Patrick Jane spent some time carefully choosing the flowers. She liked violets but there weren't any of those at the florist shop. They did have freesias, her next favourites, so he chose some of those, a few roses, peach rather than pink, some blue scentless flowers that he couldn't name, then he let the florist pick out some foliage to complement his choices. The hand tied bouquet looked and smelled delicious as he left the shop and walked the couple of blocks to the Hangley Shorter Psychicatric Hospital. He hadn't really seen it much from outside, and he paused for a while in the street opposite the main entrance before taking a deep breath, wiping his free hand down his suit then crossing the road.

As he approached the reception desk he arranged his brightest smile onto his face, inwardly relieved that he didn't recognise the receptionist who was a white-haired man probably in his early sixties: he looked like a retired teacher.

"Dr Sophie Miller, please," he said confidently to the man behind the desk.

"You can leave flowers here, we'll pass them on," said the man in slightly bored tones, not really looking at him.

"I'd, uh, like to give them to her personally," he replied. This earned him a curious look from the receptionist.

"Name please?"

Jane thought quickly. All phone conversations with the outside world were recorded "for training purposes." Would internal calls be recorded too? He didn't want to risk it.

"Um, can't you just tell her I brought flowers? I wanted to surprise her, can't do that if you announce me." He did his best to remember what a hopeless romantic looked like and hitched what he thought was approximately the right expression onto his face. In lower, confidential tones he asked, "Do you think it's a bad idea?"

The man shook his head. "I've seen men ask but I never saw her take any of them up on a date." At Patrick's crestfallen look he relented and smiled, "Hey, that's never a good reason not to try. Don't worry, young man," he added, eyes twinkling, "maybe she'll like a surprise if it comes from you." He picked up the phone and dialled an extension: it looked like 2755 to Patrick but it had happened quickly and he couldn't see the numberpad of the phone from his side of the desk, only the receptionist's hand movements. He made sure he remembered the numbers anyway, just in case.

Patrick casually turned his back on the desk and stared at the traffic outside, pretending not to listen in to the phone call. While doing so he took the opportunity to check the security camera locations out of the corners of his eyes: there were only the two he remembered from the day he left, one pointed at the desk and the other on the main doors. He had carefully shielded his face from the door camera with the flowers on the way in, and even while turning away from the desk he had apparently accidentally managed to use them to obscure most of his face from the other camera too. If he had to wait it looked like neither had good coverage of the small seating area.

"Dr. Miller? It's the front desk here. Someone is here who wants to see you. No I don't think so. No doctor, but he has brought flowers. Oh, Okay. Okay then. No, a nice personable young man. Okay. Okay, I'll let him know." The receptionist smiled at him and said, "She's just finishing her notes, said she'll be about twenty minutes. You can wait over there." The man indicated the sofas near the windows.

"Is there a coffee shop or somewhere nearby?" Patrick asked.

"There's a staff café on the roof, not sure she'll want to meet you there though, all the staff go there. You could try Marie's Diner, halfway down the next block. It'll be busy but there won't be anyone from the hospital there. These seats are probably the quietest place around the hospital." The man gave him a little wink as he said this, and Patrick bestowed a last, conspiratorial smile on him before retreating to the seating area. He carefully sat in the corner where he was most hidden from the cameras, and waited.

Sophie arrived just over fifteen minutes later. He stood and let her approach him, enjoying the surprise in her voice as she exclaimed "Patrick?" He loved that she didn't bother to ask why he was here, her quizzical look spoke more eloquently than any words. He murmured in reply "I was back in town and wanted to say 'thank you'." He handed over the flowers but didn't greet her with a kiss on the cheek. He'd wanted the receptionist to think he was a suitor, but he didn't want to give Sophie that impression.

"They're lovely. They smell wonderful. Thank you." She was still standing beaming at him, obviously waiting for him to speak, searching his face for a clue as to what this visit was about.

