Twisted Path

by Melissa F. Miller

  They gave her a moment to wrestle with her emotions. Then Burton said, “Do you have any pictures of Anastasia?”

  “Sure, loads.”

  “Can we see some?”

  “Well, yeah, but they’re not on this phone. I’ll have to go through my cloud storage. Or I might have one as the screensaver on my old iPhone. I can check when I get home tonight.”

  Chrys handed her a business card. “Please text any pictures you find to this number as soon as you can.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks for your help, Ms. Scott. We appreciate your time.” Burton stood.

  “Do you mind if I don’t walk you out? I have some last-minute details to take care of before the private party gets here.”

  “No problem. Good night,” Burton said.

  Chrys stopped in the doorway and turned around. “So you really never saw her or heard from her again?”

  “Never. You know, I thought I saw her once in Shadyside, going into an antique store. I even called her name. The woman turned around and looked right through me like I wasn’t there.” She shrugged. “Silly, huh?”

  “I don’t think it’s silly at all. Don’t forget those pictures, okay?” Chrys said.

  “I won’t.” She repinned her hair and nodded goodbye as they walked out of her office.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bodhi circled Carlisle’s town square, driving slowly as he scanned the streets for a parking space. He passed by the old county prison, the castle-like structure that now housed the crime lab. He found a spot across the street in front of a deli that was closed for the night.

  He grabbed his backpack, waited for a break in the flow of traffic, then crossed the street against the streetlight. A light, wet snow was falling. The cold flakes on his face refreshed him, reinvigorating him from the long drive.

  The historic building was surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. As he’d promised, Jim had left the gate unlatched. Bodhi latched it behind him and hurried up the steps to the arched entranceway. Before he could ring the buzzer, Jim’s face appeared on the other side of the glass in the brightly lit lobby. He waved and pushed the door open, ushering Bodhi inside.

  “Bodhi, good to see you! Get in here out of the weather.”

  “Hi, Jim.”

  They shook hands, and Jim hustled him further into the building. The halls were dim, lit by the emergency lighting only. “I turned on the lights in the lab, but ....” He waved a hand.

  “Sure. No worries.”

  Jim paused at the elevator bank. “We’re only one floor up. You mind taking the stairs?”

  “Not at all. I could use to stretch my legs after the drive.”

  They started walking again. Jim pushed open a metal door and they took the flight of stairs in silence. Their footsteps cracked against the tile and echoed in the silent stairwell. They emerged on the second floor and made their way to a glass-walled laboratory that was lit up from within.

  Jim used a keycard to unlock the double doors and held the door for Bodhi.

  The lab looked more or less like every other forensics laboratory Bodhi had set foot in—sterile, tidy, and cold.

  “Where is it?” He scanned the large room, looking for something out of place.

  “The machine? It’s got its own office. Well, it was a supply closet. But now, we keep the rapid DNA machine in there.”

  “Why?”

  Jim shrugged. “Above my pay grade, friend.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Bodhi followed Jim to a door set into the wall in the back of the room. Jim opened it to reveal a surprisingly sizeable space. Inside, a sturdy table held a squat, chunky device that resembled a desktop printer. A display panel set into the front was awake and ready to go. A computer monitor and keyboard sat to the left of the device, with the hard drive tucked under the table on the floor.

  Jim patted the side of the machine. “Here she is,” he said fondly.

  “It’s smaller than I imagined.”

  “Yeah. If you’re accustomed to the traditional machines, she doesn’t look like much.” Jim’s pride gave way to a serious expression. “So, what do you need to run?”

  Bodhi swiveled his head around and spotted a box of latex gloves on a set of wire shelves. “Do you mind if I glove up? I’ve already touched the sample, but it never hurts to take precautions, right?”

  Jim chuckled. “Ah, you’re like me. Old school. He lifted the box and held it out so Bodhi could select a pair of gloves, then plucked out a pair for himself.

  As they snapped the gloves on, Bodhi said, “Is there anything else we need to do?” Tory wore a surgical face mask as well as gloves and booties when she processed DNA evidence.

  Jim shrugged, “The manufacturer says no, but then, I guess you know there’s some controversy about using these machines to process crime scene evidence. It’s not designed for samples with multiple sources of DNA.”

  He nodded. “I understand. This isn’t a crime scene sample. I have more of a preliminary identification situation.”

  Jim smiled, relieved. “Good. Buccal samples are best. Did you bring a cheek swab?”

  Bodhi hated to ruin the man’s night. “Sorry. I wish I did. What I have is tears. On a linen cloth.” He reached into his backpack and removed the tamper-proof clear plastic evidence bag that held his handkerchief.

  “Tears? I dunno …”

  “It’s worth a shot. I’m prepared to accept a bad result—an unreadable sample or whatever. I’ll pay for the cartridge no matter what.”

  Jim shook his head. “It’s not that. The process destroys the sample. If this doesn’t work, the sample’s gone forever.”

  Bodhi thought for a minute. “How big of a sample does the machine need?”

  “Miniscule. A scrap of material.”

