by Tom Swyers
“Did Cameron have any success with his research at all?”
“No. Wars are good at destroying things. His war against memory was no different. Minds were wiped clean. Cameron hoped to create a new and improved person from these cleansed minds. But he only got halfway there. Even Dr. God couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”
“Did you run across Boris Dietrich’s name during your research?”
“Negative.”
“Did you find an FBI file on Officer Carlson’s killing back in 1985?”
“Double negative. Still looking. Archives is backed up.”
“What about the radio and the vitamins? Were you able to run tests on them?”
“Yeah, but the preliminary results came back negative.”
“Tell them to look again, and to look harder, especially after what you just told me.”
Julius could do a passable Morgan Freeman impersonation, when he was in the mood. Today he drawled, “Maybe you should come to work for the FBI, David. That way you can become my official boss.”
“I’m sorry, Julius. It’s just that I think we’re on to something.”
“David, did you forget Ewen Cameron is dead?”
“Are you sure?”
“Come on, David. If he wasn’t dead, he’d be about 114 years old today. He’s not involved in whatever is going on with Dawkins and you.”
“I’m not so sure. I mean, why would that correspondence from him still be in that file cabinet at Kranston?”
“Who knows? Be careful, David. Paranoia is a disease that’s contagious.”
“Just promise that you’ll ask your techies to take another look, please.”
“All right, I’ll ask them to check these things out again.”
“Thank you.”
“Is that it, boss?”
“Stop it. You know how much I appreciate what you’re doing.”
“You’re welcome, David. I’ll be in touch.” With that, Julius hung up.
Phillip hadn’t moved during the entire conversation. He stared upwards, through the basement window, into the window well surrounding it. A chipmunk scurried around the well, rummaging through leaves from last season.
“You heard what Julius said, Phillip. Does any of what he said resonate with you?”
“What he was talking about took place in Canada a long time ago. I’m not sure how it can have anything to do with me. What do you think?” Phillip asked, pointing at the window.
“About the chipmunk?”
“Yes. Do you think he can get out of the well by himself?”
“I’ve never seen one get stuck before. It’s only eight inches deep. That chipmunk will make it. I’m hoping we’ll be as lucky.”
Chapter 19
The following Wednesday, Phillip and David were hunkered down in David’s office again, attempting a round of brainstorming, when the side entry doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Christy said. He’d just gotten home from school and was up in the kitchen crunching away on celery sticks slathered with peanut butter, his favorite afternoon snack. Annie was at the final day of the two-day conference.
“Dad,” Christy called down from the kitchen, “there’s a Federal Express package for you.”
David hurried to the bottom of the basement steps. “Okay, toss it down.”
Christy flipped it into the air with one hand and David caught it against his chest. “Thanks, Christy.”
“Sure, Dad,” Christy replied, before turning back to the kitchen.
David placed the white polyethylene overnight package in the center of his desk. “It’s here!” he said to Phillip, with a little “ta-da” gesture.
“What’s that?”
“The secret paternity test results,” David said, gripping the envelope at the top seam. “Now we can confirm that Janet Nowak is the child of Edmund O’Neil.”
David pulled the seam apart and yanked out the paperwork. The cover letter said that the DNA profiles were successfully extracted from the gum and fingernails. The letter went on to say that DNA profiles for both subjects had been uploaded to the company website. They could be shared with other DNA sites for possible matches.
After the usual legal caveat that the report’s conclusion was not admissible in a court of law because the company did not oversee the DNA’s chain of custody, the report said there wasn’t a match. Edmund O’Neil, identified as case number 569725, was excluded as the father of Janet Nowak, identified as case number 569741. No wiggle room; not even a glimmer of hope. The letter said “The probability of paternity is 0%.”
Disappointment that bordered on despair crowded out disbelief on David’s face. His nose crinkled, his eyes squinted shut. He spun the letter in the air onto his desk and covered his face with trembling hands. He swallowed hard and took a deep, shuddering breath. His only lead had hit a dead end.
Phillip stared at the office wall, expressionless, and waited for the verdict. After a minute he turned to David and asked, “So what does the report say?”
“No match,” David snapped. “You can read it yourself if you’d like.”
Phillip showed no visible reaction. He resumed staring at the wall. “That’s okay. No need.”
David leaned back in his chair, stabbed both hands into his hair, and let out a huge sigh. “We’re back again at square one. We’ve got nothing to go on.”
Phillip nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would lead anywhere.”
All of David’s frustration concentrated in his expression as he glared at Phillip’s blank face. “I’m waiting . . . ”
“For what?” Phillip yawned and stretched his yard-long arms out at either side.
“For you to say, ‘I told you so.’”
Phillip turned his head to David. “I wasn’t going to say—”
“You came pretty close. You told me you didn’t think it would lead anywhere.”
