Page 11 of Her Dying Secret

Dr. Nashat’s smile loosened. He looked behind them as if he expected to see someone else. “Truth be told, I’m glad to see you two and not your new colleague.”

“You’re not the only one,” Gretchen grumbled. “What’s he done now?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t have the same finesse with witnesses or the medical staff as the rest of you.”

“He doesn’t have it with anyone,” Josie muttered. “What can you tell us about Mira Summers?”

“When she was brought in, she had regained consciousness. She has a very large bruise on her forehead. She responded appropriately to verbal commands. I noted several signs of a concussion. She was immediately sent for a CT scan of her head. Don’t worry, one of your officers already came and took possession of her clothes and boots. One of the residents will get her arms sewn up as soon as possible, but the head injury took precedent. Anyway, Ms. Summers’s CT doesn’t show any visible injury, but I’ve diagnosed her with a concussion based on her other symptoms. For now, we will admit her for observation and continue to monitor her symptoms.”

“She’s awake?” Josie asked. “Lucid?”

Dr. Nashat frowned. “She is awake. She’s in a great deal of pain although the medication we’ve given her will help with that. She appears to have some memory loss.”

Gretchen narrowed her eyes. “What kind of memory loss?”

A nurse strode past them, pushing a man in a wheelchair. He held an ice pack against his nose. Dr. Nashat stepped out of the way. Josie and Gretchen followed suit. “She doesn’t remember much about the accident or the events leading up to it.”

Gretchen said, “Is that normal?”

“What we normally see in patients who have sustained concussions is short-term memory loss such as not remembering people’s names or forgetting where they put their keys, that sort of thing. It’s usually temporary and will resolve over the course of weeks or months. Miss Summers may very well present with that type of short-term memory loss in the coming weeks. In terms of her not remembering the accident? It can happen but it’s not common. There have been cases of patients not having any memory of the event that caused the concussion, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility. That said, it is also possible that she’ll recover those memories at some point. She doesn’t have complete memory loss. She knew she’d been in an accident when I spoke with her. She even knew which road she’d been on.”

It was selective, then. Josie looked at Gretchen and then back at Dr. Nashat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but is there any possibility that Mira Summers is…faking it?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Faking her memory loss?”

Gretchen said, “We had a case, several years back, where a woman faked her memory loss. Surely you understand how we’d be concerned about that happening again.”

He brought his hands together at his waist. “It’s difficult to say. Concussions present differently for every patient. Whether Mira Summers’s memory loss surrounding what led to her accident is real or whether she is”—here he used air quotes—“‘faking it,’ is not something I am in a position to comment on.”

“But she could be faking it,” Josie pressed.

Dr. Nashat pursed his lips. They were well out of medical territory now and Josie knew exactly why he didn’t want to answer. “Your personal opinion. Between us. Nothing you’ll have to testify to in court should the need arise.”

“We have experts for that,” Gretchen noted.

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “There is no measurable test by which we could determine that.”

That was a non-answer if Josie ever heard one. She genuinely liked Dr. Nashat, but she knew that was as much as he was willing to say on the matter.

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “I have patients.”

They thanked him for his time. As he walked off, Gretchen drained the rest of her coffee. “What do you want to do?”

Josie caught a flash of blue behind Gretchen. Officer Dougherty strode in their direction. Josie gestured toward him. “Talk to him first.”

A notepad appeared in Dougherty’s hands as he reached them. He flipped a page. “Quinn,” he said. “Brennan told me you’d be here.”

“What did you find at Mira Summers’s residence?” Josie asked.

Dougherty flipped another page. “She resides in a town house. A rental. One of those developments with dozens of identical town houses. I knocked and rang the bell. No response. One of her neighbors was home. He said she left in her car around eight this morning—by herself. She did not appear to be injured. He said she lives alone. Landlord confirmed. No one else is on the lease.”

“No children?” asked Josie.

Dougherty glanced at his notes. “No children on the lease, and the neighbor said he’s never seen any children coming or going.”

“Any pets?” asked Josie.

He looked up at her, as if surprised at the question. “Neighbor says she’s got a cat. You counting cats as roommates now?”

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