"Dr. Miller, ah, Sophie, can you spare me a few moments? I… I wanted to ask about my hospital records." Whatever she had been expecting from him it wasn't this. However she only hesitated for a second then gracefully sat, putting the flowers down on the table in front of her at the same time. Patrick was searingly reminded of how graceful Angela had always been whenever she moved like that. Patrick realised he had frozen in that moment: Sophie was indicating the sofa next to her as she said, "Please." He sat down carefully, next to her but not intimately so, filing the image of Angela away in his mind.

"I need to get a copy of all the records about me that this hospital has. I'd like to do it unofficially, if that's possible. How would I go about that?"

Sophie searched his face for a long time before answering.

"Why unofficially? Why not just write to the hospital and ask?"

"You know how I feel about my stay here. I owe you my life," he had to pause there for a moment, he had never said it out loud before and he really did feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude to Sophie. He swallowed before continuing, "You gave me my life back, Dr. Miller, and I'm very grateful to you for that but I feel very ashamed about – about having a breakdown in the first place, about my stay here. I need – I need to get a copy of my records because they're mine, they're my private records. I need to feel I have control over them. Going through official channels won't give me that."

Sophie smiled at this.

"I understand, Patrick, but my notes aren't held on the hospital computer. I hate using computers, you know that. I dictate my patient notes, have them transcribed by a service then file them. The hospital doesn't have a transcribing team any more, not for years."

"That's fine. That's better than fine because I trust you much more than I trust hospitals or computer records. I don't need to see your notes on me, Dr. Miller, I trust you so I trust them. But I don't trust hospitals, I don't trust computers. How can I get a copy of the hospital's computer records on me without my request being added to the records? I guess an official request would be added to the file? I mean, that way madness lies, right?"

He'd gotten the touch of humour just right and he'd seen her eyes glaze a little as he'd talked so rapidly about trust. He hated that he was doing this to Sophie but he tucked that thought away as well before he could start dwelling on it. He couldn't afford to hesitate, there wouldn't be another opportunity to remove himself from the hospital records. He could hate himself later, right now he needed to stay focused. Sophie, meanwhile, gave a brief laugh and nodded, a mischievous look flashing through her eyes as she replied, "Ha, yes you're probably right." She gave him a big smile: she was going to help him. Relief flooded through him.

"Ok Patrick, as you know I'm no computer expert but I think I know someone who can help. I'll take you to meet Mary Suarez from our records department. If anyone can get you a copy of your records unofficially then she can. If anyone can persuade her to do it, you can."

Patrick's mind raced as he followed Dr. Miller through the lobby and into the hospital, incidentally keeping out of the frame of all the security cameras that he knew about. There was just one camera in this first corridor, which he blocked by walking half a step behind Sophie, a natural position for a visitor following an employee. He just happened to stand too close underneath the camera in the lift. He turned quite naturally away from the camera near Sophie's office as they exchanged some very small talk on the way to her office. Sophie deposited the flowers in her sink before setting off up one flight of stairs (no cameras) to the admin floor. He surreptitiously checked, but this wasn't a public part of the hospital and there didn't seem to be any cameras here. This floor was mostly open plan with just one row of office doors at the other end of the building. Sophie led him to a cubicle that contained a surprisingly young woman working at a computer and wearing a wireless telephone headset. She seemed still in her teens.

"Mary, this is Patrick Jane. He has some questions about his patient records. Patrick, this is Mary Suarez. She knows everything about the hospital's computer systems. I'd love to stay," she added, turning to him, "but I have patients waiting. So nice to see you again Patrick," she squeezed his hand and was gone almost before he'd finished saying his goodbye.

Patrick had been quietly surveying Mary Suarez during Sophie's introduction. Everything about her screamed poverty and low self-esteem. Her non-brand sneakers were heavily worn; her non-brand jeans and faded t-shirt were frayed at the edges. She wore no make up or scent, her hair was clean but unflatteringly tied back in a pony tail. Her eyes were intelligent and her expression slightly curious, slightly hostile. He decided in that moment not to try to bribe her to lose his records. She looked like she needed the money, but something in her manner made him pause. Yes, Mary would definitely be genuinely offended by any attempt at bribery. This was going to be harder than he had thought.

