In Harm's Way (14 page)

“You want to sit in on my interview with Wynn tomorrow, it’s fine with me.”

“Appreciate it. Let’s see about that. We’re withholding Gale’s identification. I’d like to keep that quiet for a day or two, which would allow you to interview both Boatwright and Wynn without them the wiser. Maybe I’ll accompany you—drive you—and talk to some of his neighbors. With that threat he made, made to my face, it would be irresponsible not to pursue. But the interview is yours. Gives you the upper hand.”

“If you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

“The tire tracks?”

“The tread is being cross-referenced. We got some markers on one of the right-side tires: if we find the truck we can tie it to the scene, but we’re a long way from pulling a sales receipt and identifying a suspect. A long way.”

They worked through their entrées. Boldt ordered a glass of milk, and as it arrived drew more curious looks from the neighboring tables. Walt had a second beer.

“What am I missing?” Walt asked. “What am I not doing that you would do?”

“I’m not looking at this critically,” Boldt said.

“But if you were?”

“But I’m not. Listen, I respect jurisdiction, believe me. That work you did on that dirt driveway? I couldn’t have done that. You’re better at this than I am.”

“False modesty aside, anything else occur to you?”

Boldt ate some more of his teriyaki chicken and pushed aside the pickled seaweed. “I work with a criminal psychologist, a woman named Daphne Matthews who has a way of drilling down into a victim along the same lines I do, but all from inside the head instead of the evidence. A case like this, with so many moving parts, the possible relationship to Caroline Vetta, the complication with Wynn’s threat . . . If it was in my house, I’d bring her in and have her work up Gale. She’s been working Vetta since that happened, and maybe she’d pick up an overlap. Who knows? But in terms of police work—the grunt stuff—I’m right with you so far. I wouldn’t lose sight of that nursery, though, like you. It move down my list, especially with limited manpower and resources.”

“Can we ask her to look into Gale, or is that something I shouldn’t ask?”

“It relates to Vetta as far as I’m concerned. I can ask her to do that. Absolutely.”

“I’ve only worked with a profiler a couple of times, and only once when I had a suspect in custody.”

“She’s not a profiler. Not exactly. What’s interesting about Matthews is she’s able to tell you who the victim was, where the victim was emotionally in and around the death. She can run a background on a suspect and give you a percentage of probability that’s uncanny. She has a heck of a track record.”

“All of that would help.”

“Yeah, it couldn’t hurt.”

“You’ll make the call?”

“I will,” said Boldt.

“You ought to try the seaweed,” Walt said. “It’s way better than it looks.”

“Not a chance,” Boldt said, sipping the milk and savoring it as if a fine wine.

“
Y
ou don’t look comfortable,” the woman said.

Fiona glanced around the office at the medical school degrees, the photos of views from several different mountain peaks—her eye critical of the photography.

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been to counseling before?”

“I have. A few years ago. It wasn’t fun.”

“This isn’t then,” the woman cautioned. She was small and thin and her gray hair was cut like a man’s. For an instant Fiona wondered about her sexual orientation, then wondered why she would think such a thing.

“The thing is . . . It’s just that there’s this blank spot and I want it back. I thought everything would come back within a day or two.”

“Sadly, no. Head injury can affect memory, both short term and long term. I define short term as the past thirty minutes. Even though only a little over a day, the blank spot you’re talking about would be considered long term.”

“I don’t remember what happened . . . where I was, what was going on. I don’t even remember falling down. Just waking up with Angel licking me.”

“Not unusual.”

“It is if you’re on my side of it.”

“Yes, and we can address that anxiety. I meant strictly medically speaking.”

“I don’t want to address it. I want it back.”

“And it will come back. It nearly always does. I’ve had patients who’ve been in traffic accidents lose anywhere from a few minutes up to several months before the accident, but it has always come back. There are exercises you can do.”

“And if it’s not entirely
physical
?” Fiona asked.

“Emotions can block memory. Absolutely. If that’s what you’re asking. Fear can alter memory. A man comes into a bank waving a gun at five people and you’ll get five different explanations of what happened. Very common.”

“And if the man then pistol-whips one of the five?”

“Are you suggesting someone hurt you? Someone caused your injury?” The woman leaned forward in her chair and spoke more softly. “It says . . . I read it was an accident.”

“It was an accident, I’m sure. But I don’t remember, that’s all.”

“You’re safe here, Fiona. You can talk to me. Nothing leaves this room that you don’t want to have leave this room. You need to know that. To trust that.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

Katherine studied her thoughtfully. “How are you sleeping?”

“Not great.”

“Memory is affected by sleep and fatigue as well.”

“These exercises . . . can they bring back those missing minutes?”

“They will help you retain your current memories. The best thing for those missing minutes is to get you back on track, to get the injury behind you and your life moving forward. The brain has an amazing capacity to fill in, to catch back up. To reboot. You were unconscious for a period of time. How long, we don’t know. You awoke and it was morning?”

“Yes.”

“So you’d been out the entire night.”

“I’d been sleeping.”

“We don’t know that. What you call sleep may have been the result of the trauma. That kind of concussion, severe head injury, can do strange things to memory. What’s the last thing you recall that night? If we establish the bookends, we may be able to fill in the in-between.”

“A car in the driveway. I remember that. The voice of a friend of mine, I think, but I can’t say for sure.”

“Can you check with this friend? Ask if he or she came to see you?”

“He. I suppose so.”

“He may have talked to you. Do you think . . . Is it possible that—”

“No. Not him. No. He didn’t push me or hurt me or anything, if that’s what you’re going to ask.”

“And you’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Then I’d ask him.”

Fiona nodded.

“Do you remember having a conversation with him?”

