“You get used to it,” I said, responding again to her attempt at mothering me. “After awhile it just doesn’t matter. You do what you have to do and get sick later.”
“You’re sounding just like Storm,” she countered.
“I probably got it from him,” I agreed.
“I’m sure you could pick a better role model to emulate, Rowan.”
Ben piped up. “Hey! Ya’know, I’m right here in the room.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunted. “You’re kind of hard to miss. Besides, I think she’s kidding.”
“Yeah, well I wouldn’t place any bets on that,” he returned.
“A little sensitive tonight, are we?” Constance quipped in his direction.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’?”
“Can you two pick at each other later?” I sighed and then switched the subject. “So, anyway, what do I owe you for the dinner?”
“Depends. You gonna eat any more?”
“No, I’m done.”
“Let’s see then, you ate the burrito…,” Ben mumbled as he reached out and grabbed the sack, inspected the contents, then stuck his hand in and extracted one of the tacos. He already had it unwrapped when he added, “Well, near as I can figure, looks like nothin’.”
“You’re sure?”
“Uhm-hmmm,” he grunted with a nod, his mouth full.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said after swallowing. “Besides, the Feeb bought.”
“Ben!” she snapped.
I shook my head, embarrassed by my chauvinistic assumption. “Sorry, Constance, I thought…Oh, hell, doesn’t matter. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing, Rowan,” she replied. “I didn’t buy, he did. He’s just yanking your chain.”
“Great,” I said, shooting him a disgusted look. “You’ve just got to pick at somebody, don’t you? Did you forget I’m still kind of pissed even if you did bring me dinner?”
“Hey,” he grumbled. “Ya’ seemed like you were in a okay mood when we got here. You’ve even been halfway pleasant. Well, sorta. Anyway, I figured it couldn’t hurt ta’ lighten things up a bit more.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I dismissed the comment. “Light isn’t my thing right now. I’m going to need a lot more sleep before we go there.”
He simply shrugged and continued devouring the taco.
“You know,” I finally said, looking back over to Ben after taking another swig of coffee. “I hate to be an ungracious host, but earlier today you made out like there was some big reason for us to be having a secret meeting. Or, was I just dreaming all that?”
“The skulking around was Storm’s idea,” Constance offered. “He’s worried I’m going to get myself booted out of the Bureau.”
“Well, dammit, at the rate you’re goin’ you are,” he admonished, almost choking on his food before he could blurt the words.
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” she returned. “At worst I’ll get a letter of censure. And that’s only if I get caught.”
“You just got one a’ those for losin’ your damn sidearm,” he chided. “That’d make two in a row, and even I know that ain’t good.”
He was correct. One of the strings Constance had pulled when getting Felicity out of the assault charge against her was somehow talking her superior into recommending a letter of censure go in her own file. Effectively, she had taken the blame for the situation and glossed over a few damaging facts in order to get my wife off the hook. On paper, what my wife had done had somehow been turned into Constance being reprimanded for temporarily misplacing her government issued weapon. How she’d pulled that off was anyone’s guess, but I suspected it was better if I didn’t really have that answer.
“Well, no offense, Constance,” I interjected. “Because, you know I appreciate everything you’ve done. I really do, and so does Felicity. But, right now I’m afraid I have to admit that she is way more important to me than your career, as harsh as that may seem. So, if there’s something you know that might help…”
“Don’t worry, Rowan, I understand,” she replied with a nod. “Honestly, clearing Felicity is more important to me too.”
“Okay, so why this secret confab? What is it you know?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” she replied. “But I ran across something that sent up a flag…for me anyway…How much do you know about DNA, Rowan?”
“I know how to spell it,” I replied.
“God, Storm really is rubbing off on you.”
“Yeah, it does seem that way, doesn’t it,” I agreed.
“All right you two, who’s doin’ the pickin’ now?” Ben grunted, but left it at that.
“Actually, I do know the basics,” I spoke up again. “If I remember high school biology correctly, it stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. Everybody has it, and a lot of it is the same, but there’s a part of it that’s as unique as a fingerprint. When it comes to being used as evidence, it can be pretty damaging. Other than that, I know it’s the reason my wife has been taken from me and charged with crimes she didn’t commit.”
“Yeah, well it might interest ya’ ta’ know that when it comes to evidence, there’re a coupl’a different kinds of DNA,” Ben added. “Mitochondrial and autosomal.”
I turned my head, quickly shifting my gaze from Constance and fixing it back on him. His expression was enough to tell me that my own face was showing more than just a little wonderment.
“Don’t look so goddamned surprised, Row. I’m not really as stupid as ya’ seem ta’ think I am. I just let everybody think so.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Ben’s right,” Constance chimed in.
“Thanks,” he chirped. “About time ya’ stuck up for me.”
“I meant the part about the DNA,” she said.
“What? You think I’m stupid too?”
