smiled wanly.
“You look even more morose than usual,” I said.
“Still nothing from C.C.”
“Lewis, you know, this isn’t something you can control, like the lab and its specimens. It’s the human heart, the single most unpredictable thing in the world.”
“I know…. Speaking of which, Joe and Vanessa are going to a major political fund-raiser tonight. Black tie at the Waldorf Astoria. Rubbing elbows with blue-bloods. What in God’s name does he see in her?”
“She’s beautiful but so transparent. How could our guy fall for her?” I concurred.
“I can’t stand it. And now that Marcus Hopkins was exonerated, he’s more famous than ever. He’s the go-to guy for celebrities now. Instead of Justice Foundation cases, he’s being inundated by celebrities gone wild who got themselves in a jam. Shop-lifting actresses, buttocks-grabbing B-listers.”
I shook my head and got up from the chair. “This is all giving me a headache. I’ve got a lot of rape kits to process today. Talk to you later.”
The day flew by. When we get the films back of DNA, it looks almost like key-punch cards. In general, at a crime scene, we take DNA from the victim. But then we also collect DNA from the people closest to the victim. It would only make sense, for instance, that a mother would have the DNA of her children and husband on her and around her. If we collect hair fibers, it is only logical that the hairs of all the people in the house would be scattered on carpets, on bed sheets and in the bathroom sink.
If we’re lucky, however, the culprit will also have left some of his DNA scattered about. Those samples that do not match the victim or any members of the victim’s household are the samples we come to believe belonged to the rapist or murderer. When the films come back, the key-punch-looking samples don’t line up in the same places as the known persons. That unknown key-punch, that unknown human bar code…that’s our guy.
I worked straight through lunch, stopping for a visit to the snack machine, where Cheez-Its and a cup of coffee constituted my meal. I lived a coffee-fueled existence, occasionally swearing off caffeine, only to come back to it, like a cast-off lover pleading to be let back into her partner’s bed.
Around six, security called and told me Ben Sato was there. I felt my heart lift for a moment, and then shook my head. Something about him connected us. I supposed, like David, like Lewis, a shared hint of melancholy. A shared existence like Achlys. In Lewis’s case, his first love was murdered and her body hidden in the bayou. He left academia for work in the crime lab and never looked back.
I phoned David. “I’m going to interview my mother’s former boyfriend tonight. Then I’m collecting DNA from my dad’s house. I won’t be home until late.”
“Does your father know?”
“No. I can’t bring myself to tell him. I suppose that makes me a terrible daughter.”
“No. It just makes you a daughter determined to find her mother’s killer, no matter where the truth leads you.”
“What are you up to?”
“Well, the news has broken about Tony Castle. I’m here in the Justice Foundation’s offices. The phones are ringing off the hook and there are press people camping out on the sidewalk.”
“Great. Just what I need. More of my name and face making the papers.”
“Exactly. You be extra careful.”
“I will.”
“Billie?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to interview this guy with Ben Sato?”
I hesitated. “Ye-es.”
I held my breath waiting for David to get angry or mistrusting again.
“Good. I want someone there with you, and if it can’t be me, it should be him. Listen, Billie…I had a moment of jealousy. You’re my girl. You know,” he lowered his voice, I guess so no one there would overhear him. “Every time we make love, those first seconds when I slide inside you my soul leaves me. I love you, and I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”
“It’s okay.
“You look even more morose than usual,” I said.
“Still nothing from C.C.”
“Lewis, you know, this isn’t something you can control, like the lab and its specimens. It’s the human heart, the single most unpredictable thing in the world.”
“I know…. Speaking of which, Joe and Vanessa are going to a major political fund-raiser tonight. Black tie at the Waldorf Astoria. Rubbing elbows with blue-bloods. What in God’s name does he see in her?”
“She’s beautiful but so transparent. How could our guy fall for her?” I concurred.
“I can’t stand it. And now that Marcus Hopkins was exonerated, he’s more famous than ever. He’s the go-to guy for celebrities now. Instead of Justice Foundation cases, he’s being inundated by celebrities gone wild who got themselves in a jam. Shop-lifting actresses, buttocks-grabbing B-listers.”
I shook my head and got up from the chair. “This is all giving me a headache. I’ve got a lot of rape kits to process today. Talk to you later.”
The day flew by. When we get the films back of DNA, it looks almost like key-punch cards. In general, at a crime scene, we take DNA from the victim. But then we also collect DNA from the people closest to the victim. It would only make sense, for instance, that a mother would have the DNA of her children and husband on her and around her. If we collect hair fibers, it is only logical that the hairs of all the people in the house would be scattered on carpets, on bed sheets and in the bathroom sink.
If we’re lucky, however, the culprit will also have left some of his DNA scattered about. Those samples that do not match the victim or any members of the victim’s household are the samples we come to believe belonged to the rapist or murderer. When the films come back, the key-punch-looking samples don’t line up in the same places as the known persons. That unknown key-punch, that unknown human bar code…that’s our guy.
I worked straight through lunch, stopping for a visit to the snack machine, where Cheez-Its and a cup of coffee constituted my meal. I lived a coffee-fueled existence, occasionally swearing off caffeine, only to come back to it, like a cast-off lover pleading to be let back into her partner’s bed.
Around six, security called and told me Ben Sato was there. I felt my heart lift for a moment, and then shook my head. Something about him connected us. I supposed, like David, like Lewis, a shared hint of melancholy. A shared existence like Achlys. In Lewis’s case, his first love was murdered and her body hidden in the bayou. He left academia for work in the crime lab and never looked back.
I phoned David. “I’m going to interview my mother’s former boyfriend tonight. Then I’m collecting DNA from my dad’s house. I won’t be home until late.”
“Does your father know?”
“No. I can’t bring myself to tell him. I suppose that makes me a terrible daughter.”
“No. It just makes you a daughter determined to find her mother’s killer, no matter where the truth leads you.”
“What are you up to?”
“Well, the news has broken about Tony Castle. I’m here in the Justice Foundation’s offices. The phones are ringing off the hook and there are press people camping out on the sidewalk.”
“Great. Just what I need. More of my name and face making the papers.”
“Exactly. You be extra careful.”
“I will.”
“Billie?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to interview this guy with Ben Sato?”
I hesitated. “Ye-es.”
I held my breath waiting for David to get angry or mistrusting again.
“Good. I want someone there with you, and if it can’t be me, it should be him. Listen, Billie…I had a moment of jealousy. You’re my girl. You know,” he lowered his voice, I guess so no one there would overhear him. “Every time we make love, those first seconds when I slide inside you my soul leaves me. I love you, and I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”
“It’s okay.
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