Forget to Remember

FORGET TO REMEMBER

    by

    Alan Cook

    SMASHWORDS EDITION
    PUBLISHED BY:
    Alan Cook on Smashwords
    Forget to Remember
    Copyright © 2010 by Alan L. Cook

    All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

    Smashwords Edition License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

    ALSO BY ALAN COOK

    California Mysteries:
    Run into Trouble
    Hotline to Murder
    Gary Blanchard Mysteries:
    Honeymoon for Three
    The Hayloft: a 1950s mystery
    Lillian Morgan mysteries:
    Catch a Falling Knife
    Thirteen Diamonds
    Other fiction:
    Walking to Denver
    Nonfiction:
    Walking the World: Memories and Adventures
    History:
    Freedom’s Light: Quotations from History’s Champions of Freedom
    Poetry:
    The Saga of Bill the Hermit

    ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

    Sincere thanks to Colleen Fitzpatrick, the forensic genealogist who suggested the idea for this book, helped me with the DNA material, and told stories about searching for and identifying people. Also to my wife, Bonny, a genealogist herself. Dawn Dowdle did her usual fine job of editing. Any errors, of course, are mine.

    DEDICATION

    To all the non-persons of the world who have lost their identity.

    CHAPTER 1
    What Rigo liked best about his job as a dishwasher was taking out the garbage. This might seem counterintuitive to some people, but it gave him a chance to get away from the hot kitchen and into the balmy air, if only for a few seconds.
    He had noticed this joy as a teenager when dishwashing produced his first real paychecks, not just a few small bills handed to him for dog sitting or babysitting. It was still true ten years later as he returned to the minimum-wage job of his youth, using it as a safety net during a recession that had closed down all possibilities of a real job for the proud holder of a newly minted master’s degree in psychology.
    This was his first garbage run of the day. The brunch crowd was out in force on a sunny Sunday morning. They were better dressed and had fatter wallets than patrons of the typical Southern California restaurant, even if this meant their jeans were clean and they were just managing to make their monthly credit card payments. The recession seemed to affect everyone.
    The gate to the wooden-fenced enclosure was unlatched. Carlos had taken his place as dishwasher last night while Rigo attended a tennis tournament. How did Carlos expect to keep out the raccoons, skunks, and possums that roamed the hillsides of the Palos Verdes Peninsula? Rigo would have a word with him. He opened the gate quickly and was happy to see no surprised varmint challenged him or scooted under the Dumpsters.
    The green Dumpster lids were closed; at least Carlos had gotten that right. Rigo raised a lid with one hand, intending to swing the plastic trash bag up and in with the other. He stopped in mid-swing as something inside caught his eye—something in the enclosed depths that wasn’t black like the bags.
    The bloated bag pendulumed back and hit him in the leg. He dropped it on the ground, heart racing, gulping air permeated with the stench of three-day-old garbage. He cautiously peered over the metal rim, hoping, almost praying, that what he’d seen wasn’t what he thought it was.
    He jumped back, involuntarily, vomit rising in his throat, and the lid came crashing down. The noise startled