and a dark suit. According to the web page, verified by Mike Nakamura, Chevalier held an M.D. and a Ph.D. from Harvard. He started Intelligene in 2004 after patenting a process for sequencing DNA.
Chris had been completely frank with him on the phone. Chevalier was willing to do business.
“Dr. Chevalier?”
“Yes.”
“Chris Wilcox.”
They shook hands and took a booth away from the other groups of people. A waitress followed them, and Chris waited until they’d ordered drinks and she’d left.
“How’s Intelligene?”
“Good. We were profiled in the New York Times two months ago, business has been up since then.”
“You own the company?”
“Technically, no. I started it. But we went public last year, so the investors are the owners.”
“You’re still the CEO?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got some freedom of action?”
Dr. Chevalier nodded. “I haven’t forgotten our talk.”
“Good.”
“You found something? Evidence?”
Chris nodded. He opened his briefcase. Inside was a cardboard tube, the kind used for mailing photographs. Inside of that, in a wax paper evidence bag, was the fork he’d taken from Allison’s kitchen counter.
Chris handed it across the table to Chevalier.
“Don’t open it here.”
“Understood. It’s good you used the wax paper and not plastic.”
“Like you told me,” Chris said. He pointed at the bag. “You’ll probably see two DNA sources. One’s a woman, and you’ll find more of her than the other. I’m looking for a man. The source for the man will be saliva, if there’s any trace of him on this at all. The blood and other matter is from the victim.”
Dr. Chevalier put the tube in the lapel pocket of his suit coat.
“You got this how?”
“You know my situation.”
Dr. Chevalier nodded.
“You’re uncomfortable, I can take it somewhere else.”
Dr. Chevalier shook his head. “I just want to know where I stand.”
“The fee?”
“Standard full sequence rate.” Chevalier opened his own briefcase and slid a sheet of paper across the table.
“This is the escrow information. They disburse half right away, as a deposit. We’ll give you the initial data as it comes in. When we give the full report to escrow, they disburse the other half.”
“If you can’t find any usable DNA from the male source?”
“Then I’ll refund the deposit.”
“Thanks.”
The waitress came back with their drinks. Chris had a light beer and Dr. Chevalier had ordered a glass of pinot noir.
When she left, Chevalier took another set of documents from his briefcase.
“It’s a violation of federal law to sequence a person’s full genome without his consent. If you sign this waiver for me to sequence your own DNA on the sample you just gave me, then I won’t have a problem.”
Chris looked at the waiver and looked back at Chevalier. He hadn’t considered signing anything that would link him to the evidence from Allison’s apartment.
“It’s all right,” Chevalier said. “The simplest test would show you aren’t the source of any DNA in the sample you gave me. Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“This way, I do the work after hours, but handle the fee through the books like a straight-up transaction. You get privacy, I stay clear with my shareholders.”
Chris signed the waiver and pushed it back. Chevalier was right: if the waiver wound up with the Galveston police, it might help convict him of breaking and entering, or tampering with a crime scene. But not murder.
“How long for the full report?”
“A week and a half, assuming I find the right DNA.” Dr. Chevalier raised his glass. “To a step forward, Mr. Wilcox.”
They toasted and sipped their drinks. Dr. Chevalier held his wineglass up, between the dim overhead light and his eye. He swirled the wine in his glass and took another sip.
“I had some time to think about this after our last call.”
“Yeah?”
“There are other tests I could do. Or contract out. If we can isolate a saliva
Chris had been completely frank with him on the phone. Chevalier was willing to do business.
“Dr. Chevalier?”
“Yes.”
“Chris Wilcox.”
They shook hands and took a booth away from the other groups of people. A waitress followed them, and Chris waited until they’d ordered drinks and she’d left.
“How’s Intelligene?”
“Good. We were profiled in the New York Times two months ago, business has been up since then.”
“You own the company?”
“Technically, no. I started it. But we went public last year, so the investors are the owners.”
“You’re still the CEO?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got some freedom of action?”
Dr. Chevalier nodded. “I haven’t forgotten our talk.”
“Good.”
“You found something? Evidence?”
Chris nodded. He opened his briefcase. Inside was a cardboard tube, the kind used for mailing photographs. Inside of that, in a wax paper evidence bag, was the fork he’d taken from Allison’s kitchen counter.
Chris handed it across the table to Chevalier.
“Don’t open it here.”
“Understood. It’s good you used the wax paper and not plastic.”
“Like you told me,” Chris said. He pointed at the bag. “You’ll probably see two DNA sources. One’s a woman, and you’ll find more of her than the other. I’m looking for a man. The source for the man will be saliva, if there’s any trace of him on this at all. The blood and other matter is from the victim.”
Dr. Chevalier put the tube in the lapel pocket of his suit coat.
“You got this how?”
“You know my situation.”
Dr. Chevalier nodded.
“You’re uncomfortable, I can take it somewhere else.”
Dr. Chevalier shook his head. “I just want to know where I stand.”
“The fee?”
“Standard full sequence rate.” Chevalier opened his own briefcase and slid a sheet of paper across the table.
“This is the escrow information. They disburse half right away, as a deposit. We’ll give you the initial data as it comes in. When we give the full report to escrow, they disburse the other half.”
“If you can’t find any usable DNA from the male source?”
“Then I’ll refund the deposit.”
“Thanks.”
The waitress came back with their drinks. Chris had a light beer and Dr. Chevalier had ordered a glass of pinot noir.
When she left, Chevalier took another set of documents from his briefcase.
“It’s a violation of federal law to sequence a person’s full genome without his consent. If you sign this waiver for me to sequence your own DNA on the sample you just gave me, then I won’t have a problem.”
Chris looked at the waiver and looked back at Chevalier. He hadn’t considered signing anything that would link him to the evidence from Allison’s apartment.
“It’s all right,” Chevalier said. “The simplest test would show you aren’t the source of any DNA in the sample you gave me. Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“This way, I do the work after hours, but handle the fee through the books like a straight-up transaction. You get privacy, I stay clear with my shareholders.”
Chris signed the waiver and pushed it back. Chevalier was right: if the waiver wound up with the Galveston police, it might help convict him of breaking and entering, or tampering with a crime scene. But not murder.
“How long for the full report?”
“A week and a half, assuming I find the right DNA.” Dr. Chevalier raised his glass. “To a step forward, Mr. Wilcox.”
They toasted and sipped their drinks. Dr. Chevalier held his wineglass up, between the dim overhead light and his eye. He swirled the wine in his glass and took another sip.
“I had some time to think about this after our last call.”
“Yeah?”
“There are other tests I could do. Or contract out. If we can isolate a saliva
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