"Hi, I'm Patrick," he said, stalling and holding his hand out while he tried cold reading her. She didn't take it and her manner wasn't giving much away. Okay, she's also resistant to social conventions. No photos on her desk, nothing pinned to the cubicle walls except an office calendar with, yes, only office things entered on it – there was nothing personalising this work space.

"Yes you are," Mary replied levelly, briefly grasping his hand. This girl was very self-possessed. She didn't have low self-esteem, he realised, rather she had little respect for the people around her. She didn't wear make up or new clothes because she didn't care how she looked at work. No, she actively chose to look like this for work – why? She certainly cares about her work, she's very young but already she knows everything about the hospital computer systems. She's not interested in impressing anyone around here, but she has impressed Sophie somehow.

"Ms. Suarez, can I just ask, do you like working here?" This surprised her.

"What, here at the hospital? It's just some place to work." No, that had been the wrong question.

"But you like what you do, working with the records, working on the computer all day." Finally the ghost of a smile flickered over her lips.

"Yes I do like working with the data. I'm good at it." She didn't sound like she was boasting.

"What do you like most?"

"Querying the data, producing reports for the doctors or research students. The hospital data's used for all kinds of clinical studies. Getting the right data, producing the right charts, that's the creative part of my job. Most people don't understand statistics, even doctors, but I do. Mostly it's computer nerds that write sequel, but I taught myself."

There it was: pride. Everyone wants to be good at something, and Mary was doubly proud because she'd done it all by herself. She's definitely too young to be a college graduate. Perhaps she's been in the system, he thought. A foster kid that manages to graduate high school rather than ending up selling drugs or herself has the right to feel pride about her achievements. The disdain for others would be both a consequence of being bounced round foster homes and a defence mechanism. Patrick had no idea what 'sequel' was.

"That's very impressive, Ms. Suarez, especially for someone your age. Do you mind if I ask, are you planning to go to college?"

Mary's eyes narrowed. "No, Mr. Jane, I'm planning to make sure I keep this job." Everything in her expression told him he was walking on thin ice.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean any offence. You seem like a very intelligent and mature young person. I'm sure you'll enjoy great success in whatever you do."

"Thank you." If she had said 'go away' it couldn't have conveyed her feelings any clearer.

"I'd really like to say that I need a complicated set of statistical data, but I just need to make sure my own record is correct. I was recently discharged from this hospital, but it looks like my identity was stolen a few weeks before I was admitted. Now I'm back home I've found out someone's been making very merry with my data while I was away. All the information out there about me is a mess. I'm working my way around everywhere that holds records on me, which is why I'm here today."

"The procedure is you send a request in writing. You'll get a copy of your data and a form for providing corrections within ten working days."

"I know. I called and found that out, but I also found out that hospital post isn't coming to my home address. It's going to somewhere in Malibu of all places! I live in Mountain View! That's why I came here in person, that's why I asked for Dr. Miller's help, because she knows who I am. I'd like to make sure my records here are correct, right now while I'm here, because I wasn't in a position to make sure they got them right when I was admitted. And I'd like to get a copy of them, a paper copy that I can take away. Do you think you could help me with that?"

Mary was nodding now, already turning towards her computer screen.

"Sure. I can do all that. Patrick Jane, right? Born September sixteen, nineteen-seventy-four? Yeah, it says here 1533 Cedars Street, Malibu."

"Ah, that's two corrections right there. Date of birth should be June ninth, not September sixteenth, and while I'd love to have a big mansion in Malibu I just have a small apartment in Mountain View. 1533 Cedars Street, Mountain View, 94040." The lies came very easily: the zip he remembered from the days he used to memorise such things.

"Changing it to Malibu is quite clever, it has the same number of syllables as Mountain View and the same 'oo' sound at the end. The thief wouldn't have to prove they were moving, just claim they were correcting what someone mis-heard over the phone. Your identity thief probably lives in LA rather than locally, they could easily travel to Malibu to pick up your post. The address was probably a PO box, used for hundreds of fake identities. The Postal Service would deliver based on the zip, then Cedar Street would only have to exist in the room with the boxes, it wouldn't even have to be a real street."