  “So, we’ll cut off one corner. I’ll have the rest of the cloth. The subject more or less soaked the thing with tears.”

  “A real crier, huh?”

  Bodhi thought back to Hope Noor’s sobbing as her shoulders shook. “She was pretty upset.”

  A stab of regret pierced his chest. She’d been so distraught. It had seemed genuine and had stirred a well of empathy and compassion within him.

  So, maybe the results will rule her out. You have to be sure.

  “Okay. Let me get you a scalpel.”

  Jim headed out to the main laboratory, leaving Bodhi alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to prove his hunch right or wrong. But he’d come this far, he needed to plow forward.

  Jim returned and handed him a sterile tray that held the sharp cutting instrument. “You should do the honors.”

  Bodhi ripped open the bag and shook the handkerchief out onto the tray. He picked up the scalpel and bounced it against his palm lightly, getting used to its weight and feel. Then with a quick, expert motion, he sliced off one corner of the cloth.

  Jim tore open a package and removed a clear cartridge roughly the size and shape of a digital thermometer. He used a pair of tweezers to pick up the sample and shove it into a channel on the side of the cartridge. He closed the compartment with a snap.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we feed it into the machine and wait ninety minutes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Clarke’s Third Law in action, huh?”

  The older man chuckled. “What is it again, ‘any reasonably advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Grab a new evidence bag from the shelf for the rest of your hankie.”

  “You sure?”

  “We aren’t that frugal. Those bags are, what, twenty-five bucks per carton of a thousand?”

  “Something like that.” He used the tweezers to drop the handkerchief into a fresh bag and sealed it. “Thanks.”

  He watched as Jim pressed his thumb against a small square fingerprint reader set under the LCD screen on the machine and
punched in a series of numbers printed on the side of the cartridge. Then he fed the cartridge into a slot at the top of the machine. The cartridge fit in snuggly. The process reminded Bodhi of using a credit card in a machine equipped with a chip reader.

  A rotating ring of circles appeared on the screen.

  “It’s reading it,” Jim told him.

  They watched in silence until the circles disappeared, replaced by a large number ninety.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we wait. That’s a countdown timer. The numbers will tick down until we’ve got a result.”

  Bodhi stared at the machine for a moment longer then turned to Jim. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee while we wait?”

  “I can’t leave the machine unattended. But, no worries, the missus packed me a thermos. Pull up a chair.”

  An hour and a half later, Bodhi and Jim were finishing up a game of rummy when the rapid DNA machine dinged. They finished the hand and packed up the playing cards.

  Then Jim popped the cartridge out of the machine and disposed of it.

  “Did it work?” Bodhi asked, watching from behind Jim’s shoulder. He imagined the big green check mark in the middle of the screen was a good sign.

  “Yep, the processing was successful. That means the machine didn’t kick the sample because it had too many different sources of DNA or too little genetic material to process. Next, the machine will connect to the CODIS database. Unless … you said this is an identification sample. Do you have any reason to believe you’ll get a hit if we search CODIS for a match? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  Jim hadn’t made any effort to pry details from him during their ninety-minute wait. They’d drunk their coffee, played cards, and talked sports, books, and movies. Bodhi had been pleasantly surprised. Law enforcement officers were some of the worst gossips he’d ever met—and he included forensic investigators and pathologists in that category. But Jim had seemed willing to remain in the dark.

  His question was a reasonable one. And he’d given up his evening to help Bodhi without hesitation. The least Bodhi could do was to give him the broad strokes of his theory.

  “I wish I could give you a yes or no answer. But I don’t think it’s that simple. The sample was taken from a woman with no known criminal record. I wouldn’t expect CODIS to find a match. But, I have a suspicion that if we run it through the database, we’ll get a hit.”

  “What? You think she assumed someone else’s identity?” Jim asked.

  “No. I think she has someone else’s DNA. I think CODIS would spit out the name Damon Tenley, a convicted murderer currently serving a life sentence in the state system.”

  Jim’s caterpillar eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “How? Only identical twins share DNA. And you can’t have a male/female identical twin pair. Oh … you think this woman had sex reassignment surgery? You know, like Bruce Jenner—I mean, Caitlyn Jenner?”

  “That’s a good guess, but no. There’s another way two people could share DNA. Have you ever heard of a chimera?”

  Jim thought. “In Greek mythology, sure. It’s a fire-breathing monster with the tail of a dragon, the body of a goat, and the head of a lion.” He flashed a sheepish smile. “I’m a mythology buff.”

  “A mythology buff with a good memory. In fact, the chimera appears in the mythologies of several cultures. The creatures differ from story to story as to which beasts and animals make up their composite parts, but the one constant is the chimera is a hybrid made up of multiple animals.”

  “But, your sample had a single source of DNA.”

  “Yeah. If I’m right, and the DNA is a match with Mr. Tenley’s, I’m going to need one of the medical examiner’s DNA experts to help me understand what might have happened.”

  “You mean you haven’t already talked to the DNA scientists?” Jim gave him a bewildered look.

