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While waiting, Bosch read a pamphlet from a receptacle on the counter. It was about identifying the differences between normal age-related memory loss and abnormal deficits brought on by cognitive disorders. When he finished, his spirits were buoyed by the conclusion that his memory lapses fell in the normal category.

Five minutes passed but it wasn’t the receptionist who returned to the counter. It was a woman in a white hip-length doctor’s coat. She had dark hair pulled into a knot behind her head and a professional manner about her. Mid-fifties, and she didn’t bother to dye the strands of gray in her hair.

“Mr. Borsch?”

“Actually, it’s Bosch.”

“Apologies. Mr. Bosch. I’m Gail Sears, director of care. Mr. Bishop is my patient. You are a friend of his?”

“More like an acquaintance. We go way back.”

“Well, that’s the thing. We don’t have your name on the family-approved list of visitors.”

“I heard that. I guess I knew him before he had a family.”

“And what is your visit about?”

“Well, first of all, I didn’t know he was in memory care until I got here. I just had the address. But to be up front, I was hoping to jog his memory about something that happened a long time ago. So maybe I’m in the right place.”

Sears nodded and her eyes scanned Bosch from head to foot. She was trying to get a read on him.

“I’m an ex-cop,” Bosch said. “Not one of his probationers.”

“You understand our concern, then,” Sears said. “With Mr. Bishop having been a state probation officer, we have to be a bit more protective. Is it a case you want to ask him about?”

“Yes, a case.”

He offered nothing else.

“Since you’re law enforcement” — Sears apparently hadn’t heard the ex- in ex-cop — I can give you some information. Mr. Bishop has stage-six dementia. That’s on a scale of seven. It is unlikely that he will recall anything you ask about.”

“But it wouldn’t be harmful to ask him about it, right?”

“We use hypnotherapy as part of our treatment plan with Mr. Bishop. Do you know what that is?”

“I don’t know how you use it here, but I used it many years ago. I was trained in hypnosis as a detective. I know the basics of how it works. But that was before the courts stopped allowing hypnotized-witness testimony.”

“Hypnosis is not a standard treatment in memory care, but it’s a complementary therapy that I have used with positive results in some patients. My concern is that Mr. Bishop has a fragile hold on what memories he has now. We have been working with him for more than two years and I would not want to hinder our progress. Memories are like dreams. There are good and bad ones.”

“You want to know what I’m going to ask him?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I want to ask him about a specific day in 1965 to see if he has any memory of it. I believe he should.”

Sears smiled sympathetically, as if Bosch were the one with dementia.

“That is very unlikely,” she said. “Unless…”

Sears paused for a moment. Bosch could tell gears were turning as she weighed something.

“So you’re investigating a case that somehow involves him,” she said. “And you’re also a friend?”

Bosch nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Well, maybe not exactly a friend, but I knew him back in the day. At a place called MacLaren. Has he spoken about it?”

“He has,” Sears said. “But not with any clarity. Mostly in non sequiturs. He tells pieces of stories, but they’re unconnected. I believe these are real memories, but there are no narrative links.”

“Maybe he’d remember if I could speak to him in specific terms about things that happened that day.”