Gannon and Kit exchanged a look.
“That’s exactly why we’re here,” Gannon said, sitting up straight. “There seems to be some kind of mix-up with the reports.”
“Could you get us another copy?” Kit said quickly.
“Tonight if at all possible?” Gannon said.
“Tonight?” the doctor said with a pained look on his face.
Gannon lifted his scotch.
“This is as high-priority as you can imagine, Walter,” Kit said.
They listened to the clack of plates and murmur of people around them as Dr. Thompson peered deeply into his drink.
“Since you’ve been so cordial,” he finally said with a sigh. “After we eat, it’ll be the least I could do.”
An hour and a half later, Kit had her laptop out and open in the dark corner of the fancy hotel bar when Gannon returned from the medical examiner’s office.
“This just in. Good news,” he said as he produced the manila envelope he was hiding behind his back.
“Oh, fantastic, Mike,” Kit said as she immediately tore open the autopsy report.
She put on the flashlight from her phone and placed it facedown on top of her empty highball glass to create a makeshift reading lamp.
“Wow, straight to action,” Gannon said, watching her square the sheets on the tabletop. “You don’t waste time do you, huh?”
“Never,” she said, licking her thumb and flicking the first page over. She looked up at him. “Truly, you did great with the doctor, Mike. You have a soft touch. I like it. You must have been a good cop.”
“I had my moments,” Gannon said.
“Hey, I was going to grab another drink. That Talisker stuff actually is pretty good. Can I get you one?”
“No. One was enough for me. A glass of water would be great though,” she said as she tapped at her laptop.
“Score, Mike,” Kit said, smiling from behind the computer as Gannon came back.
“No? What? Not an ID? Already?”
“It’s not an ID but the next best thing,” she said. “I compiled a bunch of medical device manufacturers’ databases and the breast implant serial number came up first thing. The implants are registered to a plastic surgery office in Casper, Wyoming. Fletcher Cosmetic Surgery Center. I was just looking at its website. It’s only five years old.”
“That’s awesome,” Gannon said. “So the patient’s name should be in the office file, right? Did you check for any missing women in Casper?”
“That’s the second thing I did,” Kit said. “But no. There’s no one.”
“Is Casper far from here?”
“It’s east of here. Four and a half hours by car.”
“Not around the corner but definitely doable,” Gannon said, nodding. “We’ll head out tomorrow first thing. Talk about hitting the ground running. This a home run.”
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the waterfall lobby, waiting for the valet to bring their Armada around, when Kit suddenly started shaking her head.
“Shit!” she said.
“What is it?” Gannon said.
“What you said about the ID being a home run. This is a home run on a tee. It took me two minutes and a couple of clicks to get a real lead. And my boss, Sinclair, has this? Has had it for a week? And nothing? He said he’d keep me up-to-date, but I haven’t heard a word from him. They’re just sitting on it? Because of politics or something? The media? Why?”
They both looked over as the doorman came in waving at them.
“Good question, Kit,” Gannon said, standing.