“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?”
Darren turned to Corrie, eyes widening in the way she’d grown accustomed to as he processed both her youth and her appearance. Corrie returned the look, stone-faced. She was done being pleasant. She held out her hand. “Special Agent Swanson.”
“Um, Darren Schmitz.”
She’d been exercising with grip strengtheners for months, and she took his clammy hand in hers and crushed it, establishing who was boss in the most elemental of ways.
“Follow me,” he said, after retrieving his limp hand.
Schmitz led her to the back of the building and out the rear door. Behind, parked in a shipping and receiving area, was a shabby semitrailer on blocks. He walked over to it. A foot ladder was placed against its side, leading to a door. He climbed up, punched a code into a padlock, and the lock snapped open. He removed the padlock and opened the door, then went inside and turned on a light.
Corrie followed him up the stepladder. Her heart fell. Inside the trailer, old filing cabinets lined the walls from floor to ceiling, along with miscellaneous cardboard and metal storage boxes, in layers three or more deep.
“How is this organized?” she asked.
Schmitz stared. “What do you mean?”
“How do you find a patient’s files in here? By last name?”
“Well, by practice, then by year, and then alphabetically by last name.”
“Really? How can you locate anything in a mess like this?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Does anyone know?”
“Nobody else comes in here. I’m the only one.”
“Why do they even keep this trailer? Why not throw all this sh—stuff out?”
“We would have to go through the files before throwing them out. It’s cheaper just to store them.”