Without Her Consent

by McGarvey Black

  After holding on to his uncorroborated information about Frank Farwell for a couple of days, Devlin sat in his six-year-old blue Honda Civic and called his contact at CNN to share the news. Sure, his first obligation was technically to The Oceanside Bulletin but Devlin had long ago decided that his real first responsibility was to himself. Loyalty to the Bulletin was not going to get him a TV job. He had an explosive little headline in his sweaty palms and he was taking it on the road straight to the cable news shows.

  After he spilled the beans to his contact at CNN, he was put on hold for a couple of minutes. When the guy came back on the phone, he asked if Devlin could get on a plane to New York and be there for the 8pm news hour. That’s exactly what Devlin had been hoping to hear. He agreed and dashed back to the Bulletin office to talk to his editor. This time, he was going to work it to his advantage, but he had to set it up just right. A year from now, he intended to be working in television in New York, but he had to protect himself in case things didn’t work out the way he planned. He had bills to pay and if his plan backfired, he still needed to keep his job at the newspaper.

  He told his editor what he had learned and how CNN now wanted him on the air that same night.

  ‘That’s pretty explosive stuff you dug up,’ said the editor. ‘Farwell, the chief administrator of Oceanside Manor? Oh boy, that’s a going to go like wildfire. You feel confident about your sources?’

  ‘One hundred percent,’ said Tommy, grabbing his coat. ‘It came straight from the cops but I can’t say that yet. But it was an official source. I’ll write the full story for tomorrow morning’s paper on the plane and email it to you when I land in New York tonight. This is going to be huge.’

  As he promised, when Devlin landed at LaGuardia Airport, he stopped in a lounge, connected to wifi and sent the morning article to his editor.

  Explosive New Developments in the Eliza Stern Sexual Assault Case

  By Thomas Devlin, Jr.

  It’s been over two months since the information was first made public regarding Eliza Stern and the birth of her baby while a patient at Oceanside Manor (an Oceanside Medical Center affiliate). Because Ms. Stern is in an unconscious state, it is believed that she had been sexually assaulted. The young woman has been in a coma for nearly twelve years after a terrible car accident on the Florida Turnpike where all members of her family were killed.

  On January 13th of this year, Ms. Stern went into spontaneous labor and shortly thereafter a healthy baby boy was delivered. Police were immediately summoned and a massive investigation has been underway to identify who the perpetrator of this assault was. After reviewing hospital records of visitors and employees, hundreds were interrogated and subsequently provided DNA samples to the police.

  As of this week, law enforcement had yet to find a match and had only a small handful of people still left to consider. Today, The Oceanside Bulletin was told through a confidential source that the police want to question the chief administrator of Oceanside Manor, Dr. Frank Farwell. Dr. Farwell has been on sabbatical in Ecuador since the middle of last year but police have determined that he was still in residence at Oceanside Manor for a few days during the time period that Ms. Stern was most likely assaulted. Over the past two months, the baby boy has developed red hair. Pictures of Dr. Farwell from last year’s board of director’s dinner show him to also be a redhead. According to geneticists, only about 1-2% of the population has red hair…

  When Tommy arrived at the CNN studios, he was warmly greeted by the staff who rushed him into the green room. The hair and makeup people gave him a brush and a dusting and he was escorted onto the set to join the host. The interview went extremely well and Tommy provided enough information and innuendo to tantalize a news hungry audience while staying on the safe side of the law. Truth was, Devlin had no clue if the information was correct. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get back on TV—and it worked.

  That night, still at the police station, McQ and Blade were at their desks working a few angles when one of the deputy’s came in and told them to turn on CNN. When McQ got to the channel the first thing he saw was Tommy Devlin with a self-satisfied look on his face.

  ‘What the hell is that hack saying now?’ said McQ. ‘We haven’t put out anything new in the last week. Why would he be up in New York now?’

  McQ and Blade watched the entire interview and McQ felt his blood begin to boil. ‘I can’t believe that self-promoting jerk just did that. How did he find out about Farwell? That was all confidential. Nothing has been verified. What we saw Devlin just do was total speculation.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ said Blade. ‘Only a handful of people knew we were looking at Farwell. I know the three cops who were working on this line of questioning. I can vouch for all of them. None of them would have said a word.’

  ‘Somebody said something,’ said McQ. ‘Wait until Farwell gets wind of it.’

  ‘He still might be our daddy,’ said Blade.

  ‘From the way things are going, half the population of Florida might be the daddy.’

  59

  Day 65

  ‘Thanks for squeezing me in, Virginia,’ said Angela as she breezed past her therapist and took her usual seat in the black leather chair. ‘My life isn’t my own these days between the absolute insanity at the hospital and having a new baby in the house. I barely have time to eat.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Mostly good.’

  ‘Mostly?’

  ‘A little overwhelmed,’ said Angela. ‘I’m trying to run a hospital that’s had a continuous police and FBI presence. Everyone on my staff is looking at each other wondering if one of their co-workers is the one who did it. And now, after all the chaos, it looks like the police may have nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘We may never learn who Eli’s father is,’ said Angela, shaking her head.

