by Jeff Carson
The cold came off her coat as they hugged. “Freezing out there.”
“How’s Ella?”
“Good. She’s with Margaret again. Went to her office.”
“We owe her a bottle of wine,” Wolf said.
Lauren nodded. “A case. How’s she doing?”
“Still comatose.”
“She’ll be fine. Her body’s just taking a timeout to heal. You said something about a gunshot wound?”
“There’s a mark on her back consistent with being shot while wearing a Kevlar vest.”
“My God.”
“And she has some bruises and ligature marks on her wrists.”
Lauren looked past him. Her breathing visibly quickened.
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“So she was running from somebody. She was coming to you.”
Wolf began to answer, but was cut short by a commotion in the hallway. Capriati and Patterson both looked in Wolf’s direction.
“She’s awake,” Patterson said.
Without thinking, Wolf walked toward the doctor, then stopped. Lauren was still by the window.
“Are you coming?”
She nodded and joined him.
“She’s conscious,” Capriati said. “She woke up fifteen minutes ago. And I know you wanted to know the second she came to but I had to run some tests. She seems stable enough so you can see her now, though.”
Wolf looked down at Lauren. She nodded.
“You can go in, too,” Capriati said to her.
“Oh. No, I—”
“I’d like to go in, too, Doctor,” Patterson said. “She’s my good friend.”
Capriati looked down his nose and raised his hands. “Okay, but nobody else. And I want you three to be gentle—she’s been through a major head trauma, which as you know, Lauren, can mean volatile emotions.”
“We’ll be fine, Doc,” Wolf said. He turned to MacLean, Rachette, Wilson, and Yates. “And they’ll be fine with staying out here. Let’s go.”
Capriati walked into the room, Patterson on his heels. Wolf let Lauren go ahead of him.
The lights inside were off but the cracked blinds let in a smattering of photons.
Luke sat up in her bed, staring through the exterior wall as if she were asleep with her eyes open.
“Hey, Kristen,” Patterson said, inching up to the foot of the bed.
Luke’s eyes narrowed then widened, and she turned her head slowly toward them.
“Hello, Kristen,” Lauren said.
“Hey, Luke.”
Luke’s gaze bounced off each of them in turn. “Who are you?”
Chapter 13
“I’m Heather. Heather Patterson. And this is David Wolf. And Lauren … Coulter.”
Luke’s eyes lowered to her own hand. She made a fist and sucked in a breath. “My hand hurts.”
“We think you might have hit somebody,” Wolf said.
Capriati shuffled into Wolf’s peripheral vision. “Kristen, do you remember our conversation a few minutes ago?”
She looked at him. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Can you repeat the salient points back to me, please?”
“Salient points? Yeah, sure. You said I was in a car accident and that’s why my forehead feels like somebody’s driven a dozen nails into it. And why when I turn my head—my brain rattles in my skull.”
“Yes. And what else? Do you remember … who you are? Your occupation?”
“Kristen Luke. Special agent at the Snohomish field office.”
“And where is that?”
“Everett, Washington. North of Seattle. But … you said we’re in Colorado right now.” Luke lifted her head off the pillow and closed her eyes. “You said I was in a car accident here.”
Capriati wrote something on his electronic notebook.
“Do you remember why you were here?” Wolf asked.
Luke blinked a few times, then locked eyes with Wolf. “Wait a minute.” She smiled wide and tears welled in her eyes. “You’re David. You’re David Wolf. And you’re Patty. Heather Patterson. And”—she looked at Lauren and her smile dropped—“you’re Lauren Coulter. Yes, I remember you guys.”
Wolf looked at Lauren and saw the tail end of a hurt expression.
“I don’t know why I’m here.” Luke’s voice took on a childish quality. “I don’t remember that.”
“That’s okay, Kristen. Your memories will come back,” Capriati said. “Like we discussed before, you’ve had a bad blow to the head, and your memories have been pushed to the back of your mind for the moment. It’s called retrograde amnesia, and it’s my belief you’ll recover in due time.”
“Do you remember how long you’ve been in Snohomish County?” Wolf asked.
“What’s the date?”
“It’s October 1st.”
Luke scrunched her forehead.
“You don’t have to answer that, Kristen.” Capriati walked toward the bed, speaking the words to Wolf.
Luke leaned back into the pillow and her troubled expression melted into slack-jawed unconsciousness.
“Kristen?” Capriati asked softly.
Luke stirred and made a sound.
“See how delicate this is?” said Capriati. “She’s sleeping now. We have to let her. Back out, everyone.”
They went out into the hall. Capriati joined them and Wolf asked, “What kind of amnesia did you say she had?”
“Retrograde amnesia. She’s exhibiting some classic signs consistent with Ribot’s Law, which has to do with subjects losing more memories closer to a traumatic incident, and accessing those more remote.”
Patterson folded her arms. “Like, she can remember older memories but not newer ones?”
“Correct. The closer to the car accident, the less likely she’ll recover that memory.”
“How long can that take?” Wolf asked. “To access her memories again? To know how close to the accident she can recall?”
