Forget to Remember (4 page)

Tina reached over and patted her shoulder.
Carol blew her nose into a paper napkin and tried to recover her
composure. “Now I’ll clear the table and wash the dishes.”

“Ernie will show you how to run the
dishwasher. He’s the expert.”

“Rigo’s the expert.” Ernie made a face. “But
now we hope, after all the money we spent on his education, he’ll
become expert in something other than washing dishes.”

CHAPTER 5

Rigo navigated into Orange County using a
combination of Pacific Coast Highway, other surface streets, and
the 405 freeway. Today was Sunday, a week since he found Carol
during the brunch shift. He was working the evening shift today
instead of brunch, so they could take this excursion.

Carol followed their progress on AAA maps,
insisting she wanted to be able to find her way around as soon as
possible. “I’m starting from scratch here. My mind is blank. I’ve
got a lot to learn in a short time. However, I think part of my
problem with the local geography is that I’ve never lived
here.”

Her mind wasn’t really blank. She had a
well-developed sense of style, judging from the clothes she picked
out with Tina’s help yesterday. Even Rigo, a mere man as his
sisters liked to say, could see that. She knew how to use a
computer, and she made them a delicious omelet for breakfast. She
remembered a lot of things. What she had forgotten was information
that identified her as a person. Unfortunately, as Rigo was coming
to realize, without this information, she wouldn’t be treated like
a real person.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a GPS on this old
car. My parents have them on theirs.”

“It’s better that I learn my way around
without a GPS. All a GPS tells you is to turn right or turn left.
You don’t get a feel for where you are in relation to other places.
Besides, I hate that snotty voice that says ‘recalculating’
whenever you have the nerve to do something other than exactly what
it demands.”

Rigo laughed. She had obviously used a GPS
before. He exited the 405 and headed a short distance into a
housing tract. Northwestern Orange County was mostly flat, with
wide main streets heading north-south and east-west, making it easy
to navigate. The oranges and cows had been gone for almost fifty
years. He pulled up in front of a one-story house that had been
there for a while. A lone palm tree grew in the front yard, and a
car almost as old as Rigo’s sat in the driveway.

“This is where Frances lives.”

They walked up the short driveway, and Rigo
rang the doorbell. The woman who answered was small, with curly
hair, rimless glasses, and inquisitive eyes. She gave Rigo a hug
and then turned to Carol and shook her hand.

“Come in, come in.” She stepped back into
the small living room and looked Carol up and down. “You don’t fit
the picture of a lost soul, especially with your new clothes. From
what I heard, your wounds seem to be healing nicely, too.”

Rigo had mentally noted the same thing about
her wounds earlier that morning. In addition, her short skirt and
v-neck T-shirt-like top weren’t that much different than many young
women wore, but Carol wore them better. The beret she wore to cover
her bald spots looked sporty. Makeup almost covered the marks on
her face.

Carol smiled at the compliment. “Tina bought
them for me. She and Ernie have been so wonderful—and Rigo,
too.”

“Yes, I can see why Rigo would take an
interest in you.” Frances gave Rigo an amused look. “Not trying to
belittle what you did for Carol.” Back at her. “I’ve known Rigo
since he was a pup, so I’m allowed to kid him. I’ve been friends
with his parents forever. Come into the back room. It’s more
comfortable. I’ll get us some iced tea.”

The back room had sofas you could sink into
and a large coffee table to work on. Frances’ laptop computer sat
there. She brought in a pitcher of iced tea and glasses.

Carol was obviously fascinated with her. “I
understand you’re a forensic genealogist. I’ve never heard of that
before—as far as I can remember.” She made a face when she said
“remember.”

“It’s a fancy way of saying I help find who
was who, and who did what and when.”

“That’s exactly the kind of help I need. But
I’m afraid I can’t pay you for your time. As you know, I don’t have
any money.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m intrigued by the
challenge. Rigo, thanks for e-mailing me the photos of Carol this
morning. You’re a good photographer. I’ve already started putting
them on Web sites for missing and unidentified persons.”

“We looked at a bunch of those
yesterday.”

