The Memory Collector by Meg Gardiner Page A

checked the bedrooms and the utility room. I was hoping Ian might . . .” She shrugged.
    “Has he been here?” Jo said.
    “No.” She spread her arms and let them drop to her sides. “I can’t believe he ran from the hospital.”
    “You have any idea why he ran?” Tang said.
    “Because he’s . . . off the wall, mentally.”
    Shrugging again, Misty led them along the front hall and through the kitchen. The house was compact and modern, floored with blond wood. Dishes were stacked in the sink, a bottle of ketchup open on the counter. The fridge was covered with magnets and a high school schedule. A dog bowl sat in the corner, full of food.
    Jo said, “Mrs. Kanan, the police have asked me to evaluate Ian’s mental state. I need to ask some direct questions if we’re going to find your husband and figure out what has caused this—”
    “Disaster,” Misty said.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m a pretty tough cookie. You can be direct.”
    Misty headed to the living room. It had been decorated via Target, with a cheap-and-cheerful chic. A stack of newspapers slumped across the coffee table. A hamper of laundry sat on the floor, and in the corner the ironing board was set up, iron propped up, ready to go. Misty, though, had seemingly been stopped in her tracks.
    Maybe she was a tough cookie, but she looked exhausted and on edge. She sat in an easy chair, hands clenched on her knees.
    Jo sat across from her on the sofa. “Has Ian phoned you since he left the hospital?”
    “No.”
    “Could I listen to the messages he left after his flight landed?”
    “I erased them,” Misty said.
    Damn it. Jo kept her expression neutral. “Why?”
    “Forty-nine messages? ‘Misty, I just landed.’ ‘Misty, I’m on my way.’ ‘Misty, please pick up.’ Same tone, same confusion. It was, like, replay .” She scraped her fingernails over her tartan skirt as if she had a dreadful itch. “I couldn’t take it.”
    Tang pricked up her ears, like a Jack Russell terrier that had heard a squirrel in the bushes. “Mrs. Kanan, after you left the hospital your husband assaulted Dr. Beckett.”
    “What are you talking about?” Misty said.
    “He dragged her into an elevator, pulled a knife, and pinned her to the wall.”
    Misty gaped at Jo. Her anger was immediate and hot. “He pinned you? That makes no sense. I don’t believe it.”
    “And he made threats,” Tang said. “Against what I’m assuming is a list of people.”
    “That’s not possible.” She glanced back and forth between Tang and Jo. “Where are you coming up with this? Threats? Ian is severely ill. ”
    Jo clasped her hands in her lap. “I know. Ian may have been contaminated with a substance that has caused his brain injury.”
    “Contaminated? Where’d you get that?” Misty said.
    “From your husband. Do you have any idea how he could have been poisoned?”
    “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.