Capriati shrugged. “There’s no way of predicting that. It’s different for every patient—for every injury. The good news is, she remembered our earlier conversation.”
“Why is that good news?” Wolf asked.
“Because she can make new memories,” Lauren said.
Capriati nodded. “Anterograde amnesia is a whole different animal and suggests a higher degree of brain trauma.”
“How much trauma does she have?” Wolf asked, remembering Luke’s child-like tone. “Are we talking lasting brain damage?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. She has no skull fractures, her initial head MRI looked promising, no hemorrhaging. Of course, we’ll need to take more scans.”
A thumping sound echoed through the building. Wolf spotted movement at the end of the hall. Rachette, MacLean, Wilson, and Yates all looked out the window.
“What’s that?” Patterson asked.
“Sounds like a Flight for Life helicopter,” Lauren said, walking after them.
“Feds,” Wolf said.
Chapter 14
Wolf looked up through the shaking window but was unable to see the chopper.
To the west, a descending helicopter shadow danced across the sage, closing in on the building, then the noise dissipated.
Lauren put a hand on his chest. “Listen, this is getting action-packed. I’m going to take off and go pick up Ella, okay?”
Wolf nodded. “Okay. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just keep me posted, all right?”
“I will.” He bent down and kissed her hard on the mouth.
She backed away but he pulled her into him, and now she responded with the same intensity. “Okay.” She slapped his chest. “Call me.”
“I will.”
He watched her leave through the stairway doors.
“What did she say?” Rachette shuffled in next to him.
“She has to go pick up Ella.”
“No, Luke.”
“Not much. She can’t remember anything.”
“Amnesia? You’re kid
ding.”
“Retrograde amnesia,” Patterson said. “The closer to the traumatic event, the less likely the subject can recall a memory. Kind of like a Thursday night for you at Beer Goggles.”
“Good one.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator dinged and they turned to watch the doors slide open.
Four men stepped out, two in blue suits and, behind them, two more in flight suits with medical logos sewn into them. They wheeled out a gurney fitted with Velcro straps.
“What are they doing?” Rachette asked under his breath.
Wolf and MacLean made toward the two agents.
“Which one of you is Earnshaw?” MacLean asked.
The lead man swerved toward MacLean and held out a hand. “Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Dale Earnshaw.”
“Sheriff Will MacLean, Sluice–Byron County.”
They knotted hands.
Earnshaw’s looked to be in his late-fifties, and fit with it. His shoulders were broad and a thick neck pressed against his collar. The muscular arms could have crushed MacLean, but the agent finished the greeting quickly and turned his attention to Wolf. “Earnshaw.”
“Chief Detective David Wolf.”
Earnshaw waved toward his companion. “Special Agent Nackley.”
Nackley dove forward and offered a limp handshake.
“Where’s the doctor?” said Earnshaw, pointedly ignoring the two pilots.
Another hand was thrust into the circle. “I’m Dr. Capriati.”
“Ah, yes, Dr. Capriati.”
“I was the one who spoke to you on the phone an hour ago. And I told you: she woke up, and she went back to sleep. She’s still asleep.”
Earnshaw blinked. “I understand. We need to know where she is.”
“Why do you have a medevac team here?”
“To bring her home.”
“This close to her waking up?”
“She’s in room 305, sir,” Nackley said, reading off his phone screen.
Earnshaw nodded to the medevac team.
The pilots looked down the hall and pushed their gurney.
“Whoa,” Capriati said.
Wolf walked in front of the gurney and stopped it. “What are you guys doing?”
“Detective,” Earnshaw said.
“I suggest you start explaining yourself,” MacLean said.
Earnshaw raised his eyes from MacLean. “Whoa, everyone. We’re the good guys here.”
“So are we,” Wolf said. “And Special Agent Luke is our friend. So explain. Where are you taking her?”
“Back to Washington.”
“Why?”
“Because when she wakes up again, she’s needed there.”
“Why?”
Earnshaw’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not something we can talk about here.”
“She has a bruise on her back where she was shot in her vest, a bruise on her face where she was punched, a bruise on the back of her head, and zip-tie marks on her wrists. And she can’t remember how any of it happened. She’s not going anywhere until you can explain where all those marks came from. Because she didn’t come to you for help. Instead, she drove eighteen hours southeast to us.”
“She can’t remember anything about what happened to her?” Earnshaw asked.
“No.”
“You in charge here?”
Wolf looked to MacLean.
“Yeah, sure,” MacLean said. “He’s in charge.”
“Take us to see her.” Earnshaw flicked his eyes toward the room. “We’ll discuss the situation in there, okay?”
“The medevac team stays here,” Wolf said.
Earnshaw rolled his eyes. “Fine. Could you two please wait here? There. Satisfied?”
Wolf looked at Capriati.
“Follow me.”
Chapter 15
The troubled crease between Kristen Luke’s eyes had returned.
Wolf watched from behind as Earnshaw and Nackley approached the bed.
Earnshaw looked down at her and nodded once. “Okay. It looks like you guys have done a good job with her. We need to take her now.”
“No,” Wolf said. “The deal was, you explain.”
Luke stirred on the bed and cracked open her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“There she is.” Earnshaw moved toward the bed. “Special Agent Luke.”
