Doctor Ryan is with a patient,” the nurse said. “She won’t be long. You can wait in here.”
Lena followed her into the doctor’s office. When the nurse left, she took a seat in front of the desk and looked out the window. The medical building was on Sunset at the very end of the Strip and she could see the rays of early morning sunlight burning through the mist. She had spent most of the night on her computer, catching up on Justin Tremell’s exploits and researching Synthroid on the Internet.
The woman living as Jennifer McBride had an underactive thyroid gland, yet at the time of her death was only twenty-plus years old. The medication she was using amounted to hormone replacement therapy. It was a simple fix for a condition that affected both men and women. From what Lena had read, people whose families originated in countries close to the Mediterranean Sea appeared more susceptible to the disease than those who didn’t. But the condition had no real boundaries, a long list of possible causes, and could affect anyone.
Lena stood up as Dr. Sue Ryan entered, introducing herself and shaking hands. She watched the doctor move around the desk with Jennifer McBride’s file under her arm, a blonde in her mid-forties with gentle eyes and a round figure that seemed to fit her well. Lena could tell from the expression on her face that the nurse had given her the news. There was no reason to explain why she wanted to talk.
“I’m sorry to hear about Jennifer,” the doctor said. “I’ve been so busy, I didn’t know.”
“How long was she a patient?”
“Only about two months. I’m afraid I didn’t even recognize her name. I had to skim through her file before I remembered her.”
Lena tried not to show her disappointment. She had been hoping for more.
“I need to look at that file,” she said.
The doctor hesitated. “I’ve never been through anything like this before. She signed a privacy agreement.”
“I understand, but I need to see the file. She’s not a suspect, Doctor. She was the victim. She’s dead.”
The doctor thought it over for a moment, then slid the file across the desk.
“Thanks,” Lena said.
She leafed through the pages quickly, skipping over McBride’s brief medical history. Instead, she wanted to look at the personal information forms the victim would have filled out before her first appointment. The names and phone numbers she would have listed in case of an emergency. When she found them, she pulled the murder book out of her briefcase and located the rental agreement McBride had submitted for the apartment on Navy Street.
The information forms were two pages long and exactly what Lena expected-a mirrored copy of the rental agreement the victim had given Jones. Her social security number was here, along with her mother’s name, address, and phone number. Everything she had stolen from the real Jennifer McBride, the girl who had been murdered in a bank robbery two years ago.
Lena made a second pass, comparing the two documents side by side. Nothing she saw pointed to the woman’s real identity. Jane Doe No. 99 hadn’t left a lifeline.
“Is there a problem?” Dr. Ryan asked.
“Not really.”
“But you were looking for something and it’s not there. You’re disappointed.”
Lena met the doctor’s eyes, then noticed that the murder book was distracting the woman. A crime scene photograph taken of the victim in the alley was partially visible. She closed the binder and casually returned it to her briefcase.
“I was just wondering about the medication you prescribed.”
“Synthroid.”
“I found the script in her apartment.”
Dr. Ryan leaned back in her chair. “Jennifer had an underactive thyroid gland.”
“I understand that. But why not the generic? When I looked it up on the Internet, the generic was prescribed more often than the original.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” she said. “Most of my patients use the generic. Let me see the file.”
Lena passed it over, watching the doctor turn directly to her notes. After a moment, the woman found what she was searching for.
“Jennifer said that she didn’t want the generic. It was a specific request.”
“Any reason why?” Lena asked.
“None that I can think of. The only difference is cost.”
“But I noticed that she didn’t list an insurance company. That would mean that she had to pay for everything herself.”
The doctor glanced back at her notes and started reading. “She told us she just changed jobs. She was supposed to call in and update her records, but I can see that she didn’t.”
“She seems so young,” Lena said. “Is this condition common for someone in their early twenties?”
“It’s not as uncommon as you might think. For someone in her situation, you’d be surprised.”
“What situation?”
Dr. Ryan lowered the file to her desk and looked at her. “Her thyroid problems began with a pregnancy.”
It hung there, in the silence between breaths. Lena didn’t say anything as the doctor continued.
“I guess I should be more precise. Jennifer didn’t realize that she had a thyroid problem until after her pregnancy. Sometimes it’s hard to separate the two. Fatigue and weight gain are symptomatic of both.”
“Do you know when she had the child?”
The doctor shook her head. “I’m not even certain that she carried it to term. If I had to guess, I’d say that she didn’t.”
“You mean she aborted it.”
“Or lost it. She wasn’t my patient at the time. She came to me with these symptoms. After a blood test, the results were obvious. She was due for a more thorough exam next month. All I have are my notes from her first visit.”
“Then why are you so certain that she didn’t see the pregnancy through?”
“Because she didn’t want to talk about it. What new mother doesn’t want to talk about having a child? I’ve been seeing patients for fifteen years. I haven’t met one yet.”
Lena sank back in the chair as the doctor went on. But she wasn’t really listening anymore. She was thinking about Justin Tremell and the many reasons why he wanted to keep his relationship with Jennifer McBride hidden. She was thinking about why he claimed that he didn’t even know her. But even more, she was thinking about the fifty thousand dollars they found in McBride’s bank account, and a pregnancy that may have come to an untimely end.