"Boyfriend," Ricky corrected.
"Your boyfriend is right. Getting those records is important--"
"How often does this happen?" Ricky asked, controlling the conversation, intentionally cutting her short. "How many records mix-ups have you had in your own career?"
"None, but--"
"And your father's? How many others have you discovered since he passed?"
"None, which is why--"
"So this appears to be an anomaly. An unprecedented situation."
She hesitated before answering. "I will admit that mix-ups do happen, when records are misfiled or the wrong one is picked up, but that is both rare and temporary. We discover the mistake quickly, and it is rectified and--"
"Temporary mix-ups aren't our concern. We mean situations like this. You're saying there have been none at all."
She straightened like a witness on the stand. "Yes. None."
"And you have been unable to find Olivia's records? Despite a thorough search?"
"Yes, Olivia's--"
"Ms. Taylor-Jones."
She bristled but didn't wrest back control of the conversation. She didn't seem to know how.
Ricky continued. "So you've searched--thoroughly--and been unable to find them. Have you turned up any records of children that could have been her? I'm presuming you've looked at that angle--other girls Olivia's age?"
"My father had two other female patients within a year of Ms. Taylor-Jones's age. Both continued with him throughout their childhoods, and there is no chance that their records are hers--or that their records are the ones mislabeled as hers."
"Because of the spina bifida? It's a rare-enough condition that it would be remembered, correct? Likely by anyone who worked with the child in those records."
She didn't answer.
"Dr. Escoda?" Ricky said. "Am I right? Anyone employed at that time would recall the girl with that condition."
"It--it's been twenty years. My father wasn't a young man even then, and his employees weren't young, either, and--"
"You've spoken to them. You've asked about the girl in the file."
"My father ran a very small practice. He believed in absolute patient-doctor confidentiality, so--"
"So he would not have discussed the case with outsiders. But his nurses would know."
"He only employed three during that time, and two have passed on--"
"But you've spoken to the third."
Dr. Escoda glanced my way. I met her gaze expectantly.
"Dr. Escoda," Ricky said. "If you have not spoken to this former nurse, then we will, whether you provide us with her name or not."
"I have, but . . . she's seventy and not in the best of health."
"Alzheimer's? Dementia?"
"No, but--"