Page 71 of Ethan & Grace

“I need to ask you a favour,” I said, not acknowledging his confession. “Is there any chance I could take a quick look at Amy’s medical file?”

Garrett stared at me for a moment with the same pained look in his eyes that my parents had. I wasn’t sure he’d even understood my question.

“Garrett?”

“Sorry.” He blinked, pulling himself together. “Do you have a court order giving you access to her file?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I was hoping we could sort it out between us.”

Garrett stiffened and shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure nobody had heard. “That would be illegal,” he said through clenched teeth.

“It’s really important.” I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—take the official route. Firstly, processing my application would take weeks. Secondly, there was no guarantee I’d be granted access to the file. And thirdly, I didn’t want to risk the wrong people, or even my parents, getting wind of what I was doing.

Garrett pressed his lips together. “I could get into real trouble.”

“Please,” I begged. “It’ll only take a minute. For Amy?”

He was silent for a few seconds, and I thought he would send me away, but then he surprised me again. “Fine. But if you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny everything. Understood?”

I nodded.

Garrett sighed. “Come on, then.”

Heart pounding, I followed him. We didn’t talk as we walked side by side, even though it was now clear to me that we shared the same pain. We stopped outside a door, and Garrett checked that the room was empty before we slipped inside.

It was an archive of sorts, with a desk and a computer. I looked around while Garrett logged in to the computer. His concentrated expression gradually gave way to one of confusion.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

He shook his head, a puzzled look on his face. “Amy’s file isn’t where it’s supposed to be. And neither is her pathology report. They should be right here.” He pointed at the empty screen.

“Could the files have been saved somewhere else?”

“No. This is the only system we use. You enter the patient’s name and date of birth, or their patient number, and all the records come up. Maybe the system’s just acting up. That sometimes happens.” He shrugged, but I knew better. This was no accident. And the system wasn’t to blame either. Whoever was responsible for Amy’s death had tried to erase their tracks here as well.

“I’m sure it’ll work again tomorrow,” Garrett continued. “I’ll let IT know. They’ll fix it.”

I gave a tight smile, because I already knew that would do no good. IT had probably already been bribed to delete the files themselves. I changed tack. “Did you read Amy’s file?”

Garrett pulled a face, as if the very thought was unbearable. “No, I didn’t. And to be honest, I think it’s for the best you don’t get to see it either. My friend Javier was the paramedic at the scene, and he said it wasn’t pretty.”

Even without the details, my stomach turned. “Can I talk to Javier?”

Garrett didn’t look keen on that idea. “Grace—”

“Please,” I interrupted. “It’s important to me.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “OK, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I nodded, ready to live with the consequences of what I might find out.

Garrett called Javier. Our timing was perfect—he had just returned from a call and was back at the hospital.

We left the building and walked over to the ambulance bays, where Garrett led me through the drizzle to one of the vehicles. The back doors were open, revealing two men in uniforms. One was cleaning the interior as the other checked the equipment. I assumed the younger one, who was disinfecting the surfaces, was Javier.

“Hey,” Garrett greeted them. “Who did you bring in?”

“Elderly woman, about eighty. Suspected stroke,” replied the man checking the gear.