sample, we can try running it through a mass spectrometer.”
“What’ll that do?”
“I read a paper a few months ago on stable isotope hydrology. Heard of it?”
“No.”
“Basically, all ground water has a unique signature of stable isotopes. A person who lives in a place long enough builds these up in his body just by drinking the local water. Researchers put together stable isotope hydrology maps of the world.”
“It works?”
“Last year, some archaeologists in London found an ancient grave. They did a spectrographic analysis of the victims’ teeth and proved the skeletons were Vikings. No other artifacts in the grave, just the bones. These guys were herded naked to the edge of the pit. Then beheaded.”
“Without that, the stable isotope whatnot, would there’ve been a way to tell they weren’t English?”
“Assuming there was enough preserved DNA, maybe. But preservation of DNA in a bone over ten centuries isn’t very likely. And there’s been genetic intermixing between the English and the Scandinavians—even back then. Stable isotope hydrology can give proof of where someone actually lived, not where his ancestors came from.”
Chris thought about it. Even if the chances of it working were one in a hundred, he thought it might be worthwhile. He imagined how much easier it would be if they could limit their search area to the cities served by one aquifer.
“I won’t get my hopes up, but give it a try. Assuming you isolate anything that’s his and not hers.”
“We’ve got saliva and not bone, so it’ll be different. We’ll know where he’s been getting his drinking water in the last couple months. If he’s been traveling, it might show something different than what his bones would say,” Chevalier said. “Anyway, I haven’t bought time on a mass spectrometer since I was in graduate school. I don’t know what it’ll run you.”
“You get enough spit to run the test, find out how much it is. I can add it to escrow. If it’s less than twenty thousand dollars, and they’ll do it without a deposit, just go for it.”
“Deal.”
“Email is the best way to contact me from here on,” Chris said. They finished their drinks and Chris left a fifty dollar bill on the table to cover the tab. He shook Chevalier’s hand, went back upstairs to his room, and booked the first flight to Honolulu.
Chapter Thirteen
Intelligene started in lab space leased from Harvard, moved to its first independent office after two years of drawn-out wrangling with the intellectual property division of the university’s legal department, and finally settled into a newly built lab in the woods outside Foxborough a few months after its successful initial public offering. Dr. Chevalier had twenty-three employees, none of whom were in the lab after eleven at night. The parking lot was empty when he pulled into it, having driven to Foxborough directly after his meeting with Chris Wilcox. It didn’t matter that none of the money was in escrow yet; it didn’t matter that he had already put in an eighteen-hour day. He was too curious to see what he could do for Chris Wilcox.
Chevalier stepped out of his car, crossed the rain-slick asphalt, and stood with his back to Intelligene’s entrance, looking at the woods behind his BMW. The summer crickets must have all taken to their burrows in the downpour. The only sound was the wind moving through the wet boughs. He placed his index finger on the print reader next to the door, waited for the light to turn green, and then keyed his personal pass code. The door silently swung open and he stepped into the reception area. Moving behind the desk, he used the control panel to lock the external doors and arm all the building’s alarms except the internal motion sensors. His largest investors—the new fifty-one-percent owners of Intelligene—had insisted on this security system, and now Chevalier was glad for it. He checked the monitors and saw the entire building
“What’ll that do?”
“I read a paper a few months ago on stable isotope hydrology. Heard of it?”
“No.”
“Basically, all ground water has a unique signature of stable isotopes. A person who lives in a place long enough builds these up in his body just by drinking the local water. Researchers put together stable isotope hydrology maps of the world.”
“It works?”
“Last year, some archaeologists in London found an ancient grave. They did a spectrographic analysis of the victims’ teeth and proved the skeletons were Vikings. No other artifacts in the grave, just the bones. These guys were herded naked to the edge of the pit. Then beheaded.”
“Without that, the stable isotope whatnot, would there’ve been a way to tell they weren’t English?”
“Assuming there was enough preserved DNA, maybe. But preservation of DNA in a bone over ten centuries isn’t very likely. And there’s been genetic intermixing between the English and the Scandinavians—even back then. Stable isotope hydrology can give proof of where someone actually lived, not where his ancestors came from.”
Chris thought about it. Even if the chances of it working were one in a hundred, he thought it might be worthwhile. He imagined how much easier it would be if they could limit their search area to the cities served by one aquifer.
“I won’t get my hopes up, but give it a try. Assuming you isolate anything that’s his and not hers.”
“We’ve got saliva and not bone, so it’ll be different. We’ll know where he’s been getting his drinking water in the last couple months. If he’s been traveling, it might show something different than what his bones would say,” Chevalier said. “Anyway, I haven’t bought time on a mass spectrometer since I was in graduate school. I don’t know what it’ll run you.”
“You get enough spit to run the test, find out how much it is. I can add it to escrow. If it’s less than twenty thousand dollars, and they’ll do it without a deposit, just go for it.”
“Deal.”
“Email is the best way to contact me from here on,” Chris said. They finished their drinks and Chris left a fifty dollar bill on the table to cover the tab. He shook Chevalier’s hand, went back upstairs to his room, and booked the first flight to Honolulu.
Chapter Thirteen
Intelligene started in lab space leased from Harvard, moved to its first independent office after two years of drawn-out wrangling with the intellectual property division of the university’s legal department, and finally settled into a newly built lab in the woods outside Foxborough a few months after its successful initial public offering. Dr. Chevalier had twenty-three employees, none of whom were in the lab after eleven at night. The parking lot was empty when he pulled into it, having driven to Foxborough directly after his meeting with Chris Wilcox. It didn’t matter that none of the money was in escrow yet; it didn’t matter that he had already put in an eighteen-hour day. He was too curious to see what he could do for Chris Wilcox.
Chevalier stepped out of his car, crossed the rain-slick asphalt, and stood with his back to Intelligene’s entrance, looking at the woods behind his BMW. The summer crickets must have all taken to their burrows in the downpour. The only sound was the wind moving through the wet boughs. He placed his index finger on the print reader next to the door, waited for the light to turn green, and then keyed his personal pass code. The door silently swung open and he stepped into the reception area. Moving behind the desk, he used the control panel to lock the external doors and arm all the building’s alarms except the internal motion sensors. His largest investors—the new fifty-one-percent owners of Intelligene—had insisted on this security system, and now Chevalier was glad for it. He checked the monitors and saw the entire building
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