Phillip calmly gazed back at David, eyes half-closed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just stating, you know, a fact.”
“You’re sitting there like this is no big deal. Maybe you’ve got some ideas on what we should do now.”
Phillip thought for a few seconds. “I don’t know. Give it time? Time has a way of changing things when we can’t.” Phillip didn’t realize that he had just parroted Superintendent Kleinschmit’s line to David until after the words left his mouth.
Even then he didn’t think twice about it because he knew it was the only answer he could dredge up. He wasn’t about to share his plan to pay Commissioner O’Neil a visit; maybe let the carving knife he left back at the motel room do the talking. He knew that plan wouldn’t go over well with David.
“Time?! That’s your idea?” That’s the last thing David wanted to hear. He felt the situation suddenly spinning out of control. It was like being in a vehicle that hydroplanes on a wet road. That feeling never sat well with David.
As a lawyer, he always had a plan; often he had at least one more in reserve. Passing time by twiddling his thumbs was never one of those choices. He was always pushing against time, not waiting for it to pass. He wanted to save time by finding a prompt solution, so his clients could move on without some legal crap overhanging their lives. He wanted Phillip to be off on his own, gainfully employed and happy already, yesterday even, to spare his family the threat of Phillip—the killer—lashing out at them.
“Yes, that’s the only idea that comes to mind.” Phillip sat there gazing at the photos of David and his family that decorated the office walls. “Maybe you picked the wrong gum out of the trash?”
“Impossible. I picked the tissue out from on top. I could see the gum sticking out from between the folds.”
David witnessed Phillip eying his family photos on the wall. The continued focus made him feel uneasy. Two weeks ago, Phillip had confessed to David that he wanted to kill him. Maybe it was time for an update.
“Phillip, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Have you had any more dreams or thoughts about killing me since we last talked?”
Phillip considered the question at length. It took a few moments to search his memory. “No, I don’t think I have.” His expression remained blank, almost placid; his voice was calm.
David didn’t like how long it took Phillip to answer. He didn’t like the uncertainty in what he said, either. There was no margin for error when his family was concerned. David yanked out his desktop keyboard and started clicking away. A long-shot idea came to mind; he was putting it in play.
With a couple of motions of his infrared mouse, he went to Mission DNA’s website. Mission is a free, open-source genealogy database like GEDMatch. Anyone can upload a DNA profile to the site and look for matches. So if you’ve got your DNA profile from consumer DNA sites like Ancestry, 23andMe, Family Tree DNA, MyHeritage, or any other source, you can upload it there. The site runs a scan to see if their files contain any other matches to your genes from outside of your chosen consumer DNA site’s database.
Unknown to Phillip, David had snagged his DNA in a tissue filled with mucus that he had dropped on the workbench in the garage. He’d sent it off to one of the consumer sites without a second thought. Phillip’s right to DNA privacy didn’t matter. David’s family came first. He put Phillip’s mucus in a test tube, paid for expedited service, and registered his profile to Mission DNA the night before. But there were no hits.
Now David uploaded Janet Nowak’s and Edmund O’Neil’s profiles to see if there might be any hits for them in Mission’s database. He was flailing in the gene pool for any clue that might give him another lead.
“Waiting for Father Time to adjust things in our favor is not an option, Phillip. I can’t hold out thirty years,” David quipped while navigating his computer mouse. “Neither can you, this time around. Have you checked the mirror lately? You’re not getting any younger. You can’t sit around in your room like you’re in solitary and expect to make it on the outside.” With one final click, the two new profiles were uploaded.
Phillip fidgeted in his chair. He resented David’s criticism. Not because it was misguided. Phillip knew the analysis was spot on. He had thought repeatedly about going to visit Commissioner O’Neil since he first came up with the idea. But that was five days ago. He still didn’t have anything close to a plan. The idea was nothing more than a daydream that wandered in and out of his mind as he watched the world go past his motel room picture window. He meant to do something about it but couldn’t; David’s comment was a reminder of what he hated in himself.
“What’s wrong with you today, Phillip?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re yawning and acting like a zombie.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been having problems sleeping.”
“Is something bothering you?” Like maybe you’re dreaming of going after Annie or Christy?
“I just don’t see how I’m ever going to make it on my own.” Phillip was beginning to sound morose.
“I don’t either. Not now, anyway. But I won’t give up. I don’t understand how you were able to manage solitary for thirty years but you get easily flustered with how things happen in the outside world.”
Phillip shrugged. “Two different skill sets, I guess. I’m having challenges adjusting to the outside.”
“That’s to be expected. But you can come up with ideas too. My God, you developed a mindset that allowed you to survive in the box. Surely you can develop a mindset for surviving outside of the box. More than anything, Phillip, you need to learn to think outside of the box.”
