Torn

“Then as you know, Mrs. Corbin is concerned that the results might have been wrong. That a mistake could have been made.”

“Hmm,” says Hilly Teeger, not sounding even slightly surprised. “May I ask in what capacity you’re representing Mrs. Corbin? Are you practicing law by any chance?”

“I’m not a lawyer. I’m a retired Special Agent.”

“Ah,” she says airily, as if amused by his response. “Once upon a time most FBI agents had law degrees.”

“Before my time,” Shane says, keeping it affable, non-threatening. “Are you concerned that Mrs. Corbin may be contemplating a lawsuit?”

“It crossed our mind. Our minds—mine and others in the company. GenData, the national entity, not this lab specifically, let me just say there have been lawsuits, okay? And not only in the forensic arena. Someone doesn’t like their BRAC analysis, or how the results are presented, they think that’s a basis for a lawsuit. It’s not, but sometimes they think it is. This is America, after all.”

“BRAC analysis?”

“Accounts for almost thirty percent of our business nationwide. We sequence DNA upon request and determine if there are mutations shown to indicate a genetic propensity for breast and/or ovarian cancer. It’s an early warning system of sorts.”

“This isn’t about cancer, Dr. Teeger.”

“That was just an example. People sue for all kinds of reasons. That’s their right under the law. It’s just we like to know if that’s what we’re dealing with.”

Shane sits back, thinks about it. Something is going on, he’s not sure what. “So far as I know, Mrs. Corbin is not planning a lawsuit at this time. Or any time. She simply wants to know if a mistake could have been made in the identification of her son’s remains.”

Hilly Teeger gives him a bright smile. “That’s great about no lawsuit being contemplated. Welcome news. Let me ask you, Mr. Shane, are you an expert in genetic identification? Is that why you’re representing Mrs. Corbin in this matter?”

“Not an expert, no,” Shane says. “I have worked with labs and with DNA identification experts in the past, while investigating crimes and also in preparing expert testimony. So I know just enough to get myself in trouble.”

“But you’re more or less current with lab protocols?”

He shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Tests and procedures change so quickly it’s hard to keep up. Excuse me, Dr. Teeger, but was there a problem? You seem to know a lot about this particular case right off. Enough to be concerned about lawsuits.”

She sighs and gives him a pained look. “I’ve spoken to Mrs. Corbin personally. Several times. As recently as last week, as a matter of fact. I assured her, as I’m going to assure you, that I’m one hundred percent certain that the blood spatter we tested is a match for the little boy’s blood. The genetic markers are identical to a slide sample that was taken when he had his tonsils removed two years ago. Perfect match. We also tested against Mrs. Corbin’s DNA, at her request—and at no charge, by the way—and again determined that the samples taken from the crime scene are from her biological son. So even if the comparison sample from the hospital had been tainted or misfiled somehow, we still know that the samples taken from the gym belong to her son, no doubt about it.”

“So the blood is a slam dunk.”

“I’m not crazy about sports analogies in criminal matters, but yes. Slam dunk.”

“Same for the tissue?”

The beautiful doctor hesitates, covering her uncertainty with a wry smile. “Not so much,” she admits. “If this ever came to trial, and I don’t see how it could since the perpetrator died, we’d have to exclude the tissue match.”

Shane sits up straight. The time for slumping is over. “Excuse me?”

“That’s why we’ve been unable to comply with Mrs. Corbin’s request that we retest the tissue as well as the blood.”

Shane nods, wanting to give the impression he knows all about the retest request. “Yes,” he says. “And why exactly was that? Retesting is pretty routine in criminal cases.”

“This is embarrassing,” Hilly Teeger says, studying the top of her empty desk, avoiding eye contact. “After the initial test, which showed a match, the tissue samples were accidentally incinerated. We fired the tech, of course. Obvious violation of protocol, no excuse. Fortunately the blood spatter remained intact and we have in fact retested those samples. Twice.”

“But the tissue collected at the crime scene, that was incinerated?”

“Yes, it was.”

“So no tissue samples remain?”

“None.”

“Just a few drops of blood.”

She nods, a glum look dimming her beauty. “We’re very sorry,” she says. “It’s inexcusable, but accidents do happen.”

Randall Shane isn’t very sorry. Not in the least. He leaves GenData with a veritable bounce in his step. Thinking, I’ll stop by the motel, do a little exploring online, and then I’ll go see Mrs. Corbin and tell her the news.