Free FLASHBACK by Gary Braver Page A

Jordan Carr?”
    “Yes. In fact, he’s here somewhere. Why?”
    “I’ll catch him another time.” This was not the occasion for a confrontation.
    “Well, if you change your mind, I’d be happy to—” But Nick was cut off.
    “René Ballard?”
    She turned to see a tall, good-looking man with shiny black hair.
    “Speaking of the devil,” Nick said. “René Ballard, Jordan Carr.”
    He held his hand out to her. “I understand you were looking for me.”
    “Well, yes. I was.”
    “Then I saved you the trouble.” His smile spread over a perfect set of upper teeth.
    Nick grinned and took the invitation to depart. “If you’ll excuse me.”
    “No, you don’t have to leave,” she said to Nick.
    He held up his empty glass and nodded toward a waitress. “The champagne lady’s here and all’s right with the world,” he said with a wink. “Besides, there’s someone I have to say hello to.” And he headed off, grabbing another champagne from the waitress on the way to Gavin Moy.
    “So,” Dr. Carr said, smiling down on her.
    “We can do this at another time.”
    “This is as good as any.”
    He had a thin, boyish face with a high forehead and large, dark almond-shaped eyes that made him look Polynesian. His hair was perfectly black and parted on the side with optical precision. René stood five-five, maybe five-six in heels, and he was nearly a head taller than she was. “Okay. Then perhaps where we can have more privacy,” she said, and led him to an opening away from the crowd.
    “My, my, this must be important,” he said, following her.

    She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or condescending. It didn’t help that he spoke in a crisp English accent, which blurred the distinction. When they were on their own, she said, “I have some questions about Clara Devine.”
    He kept his face in a neutral state of bemusement. “What about her?”
    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