The Innocents by Nathan Senthil (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

grand echoing lobby, straight to an elevator in the corner.

“You know this place?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes. Sometimes we conduct random drills to check if staff are following HIPAA compliance.”

After entering the elevator, she pressed -2.

When the doors parted, they turned right and walked to a room at the end of the corridor. It had metal shelves like the ones in libraries. Also like a library, the place was hauntingly quiet.

Before they began, Brooks asked them for their cell phones, and papers and pens if they had any.

“Why?”

“Sorry guys. HIPAA.”

They handed over their phones. “No paper or pen.”

Gabriel looked around. The shelves were categorized by departments—pediatric neurology, cardiology, and other -ogies—and the rows were labelled with years.

“There must be thousands of records here,” Gabriel said. “Is there an expiry on the warrant?”

Brooks shook her head. “You have all the time in the world.”

Bill said, “Then we go through each and every single record, page by page, line by line. It’s the only lead we have.”

“I agree,” Gabriel said. “But let’s concentrate on records from the late seventies to the early eighties. That’s when Lolly and his bald friend were kids. They might have started visiting adult hospitals later.”

Bill nodded.

Gabriel turned to Brooks. “So where are we sitting?”

Brooks picked up a stack of files from the year 1975-1980 in dermatology. “Follow me.”

Gabriel took a stack from the same section and obeyed her, Bill walking behind them. She led them to the end of the room, where a broken hospital bed without mattress and a bunch of wheelchairs were discarded.

Brooks placed the records on the bed and started towards the shelf. After unloading, Gabriel held Bill’s shoulder and sat him down in a wheelchair. “Let me bring the files for you. What’s that word again? Gastro…?”

“Gastro-enter-ology.”

Gabriel nodded and went to work. He did not bother to keep count of how many trips he made after the 8th. The bed eventually overflowed with files, and they had to use the floor.

By the time Brooks and Gabriel plunked down onto their respective wheelchairs, they were sweating profusely.

They had two piles of medical records. One from dermatology, the other from gastroenterology. The latter was twice as voluminous as the former.

Gabriel took the first file from the dermatology pile and started reading.

“Brooks.” Bill motioned at his pile. “Mind giving me a hand?”

“Sure.” Brooks picked a file and asked, “What am I looking for?”

“Any symptoms relating to indigestion,” Bill said.

“Okay?” she said, her eyes glued to the medical record. “Symptoms like?”

“Vomiting, nausea, acidic taste, acid reflux, heartburn, lack of appetite, stomach pain. And they aren’t exclusive. Ask yourself one question: will the symptom make me take antacid? If yes,” Bill pointed at an empty wheelchair with his crutch, “put that file over there.”

Gabriel felt proud. Again. Bill did his homework last night.

“Got it.” Brooks closed the file and dropped it on the floor before taking the next.

* * *

Gabriel bought food and snacks as he’d finished first. His pile was easier. Not just because it was smaller; all he needed to do was scan for the words ‘hair loss’ or ‘Alopecia Areata’. But as a lot of keywords were associated with indigestion, Bill’s pile took a while to get through, even with Brooks’s help. It was evening when the work was finally done.

In the end, Gabriel had isolated 102 kids that had hair loss in their medical records. Twenty-eight suffered from Alopecia Areata, nineteen among them were blacks. Bill and Brooks had picked around 780 kids, 630 of them blacks. So in total, they had narrowed down to 649 entries.

Brooks, the only one with access to a cell phone, had notated the names and dates of births from all the selected entries.

Gabriel regarded the 649 files. Bill’s idea increased the number tremendously, but they were now twice as likely to succeed.

“What do we do now?” Brooks asked.

“We have a plan,” Gabriel said.

“What plan?”

“Cross reference what we’ve collected so far with NCIC.”

“What’s that?” Brooks said.

“National Crime Information Center, a database created by the famous Edgar Hoover,” Bill answered. “If you have a criminal record, you’re in NCIC.”

“How’s that going to help?”

“From this 649, we’ll look for anyone who served a sentence from 85-87,” Bill said. “That’s the time period Detective Chase, um… I mean Senior Detective Chase, hypothesized Lolly was in prison.”

Brooks said, “How are you gonna check it against the NCIC? We have no computer here.”

“Not us. The new SAC from the FBI.”

Brooks shook her head. “Sorry, guys, no can do. We’re strictly prohibited from sharing PHI. Can’t send it anywhere.”

“Technically, we aren’t smuggling PHI.” Gabriel came for Bill’s rescue. “It’s just names and DOBs. Call your boss and ask if you want.”

Brooks actually called her supervisor and disappeared along the aisle. A few minutes later, she returned. “Okay, where do I send them?”

Gabriel gave her Conor’s email ID.

* * *

It had been more than two hours since they sent the list to Conor. Gabriel and Brooks were putting the stacks back into the respective shelves while Bill was reading the files Brooks had isolated. Micromanager or a perfectionist, Gabriel didn’t know. But a good detective. He had come a long way since the Mr. Bunny investigation.

When they were done and took their seats, Bill was gripping a file. Gabriel’s stomach churned because Bill sat motionless. He was frowning deeply, his eyes welled. Knuckles white, his hands shook.

Brooks touched his shoulder. “Are you okay there, bud?”

He looked up at her, then at Gabriel. He was biting his quivering lower lip and a teardrop fell, bouncing off his cheek.

The frown slowly loosened, giving way to a smile. Not a lame half smile, but a full toothy grin.

And no words were needed.

“A-are you positive?”