“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.
16
“You 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.
17
“You 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.”
“No need for that,” Boldt said. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to help out. If you nail down a suspect and the suspect is a tough nut you might want to bring her over. She’s extremely good at reading people and leveraging weaknesses in personalities. But that’s for down the road.”
Walt could see Boldt went somewhere else, staring out the side window. At first he thought the landscape had grabbed him, overcome him the way it could. But the longer the silence went on, the more Walt suspected something else was going on, that he’d triggered something without having any idea about what he’d done.
“Hell of a place you live, Sheriff,” Boldt finally said at the end of a long sigh.
No man in his seventies looked like Marty Boatwright without the help of plastic surgery. His watery eyes and the chicken skin on the backs of his hands gave him away. He greeted both men, meeting the Jeep in the driveway, then escorted Boldt inside. As Walt parked the Cherokee, he imagined Boldt would likely take that to the bank-guys like Marty Boatwright didn’t greet anyone in their driveway; the impending interview had rattled the man and had put him on the defensive before it began.
The 11,000-square-foot log home sat on three acres carved out of a hill, giving Boatwright an unobstructed view of the Warm Springs side of the Sun Valley ski area. The property was terraced into two cascading drops, both supported by four-foot stone walls, with a narrow creek falling down waterfalls and collecting into a half-acre pond at the bottom, just this side of the helicopter pad that had drawn the scorn of his neighbors.
On the bib of lawn that supported a large flagstone terrace and dining patio, a garden worker struggled with an invasive tube root in the first of three successive flower beds. A wheelbarrow topped with fresh soil sat alongside a tarp and a variety of garden tools.
“How’s it going?” Walt said, immediately sensing the man’s unease. Not an atypical reaction. He tried to soften the moment. “I have the same problem in my backyard,” Walt said. “Can’t stop the things.”
“I transplanted one indigenous aspen seven years ago, and there’s not a day I don’t curse the decision. If I’d gone with one from a nursery… They don’t send out tap roots like them natives. The indigenous… their suckers come up everywhere, and most of the time I let them be, but not when they invade my flower beds.”
“You’re replanting.”
“I am.” The man seemed more relaxed.
“In July.” Walt tried to sound interested instead of accusatory.
“Mr. Boatwright wanted it done.”
“Bad timing.”
“Tell me about it. Too hot in the days to get anything decent started. The lilies were doing fine in my opinion. I’ll fill it with annuals and worry about it next spring.”
“The other beds too?”
“Who knows? You follow the NFL?”
“Baseball.”
“Well, let me tell you something, you work for Mr. Boatwright, you learn that he’s the coach and quarterback all in one. He says you go deep, you go deep, or you’re on the bench. In my case that means the unemployment line. So I go deep.”
“I hear you.” Walt considered his approach. “You ever get to meet any players?”
“You kidding? Place is like a hotel.”
“Anyone I’d know of?”
The gardener seemed proud of his insider’s position. “Head coach and a couple of assistants up here last weekend. I hear the commissioner’s coming in for the wine auction this year. You know these guys, Sheriff. Dinner parties every night. Jump in the jet. Fly back. He’s a human yo-yo, and he’s not getting any younger.”
The guy liked to talk. Walt wasn’t complaining. “Any players?”
“He interviewed a couple wide receivers back around the time of the draft. An offensive lineman, the kid that book was written about-The Blind Side-about the same time. No one too recently, at least that I know about.” Leaning on his shovel, the heavily suntanned man seemed grateful for the respite. “But you’d have to check with Mary-his executive secretary. She should be around here someplace. Her office is on the lower level of the north wing.”
“I’d probably need a map.”
“Got
that right.”
“Is he a good guy to work for?”
“I actually report to Debbie, one of Mary’s three assistants. I don’t actually deal with Mr. Boatwright. Debbie’s all right. They basically give me an open budget. It’s the dream job. I’m overpaid, I get great benefits, and I’m pretty much left on my own.”
“Wanna trade?” Walt said. He won a chuckle. “Anything a sheriff should know about Mr. Boatwright that I don’t already know?”
“I told you, it’s a dream job.”
“I’m interested in a linebacker. A retired linebacker. He would have come by sometime in the past couple days. Big guy, obviously. Might have been alone. Might have been wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Name of Martel Gale.”
“The Gale Force? Shit, I’d have recognized him, I think. Loved watching that guy hit. Listen, I don’t see that many of the guests, and to tell you the truth, I don’t pay that much attention unless I happen to get a look and recognize someone. I like the sport, so I’m kind of a major fan, but I don’t know half the faces of the guys who come here. The girls, that’s different. Hard not to look at the girls, you know what I mean?”
“Girls, or women?”
“I’ve said enough. I should get back to work.”
Walt didn’t look over his shoulder immediately, but he’d seen a flicker in the man’s eyes and suspected he’d caught someone eyeing them both. Mary, perhaps, or one of the three assistants.
Walt felt tempted to ask about Caroline Vetta, but he lacked a photo and it was Boldt’s business, not his.
“You think you could check with Debbie, informal like, if Gale has been around in the past week?”
“I suppose.” He sounded surprised.
“I could do it,” Walt said, not sure that he could, “but all I’m interested in is trying to get an autograph for my nephew, trying to catch Gale while he’s still in town, and when a sheriff asks something it becomes a big production and it’s not like that, so it makes it kind of difficult.”
In Harm's Way Page 11