Forget to Remember

had followed the action around the building, saw the attendant give her what looked like oxygen.
    By this time, a sheriff’s car had arrived. The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department provided police protection for the city of Rancho Palos Verdes. The deputy asked Rigo questions and took notes. More police types came and put tape around the trash area. They took the bags out of the Dumpsters and searched through the garbage. Rigo answered questions and wondered who was going to clean up the mess they were making.
    Last came the media, consisting of a couple of television trucks with satellite dishes on top and several reporters, including one for the local Palos Verdes Peninsula News . All of them asked Rigo questions. He would be on the five o’clock news and in the newspapers. The restaurant manager excused him from working his shift but that probably meant he wouldn’t be paid.
    By the time everybody was through with Rigo, he was physically and mentally exhausted. He considered cancelling his tennis date with Adam but decided that kind of activity was what he needed to clear his head. He took his emotions out on the court, and poor Adam suffered the consequences.
    Now Rigo briefly summarized what had happened for Adam’s benefit, repeating the words that had become a memorized speech. He saw shock and awe on Adam’s face—Adam, who was usually imperturbable.
    Adam waited until Rigo finished before he spoke. “Damn. No wonder you slaughtered me. I know this sounds like an inane question, but—is she a babe?”
    “She might have been before some asshole made a punching bag out of her face.”
    “Will they catch who did it?”
    Rigo shrugged. “I gather they didn’t find any clues. No weapon, no clothes, no ID. They tried to get fingerprints off the Dumpster, but I think that’s a long shot…”
    “Maybe when she comes to she can tell who did that to her.”
    “ If she comes to. She looked pretty bad.”

    CHAPTER 2
    She was sitting in the vinyl-covered chair beside her hospital bed reading the newspaper accounts of how she had been found when the lady walked into the room. She wasn’t surprised; a lot of people had walked into her room during the several days for which she had any memory, including policemen. At least they said they were policemen. They hadn’t been in uniform, although they had flashed what looked like badges in front of her eyes.
    The lady wore slacks and a shirt unbuttoned one more button than was respectable for someone her age. She could stand to lose weight and needed to exercise. Her light brown hair was too long and looked dyed. She smiled.
    “Hi. I’m Andrea McGuiness. I work for Los Angeles County. You must be feeling better.”
    “Thank you. I am. I ate some real food this morning. Soon I hope to get rid of this.” She indicated the IV in her wrist with the tube attached to the bottle on the pole beside her. “I have to roll it along with me when I take my walks. All the people who’ve been to see me seem to work for Los Angeles County. I understand I’m in Torrance Hospital, which, coincidentally, is in the city of Torrance. But people keep telling me this is Los Angeles County.”
    “It is. There are lots of cities in Los Angeles County, including Torrance, and, of course, the city of Los Angeles.”
    “And where I was found is also Los Angeles County?”
    “Yes, Palos Verdes is in Los Angeles County.”
    “Thank you. I’m just trying to get oriented.”
    “I’m here to help you do that.”
    Andrea shifted the only other chair in the room so that the two chairs faced each other. She sat down. “It would help if you could tell me your name.”
    “I-I can’t remember. I told the policemen that.”
    “Yes, but that was yesterday. I was hoping your memory might be coming back.”
    “It hasn’t. The first time I looked in a mirror, I didn’t recognize the person there. Of course, I’m covered with bandages, and I’ve got all these cuts and bruises…”
    “The doctor told me you’ll be fine. You were apparently hit on the head with a blunt instrument—”
    “Yeah, I have headaches and I’ve got holes in my head—”
    “Well, depressions. But they’ll heal. How are your ant bites?”
    “They put ointment on them to stop the itching.” She smiled. “It could have been worse.”
    “You can’t remember who attacked you, and you seem to be a stranger to the Los Angeles area.”
    “I can’t remember anything. I don’t know where I live