Salem Falls Read online

  "So far," Matt said, "I'm a happy camper."

  "Good. Because the fingernail residue is a slightly different story. The victim's own skin cells are naturally there, as well as some skin cells that are not hers."

  "Like a mixture?" Matt asked.

  "Exactly. You'll see numbers that correspond to the victim and the other party."

  "Is that what the parentheses are for?"

  "Yup. Different intensities, based on the combination of alleles from each person. Say, for example, that the suspect and the victim both have an eleven at the TPOX location ... but only the victim has an eight. In a combination of their DNA, I'd expect to find a thicker band at the eleven than I would at the 8. The parentheses suggest just that."

  The waitress sailed over and slapped two chocolate milk shakes down on the table. "Thanks," Frankie and Matt said simultaneously.

  They left the glasses sweating rings, their attention absorbed by Frankie's chart. "For the semen, unfortunately, the results were inconclusive."

  Matt's face fell. "Why?"

  "There's no result in the CSF system and the D16 system. That's because sometimes, when there's not much DNA, we can't get readings at those loci."

  Staring at the numbers, Matt frowned. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

  "Yes. Since we're talking about semen, I know it's going to be a mixture of the victim's inner thigh skin and some male's sperm."

  "Like the fingernail residue?"

  Frankie nodded. "Compare those two lines."

  Matt studied the chart for a moment, then shrugged. "The numbers are all the same ... they're just mixed up in a few spots. That means you can't eliminate the suspect, doesn't it?"

  "Technically, that's right," Frankie admitted. "But there's something there making me a little hesitant to finger him, too."

  Matt tossed the papers down and leaned back in his chair. "Talk."

  "Think of all the people in the world, and all the different alleles they've inherited. I've never seen a mixture of two unrelated individuals where I didn't have four distinct numbers at some location. You'd think, just by probability statistics, that there'd be some place where the suspect would be--let's say--a twelve, thirteen and the victim would be an eleven, fourteen ... but not according to this." She pointed to the thigh analysis. "Look at the overlap. In fact, at only a handful of locations is there any number foreign to the victim's own DNA."

  "Are you telling me there's a lab error?"

  "Thanks so much for the vote of confidence."

  "Maybe you didn't have enough DNA. Isn't it possible that if the sample was better, you might have gotten four alleles?"

  "It's remotely possible," Frankie conceded. "But that's not all that's bugging me. Look at the TH01 system, for example. The victim and a suspect are both six, seven there, so a mixture of their DNA should always be six, seven there."

  "It is."

  "Not in the semen sample. There's a lighter seven, along with the six. That doesn't make sense." She shook her head. "I'm not trying to ruin your case. But while I can't eliminate your suspect ... he's not the most perfect fit, either."

  Matt was silent for a moment, tracing his finger through the wet stain the milk shake had left on the table. "C'mon, Frank. You could combine the DNA of every guy in Salem Falls with my victim's and still not come up with a precise textbook mixture."

  Frankie considered this. "Maybe they're related."

  "Suspect and victim? Not a chance."

  "Well, then, the suspect you gave me to test ... and another guy who actually did contribute to the sperm sample. Relatives have DNA profiles that overlap ... which can sometimes account for bizarre results."

  Matt exhaled slowly. "You're telling me my victim scratched the hell out of the suspect, who bled all over her shirt ... and then brought his brother in to rape her?"

  Frankie raised an eyebrow. "It's a possibility."

  "It would be if the suspect had a brother!"

  "Don't shoot the messenger." Frankie gathered up her reports. "A private lab could test more systems to see if there's an elimination further down."

  "And if we don't have the funding for that?"

  "I'd go check your suspect's family tree."

  Matt drained his milk shake and took out his wallet. "Is it his blood?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "And is there a good chance that he got scratched by the victim?"

  Frankie nodded.

  "And you can't say that sperm sample isn't his."

  "No."

  Matt tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. "That's all I needed to hear."

  The girls arrived, flushed and sweaty in their silky shorts and bouncing ponytails, like a flock of sparrows that had swept into the locker room through an open door. Chattering in twos and threes, they made their way toward the showers, ignoring the woman who stood in the entry staring at last year's varsity photo.

  Jack was pictured with his team, his hair as bright as the gold that glinted off the trophy one of the girls held. His head was turned in profile, admiring these young women.

  "Are you lost?"

  The voice jolted Addie out of her reverie. "Sorry," a teenage girl said, smiling. "I didn't mean to scare you to death."

  "No ... no, that's all right."

  "Are you somebody's mother?" the girl asked.

  Addie was stunned by the personal question, until she realized that she was taking it the wrong way. This girl was not talking about Chloe at all; in fact, Addie was only being mistaken, once again, for someone she was not. Why wouldn't a student invite her mother to join her after practice, maybe for a cup of tea?

  "I'm a prospective mother," Addie said.

  The girl grinned, a dimple showing in her cheek. It was so guileless that Addie felt her stomach cramp; she was wishing that hard that this child might have been hers. "Oh. One of those," the student teased.

  "What does that mean?"

  "That your daughter plays all-state and that you want to talk to the coach."

  Addie laughed. "Where is he, then?"

  The girl's eyes darted to the photo. "She should be here any minute now."

  "She?"

  "We got a new coach this year. After our old one ... had to leave."

  Addie cleared her throat. "Oh?"

  The girl nodded and touched her hand to the glass. "It was some big horrible scandal, or it was supposed to be, anyway. But if you ask me, it was like Romeo and Juliet, a little. You know, falling in love with the person you're not supposed to." She frowned slightly. "Except they didn't die at the end."

  "Romeo and Juliet?"

  "No ... Coach and Catherine."

  "Ladies! Why don't I hear water running?" A strident voice boomed through the locker room as the new coach clapped her hands and scattered her team toward the showers.

  "That's her," the girl said. "In case you didn't figure it out." With a tiny wave, she jogged toward the bathroom section of the locker room.

  The coach approached with a smile. "Can I help you?" she asked.

  "I was just looking around. If that's all right." Addie pointed toward the gleaming trophy. "That's quite a Cracker Jack prize."

  "Yeah, they worked hard for it. Good group of kids."

  Addie leaned closer to the photo. But instead of looking at the girls, she scanned the calligraphy of the caption. L to R: Suzanne Wellander, Margery Cabot, Coach St. Bride, Catherine Marsh.

  The girl next to Jack, holding the trophy. The girl who, Addie now realized, he was staring at.

  "This is a copy of your statement," Matt said, handing it across his desk to Gillian. "I want you to take it home and read it, so that you remember everything you said."

  Beside her, Amos glanced at the thin leaflet. "I damn well hope you've got more for your case than just that."

  "We do," Matt answered smoothly. "But your daughter's allegations are the foundation of our case." He opened up another folder and gave Duncan a copy of Frankie's forensic report. "These results all c