“We have six pieces of trash that might carry DNA,” Walt said. “That’s discounting the beer and pop cans because they can be so tricky for the lab. Twelve, including the cans.”
“Too expensive to run those without a suspect,” Boldt said.
Walt shrugged, not sure he wouldn’t resort to that at some point. The existence of a national DNA database for felons made it all the more tempting.
“Then there’s your B-and-E’s,” Boldt said. “The possibility this guy ran into the wrong guy in the woods.”
“We should conclude our canvassing tomorrow,” Walt said. “Maybe we pick up something. And our plea to drivers will be on the morning news. There’s a good chance someone saw something. It’s a busy highway. But I’m not holding my breath.”
“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.
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?”