“Look, I never said you were stupid!” I interjected, a sharp note of exasperation sounding in my voice. “Now, I would really like to get back on subject here…Jail…Felicity…DNA…”
“Ben actually did hit on the point I’m trying to make,” Constance volunteered. “Mitochondrial versus autosomal DNA.”
“Okay, I’ll admit to my own stupidity on this one. I’ve heard the term mitochondrial but that’s about it. I don’t really know what it means.”
“Well, in basic terms, mitochondrial DNA comes from your mother,” she explained. “Autosomal, however, is not gender specific and can come from either the mother or the father. When using DNA for identification, the preferred method is autosomal unless there is no other choice.”
“Why?”
“Because it is where the true DNA profile actually resides. Mitochondrial is not as unique, and it just gets you into the ballpark. Let me give you an example. I inherited my mitochondrial DNA from my mother, she inherited hers from her mother, her mother’s came from her mother, and so on. Since M-T-D-N-A doesn’t change, if you were to compare samples from all of the women in that line, the mitochondrial DNA strand would be identical. No way to distinguish between us.”
“So, you’re telling me the DNA used to ID Felicity is mitochondrial?”
“Yes and no,” she answered. “The problem is that’s the only kind of DNA that can be found in the shaft of hair. While it can be used as evidence in a crime, usually to narrow the field of suspects, it isn’t an absolute identification of an individual since it will be prevalent throughout a maternal family tree.”
“Okay,” I struggled to contain my impatience. “So what about the yes and no thing? Which is it?”
“I’m getting to that. As you know, the DNA samples we are working with came from hair. Autosomal DNA, the kind used for positive identification can be extracted from the actual follicles or roots. Using something called polymerase chain reaction, or PCR, the DNA is replicated—or what they call amplified—then separated and compared.
“What they look for are matching alleles at given points in the strand, called loci. The standard fo
r CODIS, the Bureau’s Combined DNA Index System, in order to guarantee the match is thirteen unique loci. Unfortunately, when dealing with degraded samples, the best result they can get is sometimes eight or nine.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the biology lesson,” I remarked. “But, you still haven’t answered my question.”
“I just want you to understand how this works, Rowan,” she explained. “In Felicity’s case, the samples taken directly from her match exactly on the mitochondrial DNA with all the others. However, of the samples taken from the three crime scenes, there is a variance on the autosomal profile. On one of them there was a full match of the thirteen core markers…”
“Tell me that was the Wentworth homicide,” I said.
She nodded. “Yes, it was.”
“That makes sense,” I offered. “She was actually present at the scene, and it’s entirely possible for her to have lost a hair or two while shooting the photos, especially the way she had to contort herself to get a couple of the shots.”
“Agreed. However, she did have an autosomal match with the sample from the Hobbes crime scene. But, it was only partial and that’s where the variance comes in. On that sample they hit on seven markers. Not all thirteen. The Myrtle Beach sample was only a mitochondrial match, but that was simply because all they had was a small sample of a hair shaft, and no root.”
“Well, then doesn’t that prove it isn’t her?” I asked hopefully.
Constance shook her head. “Not necessarily. Remember, I said this sometimes happens with degraded samples, and that’s what they were dealing with. While it definitely does cast some doubt on a positive match, given the state of the samples, it’s enough for a prosecutor to take to court if there is other supporting evidence.”
“So this is the big secret?” I asked. “Isn’t this something our attorney would be privy to anyway?”
“Eventually, yes. But they are keeping the details under wraps for the moment, at least until they see if there are matching DNA profiles from any of the other scenes that were kicked out by NCIC. In fact, I only found all this out by accident.”
“Accident?”
“Yes. I accidentally saw the results from the lab in DC.”
“Why am I thinking your use of the word accident may be a bit facetious?”
“It’s not my fault the door was unlocked, and the folder was right there on the desk.”
“See what I’m sayin’ about hot water, Row?” Ben chimed, gesturing toward her.
“Yeah,” I replied. “But you would have done the same and you know it.”
“That’s different.”
“Different how?” Constance demanded.
“I dunno, it just is.”
“So, are there actually more DNA profiles?” I queried, pushing the conversation back on subject.
“That’s what we’re hearin’,” he said. “But, truth is we’re both bein’ kept outta the loop a bit.”
“Of course, that’s to be expected,” Constance added. “Given our personal relationships with both you and Felicity.”
“So they’ll use that to their advantage when it is an advantage, but when it’s not…” I said, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken. I knew Constance would pick up on my inference about her recently being asked to use her friendship with us in an attempt to get information during a jurisdictional turf war between the FBI and local law enforcement.
“Pretty much,” she agreed, without missing a beat.
“Okay, well, this is all well and fine,” I cast my glance back and forth between the two of them. “And, while I appreciate the help, all you’ve really told me is that they have what they consider a smoking gun.”
“Not really,” Ben interjected again.
“Not really, how?”
“Like I said, the match is close, but not positive,” Constance said with a shrug. “That opens things up for a world of doubt. The gun might be warm, but it’s not smoking.”
