Nate and I aren’t glued to each other when we’re on a case.

Unless it’s something important, or a situation that could be dangerous, we go our separate ways. It maximizes what we can get done; for example, if we are just interviewing a witness, there is no need for us both to be there.

Nate says that we started working this way on the Liriano case, but I have no idea who Liriano is, or what his case was, and it doesn’t seem important enough to ask.

Captain Bradley has assigned an unusually large contingent of officers to work under us, so for now Nate is going to stay back at the office and run the operation. I’m going to conduct the interviews in the field.

My first stop is the building in Englewood where I’ve been attending the amnesia group meetings. I think it used to be an American Legion hall, but it has been taken over by a group of shrinks who use it to run support groups of various types. There is no name on the outside of the building, probably to provide privacy and anonymity to those who enter.

There are five rooms, four of which are set up to hold group meetings. In the lobby is a schedule of the day’s activities, and I check it when I arrive. Only room number three is currently occupied, with an overeaters’ support group. I would mention that to Nate, but he’d probably kill me for doing so.

The fifth room is for the administration office, so that’s where I head. A woman named Carla Betts is there. She is not part of the psychology staff, but she appears to do everything else. She certainly always seems to be here.

She’s never without a smile on her face, and this time is no exception. “Hi, Doug, didn’t expect you in today. I don’t think your group is meeting.” The other thing about Carla is that she recognizes everyone and calls them by their first name. It serves to make the place seem more comfortable and unthreatening.

“It’s not. I’m actually here on business.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember someone named Sean Connor? He attended some of the amnesia group sessions that I was in.”

“Of course I remember Sean. Nice man. Your office called to ask his address. What’s this about?”

The sketch of Sean is not ready to be shown in the media, so Carla would likely have no way of knowing what has happened. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s been murdered.”

“Oh, no.” She looks like I’ve hit her with a two-by-four.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Wait a minute … that poor man in the park? Oh, my God.…”

I nod my confirmation, but caution her not to say anything until his identity is publicly released. Of course, there would be no harm in Sean Connor’s name getting out, since that was a fake identity in the first place. “I need to ask you a few questions about him.”

She just keeps shaking her head in sadness, then realizes what I said and finally responds, “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Did you handle the intake when he first came here?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Did he show you identification?”

“No, we don’t require that.”

“How did he present himself? What did he say?”

She thinks for a few moments. “It was fairly typical. He gave me his name and address, and filled out the form. I have it here, because I referred to it when your office called.”

She takes it out of the drawer and hands it to me. “As you know, these aren’t very detailed.”

“What did he tell you about his reason for attending?”

“That he had been in an accident and had retrograde amnesia, and that he needed help dealing with it. I don’t ask too many questions; it’s not my area. And we’re not really concerned about someone fabricating a story; there would be little reason for someone to come in under false pretenses.”

“How did he pay?”

“With cash; I’m positive of that. It’s unusual that someone would do that, which is why I remember it. He paid in advance for six sessions.”

“How many did he attend?” Everyone has to sign in when they attend a session.

“Let’s see…” She taps some keys on her computer and then says, “Three. Starting ten days ago.”

“How many sessions have there been in that time?” I ask.

“Probably seven or eight. I could check.”

“I think I’ve been in three also. Can you tell me if I was in all of the sessions that he attended?”

“I can cross-check it, sure,” she says, and does so. “He was in every session you were in, and no others.”

The odds of him just happening to show up at the same three sessions as me are pretty steep, but it doesn’t surprise me. He was only there because I was.

“Carla, his name was not really Sean Connor, and I doubt very much that he was an amnesia victim at all. Is there anything you can remember that he said or did that might help me figure out who he really was?”

“I’m sorry, Doug, but I can’t think of anything. He was just a guy who said he needed help. That’s what we’re here for.”