Carol cut in. “Nobody except us seems to be
looking for me. Maybe I’m an orphan. Maybe I don’t have any
family.”

Frances nodded. “If so, that will add some
complexity. Certainly your attacker isn’t looking for you. He
probably thinks you’re dead. If he’s seen the news reports to the
contrary, he hopes you won’t regain your memory. I understand the
police have checked your fingerprints with national databases and
haven’t come up with anything. I guess you’re a law-abiding
citizen.”

“That’s a relief. Although, if I were a
felon, at least I’d know who I am.”

Frances turned on a tape recorder. “Do you
mind if I record our conversation? I want a friend of mine to
listen to it who’s an expert on accents. Although you don’t seem to
have much of one. Also, write something for me.” Frances produced a
piece of paper and a pen. “Write ‘Carol Golden’ and then write the
sentence, ‘The quick young fox jumps over the lazy brown dog’ and
anything else that comes into your head.”

“I know.” Carol smiled as she began writing.
“You have a friend who’s a handwriting expert.”

“Yes. Now I’d like you to take a DNA test.
It’s easy to do; you just scrape the inside of your cheek with what
looks like a miniature toothbrush. I’ve got a kit with me for just
such an occasion. Although, we don’t come across an amnesiac every
day. I’ll go get it.”

When she went out of the room, Carol turned
to Rigo. “Don’t these tests cost money?”

“Shhh. My parents will pay for it.”

“Your parents are paying for
everything.”

“They’ve got plenty of money.”

“But I don’t want to be a charity case.”

Rigo put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t
worry about it. You’ll get a chance to pay them back.”

Frances returned with the DNA kit and showed
Carol how to scrape the inside of her cheek. She had to do it twice
more, three hours apart. Frances explained what would happen to it.
“We’ll test your mitochondrial DNA, or mt-DNA as it’s called. This
is DNA that exists outside the cell nucleus. The beauty of it is a
mother passes it intact to all her children.”

“So I have the same mt-DNA as my
mother.”

“And your mother’s mother, and her mother,
back for thousands of years. It will show what group, called a
haplogroup, you belong to, which will allow us to trace your female
ancestors’ path out of Africa.”

“At the moment I’d just like to trace my
mother or grandmother.”

“Your DNA will be placed on a database using
a code to identify it. When it matches the DNA of someone else,
we’ll contact that person. It could be a man. If you have any
brothers or sisters they have the same mt-DNA you have.”

Rigo had taken a class in genetics.
“Couldn’t there be thousands of people who have the same mt-DNA as
Carol?”

“Yes, that’s possible, depending on what
group you’re in. We can’t prove somebody is your sibling or in your
direct ancestral line with it. We’ll use it in conjunction with any
other information we have about Carol.”

Carol looked thoughtful. “What if we find
somebody who might be my father? Is there a DNA test we can
do?”

“We’ll also test your autosomal, or
non-sex-linked DNA. Using statistical analysis, we can determine
probable relationships. You and each of your parents or full
brothers and sisters share about half of your DNA, including
identical segments of what are called markers. Grandparents, half
siblings, aunts, or uncles share roughly a quarter of your DNA. You
share a percentage of your DNA with your cousins, depending on
whether they’re first, second, third—”

“Let’s say we find somebody we think is
about a second cousin through statistical analysis, but we don’t
know exactly how we’re related. What do we do then?”

“We start with whatever clues we have about
you and look for your common ancestor. Genealogical information is
widely available online as more and more people get interested in
their past. We can also look up records of births, deaths,
marriages, and other vital statistics that are kept in dusty old
rooms in dusty old buildings if we have to. You haven’t lived until
you’ve tried to read handwritten two hundred-year-old record
books—or perhaps thousand-year-old record books.”

Carol laughed. “We need to know where to
look in order to do that.”

“Right. Let’s keep the horse before the
cart. We need to find people who recognize you, or identify
relationships based on where you might have lived, gone to school,
worked. What are your family names? That’s why a presence on the
Internet is important. It’s fun to find one’s great grandparents,
but in your case, we’re just trying to find your parents.”