“Well, I’ve been saying that all along,” I returned. “So, out of curiosity, do you think the samples may have been tampered with?”
“I doubt it,” she said, shaking her head. “Ben told me that was your theory, and while I won’t discount it entirely, I really don’t think it’s likely. Mainly because the easiest way to do that would have been to substitute her hair for the original samples from the unsubs, which would have given a full positive match across the board.”
“Doing that would have been a bit obvious, wouldn’t it?”
“Not really. And, besides, if you’re going to tamper with evidence, you sure don’t want to get too complicated. The KISS principle is usually the best way to keep from getting caught.”
“Okay, but let me ask this. You’re telling me the mitochondrial DNA actually was a full match across the board. I understand it won’t work for positive identification, but isn’t it pretty damning?”
“All it really means is that the killer and Felicity share a maternal link somewhere in their ancestry. That’s not actually as uncommon as you might think, especially when you consider ethnic origin and those sorts of factors. Still, you could be talking about a relative, close or distant.”
I let out a frustrated breath and sat back in my chair. “I’m really afraid all this conversation has done is…”
I wasn’t allowed to finish the sentence. The angry pounding that suddenly issued from my front door didn’t let me.
CHAPTER 19:
The dogs began barking immediately; vociferously defending their territory against the mysterious would be intruder. However, my gut suspicion was that they could bark until they were hoarse, and it wasn’t going to scare away the person on the other side of the door.
“That don’t sound like a very happy knock,” Ben ventured. “You expectin’ company, or did ya’ just piss somebody off?”
Now it was my turn to give an ambiguous answer. “Yes and no.”
“Yeah, and that means?” he prodded.
I was already getting up from my seat. “It means no, I wasn’t actually expecting anyone. Well, not that I invited, anyway. But, yes, I’d say it’s a good bet he’s angry with me.”
“Sounds like you think ya’ know who it is.”
“Judging from the knock, I’d say it’s probably my father-in-law.”
“I’ll bite. Why’s he pissed at you?”
“Other than the fact that he just generally hates me? At the moment, he blames me for Felicity being in jail.”
Constance gave her head a confused shake. “He blames you for this? Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, if you’d rather not deal with it, I’ll be happy to get the door for you,” she offered.
“No, better let me,” I replied. “If it’s him, there’s no reason for you to be stuck in the middle of a family squabble. I know how you law enforcement types feel about those things, and I don’t blame you.”
The hammering echoed through the house once again, coupled with a muffled shout that sounded something like my name. The dogs had quieted momentarily during the brief lull but now renewed their bid to repel the noise with some of their own.
Giving my head a shake that was the obvious product of embarrassment, I strode out of the kitchen and through the dining room. Both Ben and Constance followed along a few paces behind. I guess if I took into account the concern they’d shown for whether or not I’d been eating, their watchful attitudes in this situation were to be expected.
Shushing the canines as I waded between them, I reached for the lock. Out of habit, before turning the deadbolt I put my eye to the peephole even though I was certain I knew whom it was I would see. However, the distorted countenance on the other side of the fisheye came as a total shock. Instead of finding my father-in-law as I had expected, there was someone else entirely standing on my front porch, pummeling my door.
“What the…” I mumbled.
“What’s wrong, Row?” Ben asked.
“Well, apparently I
was wrong,” I replied. “It’s not Shamus; it’s Austin.”
“Who’s Austin?”
“My brother-in-law.”
“That a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Actually, besides Felicity, he’s the one member of that family who doesn’t seem to hate me,” I said with a shrug.
Under the circumstances, I don’t suppose Austin’s presence really should have come as that big a surprise. He was, after all, Felicity’s older brother, and he had a habit of being very overprotective of his “kid sister.”
However, there was also the glaring fact that he made his home almost four thousand miles away in Ireland. I remembered Felicity having made mention that he was planning his vacation around the Thanksgiving holiday in order to visit with family, but I also seemed to recall he was supposed to be arriving late in the coming week. Friday, I thought.
Of course, I suppose it was a good bet he had received a call from Maggie or Shamus telling him of his sister’s current plight, and that may have prompted him to re-arrange his travel plan. Something he would have had to do in a huge rush, but that wasn’t something I would put past him. Whatever the reason however, obviously he was here sooner rather than later.
Rather than stand there trying to reason out the logistics that now brought him to my doorstep, I twisted the lock and unlatched the door then pulled it open wide. In retrospect, I probably should have taken the time to do some of the pondering I had so quickly dismissed.
Just as I had told Ben, Austin and I had always gotten along famously. Other than my wife, he really was the only member of the O’Brien family who accepted me for who I was and didn’t pass judgment on my religious path or lifestyle. In fact, he had even gone toe to toe with his father in my defense on more than one occasion. Therefore, I can honestly say his fist racing toward my jaw was absolutely the last thing I ever imagined would happen. Of course, my imagination had been running incredibly rampant as of late, so possibilities that would have been obvious to others simply didn’t fit within its outlandish scope.
All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 18