Part 12 (1/2)
”No.”
Tang took out her notebook. ”He was on a business trip to the Middle East and Africa. What was he doing?”
”What he always does. Corporate security.”
”Specifically?”
”Ian doesn't discuss his work with me. It's a matter of corporate confidentiality.”
”Is Ian's job dangerous?” Jo said.
”No.”
”Overseas security for a high-tech firm? Never?”
”He makes sure that the people he escorts don't get into trouble. He keeps them miles away from dangerous situations.”
”What does Chira-Sayf do?” Jo said.
”Materials research.” Misty tried leaving it there, but Jo and Tang both stared at her until she added, ”Nanotechnology.”
Jo nodded blandly. But in the back of her mind, a red flag went up. ”What's his background and training?”
”Why?” Misty said.
”I need to gather as much information as I can.”
Misty crossed her knees. Her foot jittered in the chunky boot. ”Ten years in the army. Came out and found a career where his skills were valued.”
”Which skills?”
Misty eyed her closely. ”You been in the military?”
”No. Why?”
”Some civilians just think: army. Shoot 'em up. Camouflage and yessir, nosir. There are dozens of specialties within the armed forces. Ian was in reconnaissance.”
Tang wrote it down. In the quiet of the house, her pen strokes were audible.
Jo glanced at a framed photo on a bookshelf. ”Is that your son?”
”Seth,” Misty said.
The boy in the photo had Kanan's coppery hair and frosty blue eyes behind his gla.s.ses. His smile had a c.o.c.ky edge chipped into it. The joke's on them. The smile reeked of adolescence but seemed impish rather than sarcastic. Seth was sitting cross-legged on the lawn, playing a guitar. A big dog, with an Irish setter's coloring and a Labrador's goofy hopefulness, was poking his nose against his shoulder.
”Nice-looking boy. How old is he?”
”Fourteen.”
Jo waited for her to say more. In this situation some people would ask her questions or blurt emotional revelations. Others clenched everything in, defending their preconceptions, their hopes or myths about their loved ones. She waited to see whether Misty would say anything about her son. She didn't.
”Have you told him?” Jo said.
”Not yet.” Misty's foot continued jittering.
Jo wanted to ask, Everything all right with the family? But tough cookie was turning out to mean stubborn, defiant, defensive. So she played it in a lower key.
”The psychological evaluation requires me to map the victim's life. I investigate the victim's entire history, meaning medical, psychological, and emotional-family, relations.h.i.+ps, marriage...”
The blush started at the base of Misty's neck and rose up her cheeks. ”You want me to talk about our s.e.x life?”
Jo put up a hand. ”I'm just saying, relations.h.i.+ps are something I ask about.”
Misty licked her lips. ”No, it's fine. Ian and I are close. We always have been. It was chemistry at first sight.”
The blush was so hot it was practically pulsing. Jo thought that if they turned off the lights, it might bathe the room in a scarlet glow.
”He's my soul mate. I could forget myself in him. I could...” She stopped, realizing she'd used the word forget. Her eyes looked flash-bulb hot. ”Great, a Freudian slip.”
Maybe so.
”I didn't mean anything by it.”
”Psychiatrists note things like that, Misty. But we don't judge.”
Misty worked her jaw back and forth, as though saying, Sure. ”We're happy in bed. How's that?”
”That's fine.”
Misty's foot continued jittering. She looked at the floor. When she looked up again, her eyes were bright with tears.
”What's he going to be like from now on? Is he going to forget me?”
Jo paused, working out how much she could say and with what certainty.
”I'm his wife. And I'm a school nurse. You can tell me anything.”
”His memories before the injury should remain intact,” Jo said.
”So there's no way he's going to forget his own name, where he grew up, what he does for a living, that kind of thing.”
”No.”
”How about our marriage?”
”He'll remember. His amnesia isn't the kind you see portrayed in most movies. Anterograde amnesia means he can't form new memories.”