"Ineed you two nitwits to get back to the Park Plaza."
"What happened now?"
"Somebody broke into Dr. Renick’s office.”
I told him about the connection to Wesley Oliver.
"Sounds like it's a little more than just a coincidence to me," he said.
I told him we were on the way.
We finished breakfast, bused our plates, then pulled ourselves together. We hustled down the dock and hopped into the Porsche.
It only took a few minutes to reach Park Plaza. Miriam's crusted blood still stained the asphalt in the parking lot—a grim reminder of what had happened less than 24 hours ago.
JD and I pushed into the lobby and took the elevators up to her office. The frazzled receptionist behind the desk looked relieved to see us.
"It's just the craziest thing," Stacy said. "I came in this morning to do some administrative work. There is a lot of billing to take care of, patients to call. I'm not really sure how this is all going to get sorted out or how I’m going to get paid. I need to be looking for another job. But I talked to Steve. He said he would make sure I get taken care of." A revolting expression twisted her face. "Not that I trust that guy. Were you able to talk to him?”
I nodded.
"And?”
I shrugged.
"You probably can't talk about it, can you?”
"Not really.”
"So, it was the strangest thing. The building has key card access, as does the office. There were no signs of forced entry when I got here this morning. At least, not that I can see. Not like I'm an expert or anything. But all the computers are gone. It looks like the file cabinets were rummaged through. Some of Dr. Renick’s personal notes from therapy sessions are gone. Not all of them, but certain ones.”
I shared a look with JD.
"You know what I think," Stacy said in a scandalous tone. "I think whoever shot Dr. Renick yesterday took her purse, which had her key card. I think they came in here and tried to steal patient information. But what those dipshits don't realize is that the data in the computer is backed up in the cloud to a HIPAA-compliant database. All the therapists use pretty much the same patient management software.”
"You think someone was after specific patient information," I said to clarify.
"I'm no detective. But that's what I think.”
"I bet that patient was Wesley Oliver.”
Her brow knitted. "How did you know Wesley was a patient?"
I grinned. "I guess that confirms it."
The left side of her mouth scrunched. "Sneaky."
I smiled.
"Why would someone want Wesley's patient information?”
"You know Wesley is deceased, don't you?”
Her eyes rounded with shock. "No! What happened?"
I told her.
Sadness filled her eyes. "That's terrible. I liked Wesley. Seemed like a nice guy. Had issues like everybody else, but seemed sweet."