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t care anymore,’ said Angela. ‘In three weeks, Frank Farwell will be back and he can deal with the nightmare that I’ve been living. Eli’s father is of no importance whatsoever to me. What matters now is that he’s my son and he’s a beautiful, healthy baby who has brought enormous joy into David’s and my life.’

  ‘Aren’t you concerned about the genetic blueprint that Eli may have inherited? Wasn’t that always your issue with adoption? That you didn’t know what kind of mental family tree you were going to get?’

  Angela took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘It was because of what happened with my brother that I felt that way. I loved Michael but he put my parents through hell. Eli isn’t anything like my brother. I can tell, he has the sweetest, most gentle soul.’

  ‘He’s two months old,’ said Virginia. ‘Hitler was sweet and gentle when he was two months old.’

  ‘You’re comparing my baby to Hitler?’ said Angela, starting to bristle.

  ‘Of course not. I’m sure Eli is fine,’ said Virginia. ‘But given the circumstances and knowing that the father likely has a screw loose, don’t you want to know what you’re dealing with?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter to me or to my husband,’ said Angela becoming agitated. ‘We know Eli is all right.’

  ‘That’s quite a turnaround from the woman who for years refused to consider adoption despite the fact that she desperately wanted a baby,’ said Virginia. ‘Maybe we should explore that.’

  ‘People change their minds all the time. Can we please talk about something else?’

  ‘Absolutely, this is your session. What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘In a few weeks, my old boss will be back and I will happily pass over the tiller of Oceanside Manor to him,’ said Angela. ‘Now that I have an infant at home, Eli’s my priority and I want to create more of a work–life balance.’

  ‘Aren’t you and David just fostering?’ asked Virginia carefully. ‘You’re talking like it’s a forgone conclusion that Eli will be staying with you. There’s a lot of steps
that it takes to adopt a baby. You need to prepare yourself that anything can happen.’

  Angela glared at her therapist, her brows knitted together, and she suddenly stood up.

  ‘We still have a few more minutes left in our session,’ said Virginia.

  ‘I’m not going to sit here and have you fill my life with toxic energy,’ said Angela, her voice rising. ‘It’s like you don’t want me to have this baby. Just because you don’t have any kids, you don’t want anyone else to have them either.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s not what I—’

  Virginia didn’t finish her sentence because Angela had already walked out the door.

  60

  Day 70

  After taking a statement at a gas station on Federal Highway where a woman had pulled a knife on her boyfriend the night before, McQ turned the Camry to drive south along Ocean Highway. The tall palm fronds fluttered from the strong breeze as streams of excited tourists carried beach chairs and lunches for their much-anticipated day at the shore. The visitors were all in Oceanside for a holiday, oblivious to any crime that might be happening. That was the way it was supposed to be—a sun-drenched paradise, where you left your cares behind. It was McQ and Blade’s job to keep Oceanside safe so the tourists continued to come and spend their money. Happy and safe kept the economy going, the restaurants full, and the boutiques selling bathing suits and beach bags.

  The detectives drove through some of the neighborhoods on the barrier island by the beach. Everything was pristine and manicured and if it wasn’t, it was being torn down to build something grander in the high-priced neighborhood. House prices ranged from as much as thirty million to the smallest of homes priced at a cool one million. Any way you sliced it, if you wanted to own real estate by the shore in Oceanside, you had better have a few dollars put away.

  ‘You gotta admit, Anita, this is one beautiful place,’ said McQ, looking out his window, admiring the ocean. ‘It’s lunchtime. How about we do a stop at Chick-fil-A?’

  Twenty minutes later, after devouring his bacon chicken sandwich and a sweet tea in the car, McQ smiled. ‘That was all I needed. I think better when I’ve had something to eat. You don’t want anything?’

  ‘I don’t put poison in my body,’ said Blade.

  ‘It didn’t taste like poison to me,’ said McQ, wiping his mouth and starting the car. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’ They rode in silence for a minute listening to some of the calls coming in over the radio.

  ‘You’re awfully quiet today, Anita,’ said McQ. ‘Still glad you took my call when I asked you to come down here for the open detective job?’

  ‘I’m feeling frustrated. I wish we could get some closure on the Stern case. It’s driving me crazy that we’re nowhere.’

  ‘Let’s try thinking about it from a completely different angle,’ said McQ as he drove. ‘We got the DNA on everyone who was in the building but no matches.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘We matched all the fingerprints we found with hospital personnel with the exception of two full and one partial.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘We found out two of those prints were from the plant guy that we got off the database at the theme park but he had already been exonerated by his DNA sample, so it was a wash. Every lead we’ve chased down has gone nowhere. We can’t catch a break on this one.’

  ‘There’s got to be another way to skin this,’ said Blade.

  They drove down the beach road silently, each in their own thoughts.

  ‘Wait a second,’ said Blade. ‘Obviously, we’re missing someone. Somebody didn’t make it onto our master list. If they weren’t on the master list, we wouldn’t have checked their DNA. I’ve heard that some police departments have been using alternative sources. In California, they found this serial killer because the guy’s cousin wanted to know where their family roots were from. Why don’t we see if we can get a hit from one of those genealogy sites?’

