practices over the years. She was clinging to the faint hope they might have preserved old medical records from those practices. The problem was, there were dozens of defunct dental offices going back decades in Santa Fe that hadn’t been bought up. Lime was right: this really was a stab in the dark.

She entered a large, sterile reception area with three receptionists behind glass. She chose the most alert-looking one and walked over, raising her FBI badge. “Special Agent Corinne Swanson, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Albuquerque Field Office. How are you today, ma’am?”

The lady stared at her, clearly convinced Corrie was not a real FBI agent, and finally said: “Can I help you?”

Corrie maintained a pleasant disposition. “Yes. Could I speak to someone in authority, please?”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, ma’am,” said Corrie evenly. “I really hope there isn’t going to be any difficulty here.”

“All right.” The woman got up and went into the back, and a moment later reappeared with a man in tow, wearing a shiny blue suit and knit tie. Not a dentist: he looked like some back-office drone. He introduced himself as Mr. Murphy.

“May I see your credentials?” he asked, a look of suspicion on his face.

Corrie raised the lanyard again. He stared at the ID for a long time. “How can I know this is real?”

“You’re welcome to call the Albuquerque Field Office.”

He continued to scrutinize the badge, lips pursed. “Do you have a warrant?”

This was not a promising beginning, but Corrie persevered. “This isn’t an official search, Mr. Murphy. I’m trying to identify a homicide victim via dental records, and I was hoping to be given access to your files. Voluntarily, of course.”

“Medical records are private. HIPAA rules.”

“I realize that, but I’m interested in records at least seventy-five years old. And the patient is dead—did I mention homicide?”

“We don’t have any records going back that far.”

“Do you have files inherited from the practices you purchased?”

“Of course.”

“Have you gone through them?”

“No reason to. Only if we needed to pull a file of a patient from before the consolidation.”

“If you haven’t gone through them, how do you know they don’t go back that far?”

“I can’t imagine they do.”

“But you don’t know.”

The man frowned at her. “I’m sorry, Ms.—Agent—Swanson, but I’m going to have to decline this request. I’m not sure I have the authority to give you access, and in any case, I’d need more information.”

Corrie took a deep breath, trying to maintain a pleasant face. “Let me lay out your choices, Mr. Murphy. One: You can say no to a voluntary search by me, which is your right. I will go back to my office, write up a warrant, take it to a judge, get it signed, and come back here with half a dozen agents. We’ll have to clear the premises of patients and sequester the staff while we conduct our search—that’s standard procedure. The search might take hours. Days, perhaps—I don’t know just how extensive your records are. Two: You can give me permission—voluntarily, of course—to poke around informally, with a staff member present if you wish, while your business continues as usual. And let me worry about your authority in the matter.”

She let this settle in for a moment, then flashed him a bright smile. “So what’s it going to be: Door number one or door number two? The lady or the tiger?”

Murphy slowly turned red, wiped his lips with a handkerchief, and finally said: “I believe that, when you frame it in such a way, we can accommodate your request. Please come with me.”

He led her into a warren of cubicles and called over an employee. “Darren, this is an FBI agent. Could you escort her to dead storage and help her find what she wants?”