Peril by Jordyn Redwood Page B

Detective Sawyer.” Vanhise motioned him to follow.
    â€œPlease, call me Brett. No need to be so formal.”
    They walked a short distance to the kitchen. A small farmer’s table sat to one side of the wall. Derrick lifted a pot of freshly brewed coffee from the counter and Brett gave a quick thumbs-up.
    â€œBlack?” Vanhise asked.
    â€œHow’d you guess?”
    â€œYou don’t seem like the cream-and-sugar type.”
    Brett took a seat as Vanhise placed the cup in front of him. “It’s not foo-foo coffee, is it? Someone tried to give me raspberry flavored once and I almost booked them into jail just for the shame of it. I hate that stuff.”
    â€œSimple, basic, Folgers.”
    â€œThat’s music to my ears.” Brett lifted the steaming mug. “Cheers.”
    â€œWhisky?”
    Brett smiled. “Not tonight. But I appreciate you being so thoughtful.”
    Vanhise stirred sugar into his cup and took a seat as well. “What brings you all this way? You were vague over the phone.”
    Brett pulled the evidence bag from his pocket and set it on the table. “These.”
    With one finger, Derrick pulled the plastic his way. “Dog tags?”
    â€œThey belong to a Dylan Worthy. I found them at Zoe’s crime scene.”
    â€œThe rectangles bouncing off the light she referred to in her interview. After all this time?”
    â€œIt took me a while.”
    â€œHow can I help? Looks worth pursuing.”
    â€œOh, absolutely, I’ll be hot on Mr. Worthy’s trail. But I wanted to ask you . . . do you think it’s possible? Transferring memories between people?”
    Vanhise eased back in his chair. “A doctor has to be open to things sometimes that don’t have clear, concrete answers.”
    â€œSo it is possible.”
    A gray-muzzled chocolate lab lumbered into the room, sidled up to Derrick, and laid his huge head on his leg.
    â€œDo you like dogs?” Vanhise asked.
    â€œNot a fan of animals really. A dog I could take. Cats . . . I don’t go out of my way to provide assistance if they’re up a tree. Just don’t have the time to take care of them.”
    Vanhise motioned for the dog to lie down. The animal groaned displeasure. “Always wants a treat,” he said. Vanhise patted his head a few timesas he settled. “As to your question and the reason for your visit, I would say there’s enough anecdotal evidence to consider that it is a real possibility. Memory is a funny thing. We don’t really understand how the brain does it biologically, or even how young a person can be to form memories.”
    â€œHave you ever known a patient with such an experience?”
    â€œTo be truthful, I’ve taken Amy on as a patient.”
    â€œIs she the first person you’ve counseled with this kind of problem?”
    â€œNo, not really. I did counsel one particular patient who I believe formed memories in utero.”
    â€œWhat made you think that?”
    â€œWell, when she was growing in her mother’s womb, a medical error caused hypertonic saline to be infused into the uterus. As a result, she was born very prematurely. Her skin was horribly burned by the salty solution. She was hospitalized for months and continues to have chronic medical problems because of it.” Vanhise sipped his coffee. “She and her mother began to see me when she started elementary school because she had suddenly developed an irrational fear of fire. I mean a horrible, paralyzing fear. Would dream of her skin being burned off. Well, in fact, she had suffered this injury, but no one ever thought she would have been old enough to retain any memory of it.”
    â€œSo that’s what you decided? She remembered the injury and it resulted in a paralyzing fear of fire. How is that possible?”
    â€œBrain waves can be measured at eight weeks in a fetus, and the brain is fully