  ‘How does it work?’ asked McQ.

  ‘Let’s say I’m your sister,’ said Blade, ‘and you’re a serial rapist.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Unbeknownst to you, I, your sister, decide I want to find out what percentage Norwegian I am.’

  ‘I can tell you right now, you don’t look Norwegian,’ said McQ, winking.

  ‘Just stay with me,’ said Blade, on a roll. ‘I want to find out my ancestry and I send my DNA sample into one of those sites. Six weeks later I get a printout that tells me I’m related to Genghis Khan and Napoleon.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And that’s it,’ said Blade. ‘Now, this genealogy company has my DNA. If we take Eliza Stern’s baby’s DNA and run it through that genealogy company, it won’t find the exact match because I, your sister did it and not you, but it will give us a close match and we might be able to identify the real perpetrator.’

  ‘I always thought you were a genius, Anita.’

  ‘It’s a gift.’

  The next day the two detectives put together a list of the top three genealogy sites and made some phone calls. They would use a process similar to when they used someone’s Facebook profile to see who might be in their social network. If the baby’s DNA was a close match to someone who had a brother, father or cousin who worked at the hospital, or even lived in or near Oceanside, they would be able to identify their man.

  The first and largest company said their policy was to not share their data with anyone, including the police. Blade got the same reaction when she reached out to the second largest genealogy company—another dead-end. On the third call, they got a break. FamilyRoots DNA had worked extensively with the FBI and said they would allow police to look for family matches providing it was for a violent crime like rape or murder. The detectives’ luck had changed.

  While on the phone with FamilyRoots DNA, McQ threw a ball of paper at his partner and gave Blade a thumbs up. Since the arrest of some high-profile murderers and rapists, police had identified suspects in twenty-six cold cases. Prior to FamilyRoots agreeing to help law enforcement, the only resource was a public database called GEDMatch which wasn’t nearly as rich or specific as the private companies. Police could now upload DNA data from a crime scene and search the company’s database to find relatives of potential suspects if not the suspect themselves.

  ‘The woman at FamilyRoots said that they got some pushback from privacy advocates who didn’t want the police messing with people’s private data,’ said McQ, ‘but they’re going to allow it anyway, at least for now.’

  ‘What a crazy world we live in,’ said Blade. ‘Nobody minds if Facebook or Google use and sell your data for a profit but for police to catch a murderer or rapist, that’s where they draw the line?’

  ‘I hear you. It makes no sense,’ said McQ. ‘We could still get a court order for the other genealogy companies, but let’s chase this one down since they are willing to play with us and see what crawls out.’

  61

  Day 80

  When his plane from Ecuador landed on a Thursday afternoon in Fort Lauderdale, Frank Farwell was fuming. They had CNN in Ecuador and Farwell had seen all the coverage about him. Tommy Devlin had intimated on television and in local papers that the police were seriously looking at Farwell for the rape of Eliza Stern. The development in the story had been picked up by media outlets around the world. Even down in Ecuador, people had heard about the case. When Frank saw his name and picture on the front page of a Spanish language paper he cut his trip short to return to Oceanside and deal with all the insanity.

  ‘To suggest that I had anything to do with it is ridiculous,’ he had said to his Florida attorney during a contentious phone call from Ecuador. ‘I never touched that girl. I’ll sue Devlin, CNN and The Oceanside Bulletin for libel and slander. It’s a disgrace that they can say something like that and get away with it. The media are a bunch of slimeballs. They’ll say anything to sell more ads. They don’t know who they are dealing with.’

  ‘Le
t your DNA clear you first, Frank,’ said his attorney, trying to soothe his client. ‘You’ll be back in four days. My understanding is that your kit is at the lab right now. After you’re ruled out, we can go after the press with both barrels.’

  Two days later, DNA reports cleared Frank Farwell, but he was still spitting mad and looking for blood. At the Fort Lauderdale airport, Frank picked up his luggage from the baggage carousel at the international terminal and ordered an Uber. It felt good to be back in the United States after being in South America for so long. In the morning, he would go into Oceanside Manor to see what condition things were in. The following Monday he’d be back in his old office to right the ship that had gone severely off course, hit some rocks and was about to sink.

  The next morning when he pulled into the familiar Oceanside Manor parking lot, there was only a single news van from a Palm Beach affiliate station parked across the street. When he entered the building, he was greeted with a mixture of surprise and fear by the hospital staff, who were not expecting him. He went straight up to his old office where he found his assistant, Vera, at her desk. It took her a moment to realize it was her old boss standing in front of her. She too, hadn’t been expecting him.

  ‘Dr. Farwell,’ said Vera, standing up and smoothing her hair. ‘I didn’t know you were back. Welcome home. I’m sure you’ve heard, it’s been so chaotic since you left.’

  ‘I’ve heard. I’m not officially starting until Monday. Where’s Dr. Crawford?’

  ‘She’s in her…I mean, your office,’ said the assistant, starting to walk towards the administrator’s closed door.

  ‘Sit,’ said Farwell, smiling. ‘Let me surprise her.’

  He walked softly over to the door and gently pushed it open. Angela looked up from her desk.