What She Found (Tracy Crosswhite #9)(60)

A thought struck her while talking to the general manager. “I wonder if you could tell me when Keith Ellis became a member?”

she asked, referring to Moss’s partner.

The general manager asked her to hold. Fingers typing on the keyboard came through the receiver. “Looks like Keith Ellis joined January 1996.”

Tracy thanked him and hung up. She looked again at the email open on her computer.

Fol ow the money.

It was possible Moss had inherited money. It was also possible his wife came from money or that she had inherited money, but Del

had told Tracy that Moss was in the midst of a nasty divorce in 1995, which made that scenario highly unlikely, and made it improbable he had disposable income to spend on a golf membership at a country club. Moss’s file indicated he also had five children. Twenty-five years ago, those children would have likely been in grade school, maybe early high school. Moss would have been in that period of life all parents go through—when their children could cost them an arm and a leg in school tuition, extracurricular sports and activities, food bills and clothing. And besides all of that, what was the probability that Keith Ellis had also inherited money, or that both he and Moss had invested wisely? Low. Very low.

Moss had come into some money. Ellis also.

But they hadn’t inherited it and they hadn’t earned it.

They’d stolen it.

At noon, Tracy drove to the clinic at the University of Washington Medical Center. Along the way she crossed the Montlake Cut, where the Washington rowing team dominated, and viewed the football stadium, which rose out of the ground like a huge W and provided spectators with a spectacular view of Lake Washington.

Dr. Laghari, who said she was eager to meet when she called Tracy back, greeted Tracy in the clinic lobby and led her to her office, which had a view of Portage Bay. Dr. Laghari had a soft physical presence that matched the tone of her voice. Laghari’s hand felt as small as a child’s and so delicate Tracy feared she might break it when they shook hands. A silk throw rug, expensive from the looks of the intricate weave, covered much of her office floor. The colors picked up the pale blue of the office walls, as well as the red in an abstract painting of bejeweled elephant heads. Dr. Laghari wore a white lab coat over black slacks and a white blouse. She offered Tracy a seat on a couch in her office and sat in a chair to the side.

“The case you sent over is fascinating,” Laghari said with the hint of a smile. “One doesn’t get such cases very often.”

“But can such a case occur, in your experience?”

“It is not common, but they most assuredly can occur.”

“Anything that you read in the file that gave you pause or made you think perhaps that the woman could have faked the scenario?”

“No. Nothing. But no two cases are alike, and I would require interviewing Ms. Childs and running tests before I could be certain.”

“I understand,” Tracy said, satisfied some medical explanation existed for what had happened to Lisa Childress. “Maybe you can give me a crash course on amnesia and what you think likely happened in this instance.”

“Of course. Let me walk you through it.”

“Just go easy on me,” Tracy said, drawing a smile from the doctor.

“Memory is information stored in the form of facilitated synaptic tracts in the brain. Each time certain sensory signals pass through a specific sequence of synapses, they imprint.”

“I’m with you . . . I think,” Tracy said.

“Memory is imprinted on the brain the way that songs were once imprinted on vinyl albums, so the song, or in our case the memory, can be played over and over again, if the person chooses to do so.”

“And like a vinyl album, is it also true that as the memory gets older, the recollection of the past event is not as clear as that first time the person experiences it?”

“Not a bad analogy, Detective. I may use it.” Another smile.

“Amnesia is defined as a temporary or permanent state of decreased memory. Depending on the cause of the damage, amnesia may result in partial or complete memory loss.”

“And what can cause it?”

“A number of things. Physical injury to an area of the brain, substance abuse, psychological trauma.” Laghari pointed to a cabinet on a wall in her office. “If I may?”

“Please,” Tracy said.

Laghari opened both sides of the cabinet, revealing a whiteboard and dry-erase pens. On the left panel she wrote anterograde amnesia. On the right panel she wrote retrograde amnesia.

“The hippocampus is present in the medial temporal lobe of the brain and is involved in the formation of long-term memory. It has been found that the removal of the hippocampus in some patients results in the patient’s inability to store new information. This is referred to as ‘anterograde amnesia.’ The person can recall memories stored in the brain prior to injury but cannot store memories after the injury. This does not appear to be the type of amnesia your individual suffered, at least not based on her medical records.”

Laghari stepped to the right side of the board. “The second type of amnesia is known as ‘retrograde amnesia.’ In this type of amnesia, the patient is unable to recall memories stored in the brain prior to the damage, but she can form and recall memories of events occurring after the damage.”

“You keep saying ‘damage.’ Do you mean a physical injury?”