"You sound like you've fixed this kind of problem before."

"Not here, but my last job was unpicking real people from identity thieves. Mostly it's financial accounts that are targeted. I guess your hospital records are just collateral damage. Did they steal a lot from you while you were here?"

"There wasn't a lot to steal."

"Ha, I know that feeling," Mary nodded. For some reason he felt this brief aside was the first completely honest thing she had said to him. Mary briefly turned to flash him a smile before going back to her keyboard and continuing, "Arrived Tuesday 4th March this year, left – just three days ago. Your meds on discharge were sleeping pills and antidepressants. You're with ViaCare health insurance. You were under the care of Dr. Miller the whole length of your stay."

"Yes, that all sounds like me. I do still have trouble sleeping."

"Yeah, the thief won't have had access to the hospital system, just to the systems that fed into it. That's all the personal information we have, apart from the codes for the meds you were on during your stay. I'm not sure you could verify all this even if I could name all these drugs from their codes…"

"You're right, I couldn't tell you what drugs I was given while I was here. I guess my identity thief was only interested in changing my address and date of birth."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Mary Suarez span round in her chair to look at Patrick. "All saved."

"Would it be possible to get a printed copy? For my records?"

"Sure." Mary turned back, made a few menu choices, clicked a mouse. "There. It's printing now." She waved vaguely across the office to where some large pieces of office equipment were standing against a wall. "I'll just be a moment."

"Thank you, Ms. Suarez." The office equipment that she had waved at wasn't far, her back wouldn't be towards him for more than a few seconds. He quickly highlighted his surname, typed 'Patrick' in its place, and similarly replaced his forename with 'Jane'. Superficially, at least, his record didn't look any different when Mary returned with several sheets of paper just a few seconds later.

"There you go," she said, resuming her chair and rummaging in a drawer until she found an old folder. Putting the sheets into it, she handed it to him. He made a show of reading it through.

"Did you save the new details? The correct ones, I mean?"

"I'm sure I did," she replied.

"Could you please save it again, just to make sure?"

With a shrug Mary made a few clicks on the mouse again. It looked to Patrick that she did the same as before: he'd just have to trust his name swap had been saved.

"There. Definitely saved." She turned and smiled at him, he beamed at her.

"Thank you Ms. Suarez. Thank you very much. Can I ask you one last small favour? Could you look up when the Giants will be playing next? I kinda lost track while I was in here…" As he had hoped, Mary logged out of the hospital system before she searched for the Giants.

"Sunday, playing the Colorado Rockies at two o'clock. You a big fan?" she asked politely. Patrick shrugged.

"Who doesn't like baseball?" he replied. "Thank you again, Ms. Suarez. You've been more than helpful."

"Glad I was able to help. If that's everything then I need to show you out."

"I can make my own way out."

"No, visitors aren't supposed to wander around the building," Mary replied, standing up again. It was only a few steps to the door and a few more to the elevators. They waited in silence, but after he entered the elevator he turned and said, "Goodbye, Ms. Suarez, you've been very helpful. I hope your next visitor gives you more of a chance to do some reports and statistics." Again the ghost of a smile appeared on her face very briefly as the doors closed.

He wondered if she had been telling him as many lies as he had told her. Could someone that young and that self-assured really love working with computer records, reports and statistics? He knew he'd never know. He would never return to the hospital. The door camera only caught the back of his head as he left the building.

Patrick Jane made it two blocks before he had to stop walking, his eyes too blurred by tears for him to continue. He ducked into the nearest alley, sat with his back to the wall behind a dumpster and wept silently. He'd done it. Grief and self-loathing, triumph, relief, shame and guilt all melded together down his cheeks. A light rain began to fall, unnoticed, as he commenced the breathing and mental exercises that would enable him to file it all away inside his head, calm him enough to contemplate what to do next.