Good Girl, Bad Girl(98)

They’re passing, turning into the lounge. Edging the door open a crack, I look across the hallway and see Tuba unpacking beers and putting them in the cooler box. Felix is wearing a coat and tie. His hair is oiled. I want to stay hidden. I want to curl up and wait them out. But if Felix sees the padlock, I’m going to die.

You have a gun.

He’ll take it from me.

Not if you shoot him first.

Felix lights a cigarette and tosses the lighter onto the table, resting the ashtray on his stomach and tilting his head back. Tuba puts on some music. They’re arguing over whether British rap is better than American rap. This is my chance.

Unwrapping the pistol, I hold it against my chest and slip out of the room into the empty corridor. Quickly, quietly, I pass in front of the lounge, momentarily glimpsing Felix lounging on the sofa. He doesn’t see me. I keep moving. Eyes ahead.

The floor creaks and Keeley steps out of a room, looking at the screen of her phone. I freeze, holding the pose as though we’re playing a game of musical statues.

She lifts her eyes and opens her mouth. I lunge and grab her hair, yanking her to the ground and covering her mouth with my other hand.

“Not a word!” I whisper. “Not a word!”

I close my teeth around her earlobe, feeling the back of a silver stud scratching at my tongue. Keeley whimpers.

I show her the gun, pressing the muzzle against her forehead and holding one finger upright against her lips. “Not a fucking word.”

Keeley cowers.

I get to my feet and walk backwards until I reach the foyer, then the main doors and the steps and the parking area and the road outside. Finally, I run, holding the gun inside my sweatshirt.





52




* * *





CYRUS




* * *



The incident room is slowly being dismantled. Shredded paper spills from bins and the whiteboards have been picked clean of photographs and maps. The bulk of the task force has been reassigned, but a few remaining souls are typing out statements and tying up loose ends.

Lenny’s office is full of half-packed boxes and empty filing cabinets. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about her transfer and whether she’s seriously considering retirement. She’s too good at her job to walk away but too poor at the politics to change direction.

“I have another week to wrap up the Jodie Sheehan investigation,” she says, putting another box file in a carton. “Once I turn over the brief to the Crown Prosecution Service, the lawyers take over.”

“What if Farley’s confession is disallowed?”

“Won’t matter. We have DNA, fibers, and dog hairs. Those things are better than a signed confession. People might not believe in God or ghosts or man-made climate change, but they believe in forensic evidence.”

I move a box from a chair and sit down. “I talked to Farley. He heard Jodie being thrown off the footbridge.”

“Let it go, Cyrus.”

“Tasmin didn’t leave the patio door unlocked. Jodie couldn’t get inside. That’s why she walked home.”

Lenny reads another label on a file. Behind her, Antonia appears in the doorway. “Dr. Ness wants a word.”

“Patch him through,” says Lenny.

“He’s waiting outside.”

Lenny glances at me, raising an eyebrow. The chief pathologist rarely ventures outside the morgue unless it’s to a crime scene or the golf course. Stepping around Antonia, Ness smiles apologetically, his eyes bright and his tightly curled hair looking like a furry helmet. He gives Lenny’s office a quick once-over, as though he might be in the market for one just like it, before taking a seat next to me and pulling off his soft leather gloves, one finger at a time.

“There’s been a development,” he says. “The DNA report on Jodie Sheehan’s unborn child was emailed through from the lab in Boston this morning. It closely matches the traces of semen found on her thigh and indicates that the father was someone close to her.”

Lenny frowns. “When you say ‘close to her’?”

“He shares runs of homozygosity.”

“Runs of what?”

“He’s family,” I say, understanding a little more of the science.

Lenny looks from Ness to me. “Which one?”

Ness gives us both a quick lesson on chromosomes and DNA.

“When children are born from incest their genomes show an absence of heterozygosity because their DNA contains large chunks where the mother’s and father’s contributions are identical because they already share much of the same genetic code. These are called ‘runs of homozygosity.’ The more chunks of the child’s DNA where the mother’s and father’s contributions are identical, the more likely it is that they’re first-degree relatives.”

“OK, so who are we looking for?” asks Lenny.

Ness won’t be rushed. “A brother and sister share fifty percent DNA. If they had a baby it would likely share roughly twenty-five percent. It’s the same if father and daughter incest leads to pregnancy.

“An uncle and niece share twenty-five percent DNA and their offspring would have twelve and a half percent. The figures are the same for half siblings. First cousins share about twelve and a half percent, but any offspring would have less than this. These figures aren’t absolutes, but a Y-chromosome match with the blood relative can confirm the incest.”