“Thanks for the lesson. Statistical analysis
sounds like fun. I know girls aren’t supposed to like math, but I
have the feeling I’ve dabbled in it at some point.”

Frances picked up a pad. “That’s good to
know. I’ll put it on your profile. It’s time I got off my
professorial stool. Tell me what else you remember.”

“Not much of anything. I have feelings
rather than memory. I have a feeling I don’t live in California.
Nothing here seems to be familiar to me.”

“Do you have any feelings for any other part
of the country?”

“Possibly the northeast.”

“Your accent is compatible with that,
although you don’t sound like a New Yorker or a Bostonian. You
undoubtedly have a Social Security number, but finding it without a
name or your birth date is almost impossible, especially because of
privacy laws. You probably have a driver’s license—”

“She told me she’s a good driver and keeps
asking me to let her drive.”

“I’m sure I can drive a car, but Rigo won’t
let me.” Carol gave Rigo a poke, almost spilling the glass of iced
tea he was holding.

Frances said, “You can prove it in an empty
parking lot early in the morning. Drivers’ licenses are issued by
state. Some states have facial recognition software that can be
used to match a photo with pictures on their database, but each
state handles that sort of thing differently. Unless we know what
state issued your license, we can’t really pursue finding it.”

Rigo asked, “What about high school and
college records?”

“Certainly. Again, if we can pin down a
location, that will help. Carol, you’re smart. You probably went to
college. If we can find out your areas of expertise, that can
assist us in checking college records and also possible jobs you
might have had. Math might be one possibility.”

“I don’t know whether I’m an expert at
anything except getting hit on the head. Although, thankfully, my
headaches are getting less frequent.”

“What about hypnosis for bringing back
memory?” Rigo had been partially hypnotized by a classmate in
college, and, based on the experience he wasn’t completely
convinced it was a good thing.

“It’s a possibility. You have to be careful.
There are cases on record where the person being hypnotized
produced false memories.”

Carol frowned. “Judging from the time I was
probably placed in the Dumpster, the doctors think I was
unconscious for about twenty-four hours. I don’t want to lose
control like that again, at least not right now. Maybe later…”

“We’ll keep that in reserve. For purposes of
describing you, I need your height and weight.”

“I looked at my hospital records. They said
I was five eight and a hundred and fifteen pounds. I may have
gained a couple of pounds since then.”

“Good. You’re awfully thin. Your hair…”
Carol took off her beret “…is dark brown, with bald spots.”

“Some of my hair was shaved off because of
my injuries. Those spots are temporary—I hope. But I have a
permanent scar on my abdomen that isn’t new.”

Frances noted that. “And your eyes?” Frances
looked closely at her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d say
they’re almost violet.”

Rigo took his turn. For a moment he had the
feeling her eyes were deep wells and he was in danger of falling
into them. He recovered himself with a jerk. “Definitely
violet.”

“Skin color—interesting. That of a tan
Caucasian. Have you been out in the sun?”

“Not in the last few days.”

“I suspect your ancestry is mixed.” Frances
made more notes. “Here’s an idea. You’re young. Most young people
today have a presence on the Internet. Social sites like Facebook.
Videos on YouTube. Pretty girls are especially likely to have their
pictures out there. You have the face and figure of a model. Rigo,
here’s your assignment. Search the Internet for Carol’s picture.
You know the likely places better than I do.”

Rigo faked a gasp. “Find her on the
Internet? Yeah, there are only a few gazillion Web sites where she
could be. It will take me at least a day to scan them. Or maybe a
century.”

“My hair might have been longer in the past.
I keep thinking it’s too short.”

“Hair length is obviously not a good way of
finding a match.” Colleen studied Carol’s hair. “Neither is color,
because many people dye their hair, although yours doesn’t look
dyed. Your high hairline is a good indicator because that doesn’t
change much. Neither does the shape of the eyebrow ridge. Skin
color is iffy; any Caucasian with a tan will match your color. Your
eyes are distinctive. If a photo shows a girl’s eyes clearly, that
will help. We can also use the shape of your face. You’re young,
and I doubt that you’ve ever been fat, so your face has probably
always had the same shape.”