  Bodhi laughed. “There’s a saying attributed to a rear admiral in the Navy who was also a computer programming pioneer in the 1940s and 50s. She used to say—”

  “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to get permission,” Jim finished, shaking his head. “It’s true enough. But if you make a practice of it, it can be career limiting.”

  “I’m retired, remember? I don’t have a career to limit.” Bodhi smiled. “But, to answer your question, I don’t need to upload the sample to CODIS. We have a reference sample in house back in Pittsburgh. Can you email the results to this address?” He lifted the napkin from under his coffee mug and scribbled Tory’s email address on it.

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jim dragged his chair over to the computer keyboard and started clacking away at the keys while Bodhi stepped out into the main laboratory to call Tory Thurmont and ask forgiveness.

  “Hello?”

  Bodhi exhaled in relief. Tory sounded wide awake. He’d been worried that she might be an early to bed, early to rise type.

  “Hi, Tory. It’s Bodhi King.”

  “Bodhi? How’d you get this number?”

  “Saul gave it to me. I’m sorry to bother you after hours, but I need your help.”

  “Is it about Tenley?”

  “Yes. I have a theory about how his DNA ended up at the scene.”

  “Let’s hear it.” Her voice vibrated with anticipation.

  “I think Hope Noor, Giles’ wife, is a chimera.”

  There was a long silence. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “You know about chimerism, though, right?”

  After another lengthy pause, Tory spoke again, choosing her words with obvious care. “Sure. Sometimes a twin died in the womb. It’s called vanishing twin syndrome. And there’s evidence that the surviving twin absorbs or somehow acquires the other twin’s genetic code. There’s also evidence that a woman who’s given birth somehow retains bits of the embryo’s unique genetic material after giving birth. But neither of those circumstances exists here. Damon Tenley was an orphaned only child, remember?”

  “You’re right. But the family who took him in had a daughter. She developed leukemia as a young woman, and, according to Mr. Tenley’s attorney, she underwent a bone marrow transplant using stem cells harvested from Damon Tenley’s bone marrow.”

  “Wait. Damon Tenley was a bone marrow donor?”

  “According to his lawyer. And she’d have no reason to lie about it.”

  “Hmm. And how’s Hope Noor involved?”

  “Detectives Martin and Gilbert interviewed a friend of Tenley’s who mentioned his sister. The girl he grew up with was named Anastasia Kessler, and she’s apparently vanished from the face of the earth.”

  “O-kay?”

  “I paid a visit to Hope Noor today. She mentioned having battled leukemia in the past.”

  “Wait. You think Hope Noor is Anastasia Kessler?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Based on the fact that she and Damon Tenley’s sister both had leukemia?”

  “Well … yes.”

  “That’s pretty thin.”

  “Agreed. But think it through. If, if, Giles Noor’s wife was transplanted with Damon Tenley’s DNA, it would explain why his genetic material was in Giles Noor’s bedroom and in such copious quantities.”

  “It would explain the anomalous result, but, Bodhi, that would be an extraordinary coincidence if the recipient of stem cells donated by Raina Noor’s murderer ended up marrying Giles Noor.”

  “Unless it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Someone paid Damon Tenley to get Raina Noor out of the way …”

  “And you think that someone was Hope or Anastasia or whatever her name is?”

  “His lawyer said Damon was very protective of her. I think he would’ve done anything to help her.”

  Tory blew out a long breath. “Well, I hate to burst your speculative bubble, but there’s zero actual evidence to support any of this. I know Saul admires your outside the box ideas, but, honestly, Bodhi, this one�
�s … a bridge too far, you know?”

  Bodhi heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Jim giving him the thumb’s up signal.

  “There should be evidence in your email in-box right now. I lent Hope Noor a handkerchief today to wipe her eyes. A friend of mine just ran her tears through a rapid DNA machine and emailed you the results.”

  “What? I’m not aware of any office in the county that has a rapid DNA machine.”

  “Me neither. I’m in Carlisle.”

  “You drove to Carlisle on a hunch?”

  “It’s a strong hunch.”

  “You … there’s no chain of evidence … the results won’t be admissible … this is ….” She was spiraling.

  “If I may make a suggestion? Take a slow breath. Rapid DNA results are sanctioned, even by the most conservative voices, as appropriate for investigative purposes. If the results rule out the grieving widow, then there’s no harm, no foul. But if the results come back as a match or partial match for Tenley, we can go to the district attorney and the homicide squad and share what we know. They can take it from there. Okay?”

  He knew her scientific curiosity would override her concerns. Or he thought he knew as much.

  Finally, after an interminable wait, she issued a grudging response. “Okay.”

  “Great. Can you do me a favor?”

  “That depends on the favor.”

  “I’m going to get on the road shortly. I won’t get back until close to two in the morning—”

  “You should plan on getting in later than that. The snow’s coming down pretty hard now.”

  He stifled a groan. “Right. So, I’d love to present the DNA results to Saul in the morning. Would you be willing to hop online and do some research about post-transplant chimerism in leukemia patients, and also the presence of donor DNA in human tears?”

  “Sure. I’ll email you any articles or studies I think are useful and you can take a look at them after you get a few hours’ sleep.”