David’s’ desktop pinged, signaling the receipt of an e-mail. David saw the sender was Mission DNA. The subject line read, “You have a match!” He opened the email. “Hold on Phillip. Looks like I’ve got something here.”
“What?”
“Janet Nowak’s DNA matched someone else on Mission’s database.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” David leaned toward his screen. His lips started to move as he read. But nothing came out. His face went white, his jaw dropped. He put his hands on his cheeks to keep the front of his head from melting into his lap.
“Whose?”
“I don’t believe it. I cannot freakin’ believe it!”
“Whose DNA is it?”
“Yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your DNA matches Janet Nowak. The report says as a related male, there’s a 99.9% probability that you are her father.”
“What?” Phillip screamed.
Chapter 20
Phillip couldn’t believe his ears. His face flashed from alabaster white to crimson red in a burst of adrenaline. His gray eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, the bags under his eyes faded. He reared up from his table directly across from David’s desk and stood there trembling. “How did my DNA get in that database in the first place?!”
Phillip had survived thirty years in the box because he wouldn’t let the system abduct his soul. Now his best friend, his only friend, had abducted it and had sent it off to share with the world.
“Calm down. I put it in there,” David said.
Christy came running down the stairs with a worried look on his face, while he alternated glances between his father and Phillip. “What’s going on?”
“Your dad put my DNA on a database without asking me first.”
“Your DNA? How did you get his DNA, Dad?”
“When we were in the garage combing through Janet Nowak’s trash, he blew his nose and put the tissue on the workbench. Later that night, after I took him back to his motel room, I took a mucus sample from it and sent it in for analysis.”
“Who gave you the right to steal my DNA?” Phillip protested, looming over the table and desk where they worked. With each breath, anger inflated his body, until David imagined he would float to the ceiling like a furious helium balloon.
“I didn’t steal it. You still have it. I just posted your profile into their system under an anonymous case number. I can delete it at any time.”
“Why did you do that, Dad?” asked Christy in confusion. He looked uncomfortable at the escalating situation, as if the room were shrinking around the three men.
“I did it on a whim. We were down to our last lead. I didn’t think it would lead to anything. I really thought Edmund O’Neil was Janet Nowak’s father. I can’t believe you’re the father.”
“Wait, Mr. Dawkins is Janet Nowak’s father?” Christy looked both uncomfortable and dismayed.
“Apparently so,” David said.
“You had no right to take my DNA profile and post it without my permission.” Phillip had endured a lifetime of insults to his mind and body in Kranston; he’d lived in a limbo where he had no control of any kind. It was supposed to be different on the outside.
“That’s debatable,” David replied, “under the circumstances. Given the results, I think you owe me an explanation.”
“For what?”
“You’re Janet Nowak’s father. How did that happen?”
“I’m not her father!”
“The DNA analysis shows that there’s a 99.9% probability that you are her father—”
“It’s wrong, then.”
“How can that be, Phillip?”
“I’ve never had sex with her mother.”
David took out his cell and showed Phillip the picture he’d taken of Edith Nowak from the photo in her living room. “Recognize her?”
“No, I’ve never had sex with her.”
“Really? So, did your boys just swim out of solitary confinement, across the yard, into the administrative building, to crawl up Edith Nowak’s leg?”
“I’ve never had sex with that woman, I tell you! I don’t even know her. I haven’t had sex with a girl since before I went to prison.”
“How do you explain it then?” David decided the best defense was a good offense. It was the only course he could take in the face of Phillip’s ang
er.
“I can’t,” said the ex-con, shoulders rising then falling in a confused shrug.
“You know, Phillip, all along you’ve said that pursuing these DNA leads was a waste of time—that they wouldn’t lead anywhere. Maybe you didn’t want me to pursue them because you knew that this would all lead to you eventually.”
“That’s not true.” Now Phillip began to sound shrill, as defiance set in to replace his dissipating anger. His eyes searched the corners of the room, looking for an answer to this conundrum.
“It all makes sense to me,” David posited. “Edith Nowak didn’t want to tell her daughter that she was the bastard child of a convicted murderer. That’s why she refused to share his identity with her. That’s what led Janet to become estranged from her mother.”
“No, that’s not true. She’s not my daughter.” A touch of desperation tinged Phillip’s reply; his eyes moved faster around the perimeter of the space, not landing on David or Christy. He was searching for an escape route.
“The commissioner and superintendent knew this happened under their watch. If anyone found out there’d be hell to pay—allowing a convicted murderer in solitary to have sex with an employee. Did you rape her?”
“Are you kidding me? How could I rape anyone if I’ve been in solitary for thirty years?” Phillip’s large hands landed on his hips as he shook his head in exasperation.