Luke shook her head, then moaned and put her hand to her temple. “What?”
“It’s me, Earnshaw.”
She blinked. “Who?”
Earnshaw frowned. “You can’t remember who I am?”
She stared at him for a few seconds. “No.”
“Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Dale Earnshaw.”
“I mentioned to you on the phone earlier that she has retrograde amnesia,” Capriati said.
“Yes, that’s right, Doc. I know. I thought that meant she couldn’t remember newer memories, not older ones, like who her boss is of the last year.”
She blinked rapidly. “Yes. Hello, sir. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first.”
Earnshaw turned to Capriati. “We need to see her better. Turn on the lights.”
“No lights.” Capriati walked to the blinds and opened them a sliver.
Luke squinted but seemed to adjust easily enough.
“Thanks,” Earnshaw said. “Luke, we need to ask you some questions.”
“You promised an explanation,” Wolf said.
“Yeah, and she can give it.”
“She doesn’t remember anything. Her short-term memory is shot.”
“So we heard,” Earnshaw said.
“So, you see how she can’t explain. But you can. Why was she out in the middle of the state? Why does she have a gunshot bruise on her back? Why does she have those marks on her wrists?”
Luke studied her own wrists and wriggled in the bed. “That’s a gunshot? Feels like I’ve been kicked by a horse.”
Earnshaw looked at her. “You don’t remember anything?”
“She doesn’t. Now start talking.”
“Wait …” Luke put a hand to her head. “I do remember something.”
“What?” Earnshaw asked.
Nackley edged toward the bed.
“I remember Swain. I was following him.”
Earnshaw and Nackley looked at each other.
“Who’s Swain?” Wolf asked.
“Her partner. You were following Swain. Where?”
She shook her head, then put her hand back against her temple, as if to keep her head from toppling off her neck. “An alley. I don’t know. Down an alley.”
“An alley?” Earnshaw was clearly expecting a different answer. “What alley?”
“Downtown.”
“Seattle?”
“That’s where you guys live, right?” Wolf said.
“I’m asking because, the last we knew, she was two hours out east with her partner, in the Cascades. She and Swain were following a lead on some individuals of interest. This ringing any bells, Luke?”
“No,” she croaked.
Earnshaw stood to his full height and put a hand on the small of his back, as if he’d felt a twinge. “Damn.”
Wolf eyed Earnshaw expectantly.
“Four days ago,” Earnshaw said, “Special Agent Luke and her partner, Special Agent Jake Swain, contacted me. They were on Highway 2 east. Destination: a place near the Snohomish County line. They were moving on a lead Swain had picked up concerning a family and some gun thefts.”
“Gun thefts.” Luke frowned. “Which gun thefts?”
“The smash and grabs.”
“The ones six months ago?” she asked.
“Yes.” Earnshaw leaned closer.
“They were in highly populated areas,” Luke said. “Kent. Seattle. Everett.”
“Right.”
“But we were going out east?”
Earnshaw sighed and nodded. “So you don’t remember shit.” He paced some more.
“No, I don’t.”<
br />
“You’re not making a good case for taking her,” Wolf said. “You know more than her. She was out east, by the county line. There’s no need to pull her out of here by helicopter. It’s time to let her rest, especially if it’s better for her health. You guys can head back up, drive out to the county line and start investigating in the meantime.”
“We already have units at the county line,” Earnshaw said. “We had two missing agents—we went straight east. It turned out their lead was false. The family had moved to the eastern seaboard, except for grandma and grandpa, who were so decrepit they couldn’t have stolen candy from a kid.”
“Two agents missing?” Wolf asked.
Earnshaw nodded. “Yes, Detective. Luke here and her partner. Kristen Luke showed up, thank God, but Swain’s still missing up there. We’re at a dead end, and the only person who can steer us right is lying here. When her memory starts coming back, we need her close so we can act. A man’s life is on the line.” Earnshaw looked at Luke. “Shit.”
Wolf followed his eyes. Luke was back asleep.
“Get the medevac team in here.”
Nackley left the room.
Earnshaw pointed at Wolf. “You want to help? Stay here and help us move her. Otherwise, you can step aside. My nice-guy routine’s over. We’re taking her.”
The gurney came around the corner.
Rachette appeared in the hallway and pushed his way inside. “You want me to do something?”
Wolf shook his head.
One of the pilots spoke to Capriati. The other pushed the gurney toward Wolf.
“Excuse me.”
Wolf and Rachette moved out of the way.
“They’re taking her?” Rachette asked.
Wolf concentrated on the three men huddled around her bed, rehearsing like they were getting ready to move a piece of furniture. By the time he stepped over to help, they’d already finished the transfer.
A nurse came inside and helped tuck a fresh blanket over Luke’s body. Then the medevac team strapped her to the bed.
Capriati signed a few papers and handed them to the medevac doctor.
Wolf turned around and walked out of the room.
“Where are you going?” Rachette asked.
“I have to make a phone call.”
He strode to the waiting room, phone in hand. He went to the windows, and saw Lauren’s car was already gone from the lot below.