“No. It’s more like I hear him calling me. I’m not sure that isn’t wishful thinking. It’s all very dreamlike. Doesn’t seem so real, you know?”

“I’d check with him.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t done that already?”

Fiona felt a spike of heat in her face and hoped Katherine wouldn’t see it. But the woman didn’t miss much.

“Are these the emotions you were referring to?” Katherine asked.

“It’s complicated,” Fiona said.

“The point being that there can easily be two elements to the memory loss: physical and emotional. If you can get past the emotional, the physical may repair faster.”

“What if I don’t want to know?”

“Can memory loss protect us? Absolutely. Discounting the physical, organic element to such loss, we believe that’s a major factor: obscuring the memory of the original incident, the painful, physical trauma. It’s too much to face at first. The body has to heal, has to put distance between itself and the accident, before the brain allows us to relive it. But it does come back. It will.”

“And if it’s too much to face? What then?”

“I get the feeling, Fiona, that you know much more than you’re sharing. It’s okay to share your fears. Your suspicions. That’s what I’m here for. Please don’t prejudge yourself. Don’t think you can shock me or that I’ll judge you in any way for what you’re thinking. It doesn’t work like that. I’m here to help. I’m equipped to deal with whatever you may throw at me. I want to help you. Please.”

Fiona stared back through fearful eyes.

“The man involved. Tell me about him.”

“No, thank you.”

“You said he’s a friend. More than a friend?”

“Yes, but just recently.”

“The night—”

“No. But recent.”

“And you’re afraid to ask him if he came by, if he called for you. I can see that. You don’t want to sound needy. You don’t want to sound injured or damaged.”

“It isn’t that.”

“Then it’s . . . ?” Katherine viewed her compassionately.

“Complicated,” she said. “I explained that.”

“He’s married? Something like that?”

“No. I mean, yes, but no . . . not like that.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m good.”

“To the contrary, you wouldn’t be here if you were good. I could suggest we meet again soon. That you contact your friend and see if anything he tells you helps at all. I can prescribe a sleep medication if you—”

“No, thank you.”

“As you wish.”

Fiona glanced at her wristwatch.

“I have plenty of time,” Katherine said. “But I’m a student of body language and I can tell when a patient wants out.”

“It shows?”

“You could have gotten most of this off the Internet, maybe did, for all I know. That leads me to believe you came here wanting more than the Wikipedia version of memory loss. You’ve suggested there could very well be an emotional component, and yet are reluctant to discuss what that may involve. You were pushed or hit, and you have memory of a man calling your name, and I must say you display some of the indications of an abused or battered woman, including your steadfast refusal that this friend of yours could ever do such a thing to you. That’s textbook, Fiona.”

“I know that.”

“Because?”

“Because I know that,” she said.

“From experience,” Katherine said. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Fiona stared angrily. “You’re wrong,” she said.

“Okay, I’m wrong.”

“It’s complicated.”

“That doesn’t forgive anything. Nor does it usually explain it.”

“No, I don’t imagine so. You probably get that a lot.”

“My work is to untangle the complicated. To simplify. To help you to simplify, actually. Your brain can tie a knot across your memory, Fiona. We work together to untie that knot and the memory may very well return much quicker.”

“And if I don’t want the memory?”

“Will you block it forever? No. I would doubt that.”

“No, I didn’t think so.”

“Do you want my help?”

“I thought I did. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“You have to want it.”

Fiona set her jaw.

“Fear is so elusive,” Katherine said. “It’s a bit of a magician. It can make itself appear much larger than it actually is. It’s our unwillingness to look at it, to confront it, that allows this inflated presence. Most of the time, when we face our fears we let the air out and realize there wasn’t much to it after all.”

“And when it’s justified?” Fiona asked.

“Well, then it’s more . . . complicated.”

“Exactly,” Fiona said.

“But talking about it is where to start. Keeping these things inside, given your current situation, isn’t going to help anything. I’ll be honest with you: your memory is going to come back—that’s my prediction based on a good deal of experience. Talking to me may or may not precipitate that return. But your sharing your fears with me, your discussion of the emotional context will greatly improve how you handle the memories when they do return—this I can promise. You don’t need to do this alone.”

“But I do,” she said.

“I’m here,” Katherine said. “Day or night, I’m here.”

Fiona bit her lower lip because she felt it quivering, felt her eyes well. She stood from the chair, offering her back to Katherine, and tried to keep calm as she walked out of the room.

“
Y
ou okay?” Boldt asked from the Jeep’s passenger seat.

Beatrice half-slept in the backseat, rolling a lazy eye as the men spoke.

“Yeah. Sorry. I petitioned the court about acquiring a DNA sample and was turned down. It’s a child abuse case.”

“The toughest there are.”

“Right. So I’m a little out of sorts.”

“Understandably. Any way around it?”

“Maybe. Might be. I have an article of clothing—a pair of panties. But ultimately I need the embryo’s DNA and that’s apparently not going to happen.”

“And another scumbag remains out there.”

“Something like that.”

“You can always lie to the bastard and hope he comes apart, though such guys rarely do. And never discount the value of a fine piece of entrapment. Any felony will do.”

Both men laughed into the windshield.

“The offer still stands for you to sit in on the Boatwright interview.”

“We’re good,” Walt said.

“You don’t have to drive me around. I can rent a car.”

“It’s my pleasure. I thought I might canvass the neighbors or his employees about any knowledge of Gale or visits to the house. I’d like to start eliminating potential suspects. That is, with your permission.”

“Don’t need my permission,” Boldt said. “Other way around. I’m the guest here, and I appreciate your helping me out.”

“I wouldn’t mind talking to Matthews,” Walt said, “if you think that’s possible.”

“Easily arranged.”

“I can pay her if necessary. Bring her over here, if you think that’s possible.”