She’s a girl.

Clearly. Marcus had rolled his eyes. “He has an easy smile and one I would say is confident, and he comes off as reliable, well-spoken, and serious-minded, with a hint of humor. The movie star he looks most like is Bradley Cooper.” Why did they have to compare him to a movie star? Of what relevance is that?

It’s a shorthand.

I can’t believe these profiles. “This one looks like Justin Timberlake, that one looks like Colin Farrell.” It’s Hollywood sperm, everybody!

Christine put the memory out of her mind, skimming through Donor 3319’s profile. After the interview was the form that included Personal Information: year of birth, 1990; Education, Bachelor of Arts in Chemistry; Current Occupation, Student, Accepted to Medical School; Ethnic Origin, Dutch, Swedish, English; and Religion, Agnostic/Atheist.

Christine read on to the family medical history of Donor 3319, his parents, and paternal and maternal grandparents. There were also his lab results, showing that he tested negative for chlamydia, hepatitis B, HIV I and 2, gonorrhea, CMV total antibody, and syphilis. After that was genetic screening for cystic fibrosis, spinal muscular atrophy, and then a boldfaced warning: Genetic screening tests can significantly reduce but never completely eliminate the chance that a person is a carrier for a particular disorder.

Christine remembered that Marcus had been most interested in the medical history.

Christine, it says his father had asthma and the age of onset was two. He says it’s “managed,” but that’s not a good thing. I don’t know if asthma is hereditary.

I’ll make a note to ask. Christine always had a list of questions before they went to the doctor. She wrote down, asthma.

The mother has “uterine fibroids.” She had a hysterectomy. Does that matter?

No idea. I’ll make a note to ask, too.

It says it was resolved.

Then it’s resolved. Christine crossed out the entry. I don’t want to waste his time with dumb questions.

It’s not dumb, it’s important. Anything about the DNA matters. For example, it says here, “maternal grandmother had skin cancer, basal cell, on the arm. Age at onset was forty, surgical removal, outcome—resolved.” We should ask about that, too.

Will do. Christine made a note on her list. But I don’t think skin cancer is hereditary.

Marcus frowned, in thought. I do. The predisposition is inherited, I think. He has fair skin. He’ll fit right in. The Nilssons burn like bacon.

Christine returned her attention to the profile, flipping through until she came to the questions and answers that Donor 3319 had filled out himself. The first one made her stop short:

Q: Are you going to enter Homestead’s Open Identity Disclosure program?

A: No.

Q: If no, why?

A: As I understand the Open Identity Disclosure program, the sperm donor would be willing to meet the child conceived using his sperm when the child is 18 years old. I expressly do not want to do that because I do not consider myself the father of the child. I consider myself as providing genetic material that would help make a family, but it is not my family, it is theirs. Also, I know that my parents, given their strict religious beliefs, would not approve of what I am doing. I am certain about keeping my information private and my identity anonymous, except for the one adult and one child photo I have provided.

Christine felt her stomach drop. She set the profile aside, went back to her laptop, and hit the mouse pad to wake it up. The CNN website came to life and the video was still there, but the news story had grown longer, with two new paragraphs added. She read the first one:

Pennsylvania authorities seized Jeffcoat’s automobile, a 2013 white Nissan Sentra, and reportedly discovered the contents of his trunk: a shovel, a roll of garbage bags, a large hunting knife, and a bone saw, of medical grade.

Christine’s mouth went dry. The shovel and the garbage bag sent shivers down her spine, and the medical saw left her dizzy with questions. Who would have access to a medical saw but a medical student? Was that a link to Donor 3319? Who would know how to use a medical saw but a medical student? Did he steal it from the hospital? Did he buy one on his own? Who else could it belong to? Somebody, anybody in the medical profession. Then again, how hard could it be to use a medical saw? And how skilled a job did it have to be if the person was already dead? She read the second paragraph:

The Nurse Murderer is known for having a distinct modus operandi, or MO. His three victims, all female nurses between the ages of 30 and 40, were found in their beds in their home, fully clothed, with their hands tied in a praying position, using a tourniquet. They were also bound at the ankles, using a tourniquet. Each woman was murdered in the same manner, stabbed through the heart by a bone saw, in a precise location with only a single stab wound. Police authorities and FBI profilers report that the method suggests the killer has medical knowledge. The fact that his victims are nurses suggests an animus or a revenge motive against the nursing profession. Unlike many serial killers, however, The Nurse Murderer does not sexually molest his victims.

Christine felt queasy, shaken. She picked up her glass of water, took a sip, then set it down, her gorge rising with an unmistakable sensation she experienced every morning though never before in the afternoon.

She reached for the wastecan.

Chapter Four

Christine hurried to the front door and flung it open like the cavalry had arrived. “Lauren, great to see you!”

“Really?” Lauren grinned as she stepped inside. Her dark, curly hair had been twisted up into a tortoiseshell clip, and she had on a faded gray Columbia University T-shirt and light blue nylon shorts. “What did I do right?”

“Everything.” Christine gave her a big hug, then closed the door as Marcus came up behind her.

“Lauren, hey. Thanks again for helping with the party. It was awesome.”

“It was, wasn’t it? You’re welcome.”

Arf! Murphy came up wagging his tail to sniff Lauren.

“Hiya, Murph. How’s my big boy today?” Lauren ruffled up the dog’s fur around his neck. She didn’t have any pets because her husband Josh was allergic, and she always joked that she’d trade her husband for a dog. Josh was an accountant in Rocky Hill, which was why she’d moved to Connecticut from her beloved Manhattan.

“You want a soda or anything?”

“No thanks. You were so mysterious in the text.” Lauren looked from Christine to Marcus and back again. “What’s going on?”