and reminding him that about a year ago he’d developed a thing for lab coats. For redheads wearing lab coats and nothing else…
Test results, he reminded himself, you’re here for test results. Then, when he took in the tense set of her shoulders and the nervous darting of her eyes, his reasons for being there suddenly seemed less important than they had a moment ago. The tingle centered on his spine.
Something was up.
“How’s your daughter?” he asked casually. “Any ill effects from her field trip yesterday?”
She flinched, as though fearing he knew something she didn’t, then shook her head. “Um, no. She seems fine. In fact, I think she’s come through this better than either Maureen or I. I’m still a basket case though, thinking of what might have happened, and if Maureen even lets her step foot outside the house today I’ll be surprised.”
There was a quick tremble in her voice, and she fiddled with a mechanical pencil as she spoke, clicking the lead and then tapping the point on the hard lab bench until the fragile graphite snapped. Reid wondered whether that was all there was to it. Leftover nerves? Or something more?
He didn’t have much experience with kids, but he’d heard the fierceness in Sturgeon’s voice once or twice when one of the guppies had been threatened in very minor ways. Stephanie had been so determinedly tough the day before he supposed she might be suffering the backlash.
But if she looked over into the darkness next to that big machine one more time…
“Are you okay?” he asked, jerking his head at the corner. “You seem nervous.”
She shook her head in quick denial. “No—not nervous. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
He nodded slowly, not believing her for a second but still not sure whether her daughter’s disappearance had freaked her out or there was something else. “Okay, then.” He paused. Clearly today wasn’t a good day to ask her out for lunch. Then again, Reid thought, never would be a better time to ask her out—she had a kid, and Sturgeon’s success aside, no kid needed a cop around.
So he shrugged, pushed aside the image of her wearing a lab coat, a pair of red high heels and nothing else, and said, “I need to pick up the latest DNA results for Sturgeon’s and my cases. That’d be Makepeace, Garcia and Roberts.” He knew it was careless of them to name their DNAs rather than numbering them so the results were blinded for the researchers, but really, what interest did a lab tech have in messing with police work?
She shook her head and clutched the papers tighter to her chest. “They’re not ready yet.”
That was not the answer he’d been looking for. “Not ready? What do you mean, not ready?” They needed those results for court dates, damn it. “Sturgeon got a message on his voice mail that they’d be finished this morning. Something go wrong?”
The itch intensified.
Stephanie shook her head. “You can have Garcia and Roberts, they’re all set.” She gestured at a pair of folders on her desk labeled with the names. “But the other isn’t finished yet.”
An empty folder labeled Makepeace lay open on the desk. “What happened to it? Is there something wrong with the sample?” Please don’t let anything be wrong with the sample, he thought. D.A. Hedlund would have a cow and shifty, scummy Makepeace would walk on the one rape they’d managed to pin on him, out of a series of six.
Though the links between the ex-con handyman and little Mae Wong’s rape were largely circumstantial, they’d been enough to arrest him and warrant the DNA sample. All they needed to get a conviction was a DNA match…but they needed that match. The case was a no-go without it.
“Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. “Technical difficulties. There was a problem with the thermocycling temperature, so the DNA didn’t amplify correctly and I couldn’t finish the test. I’ll rerun the experiment today and have the results later in the week, okay?”
No, damn it. It wasn’t okay. Reid didn’t like the look in her eye, and he didn’t like that the test wasn’t done.
“Steph?” Another tech’s voice interrupted, “Genie’s on the phone for you. She wants to talk about the last batch of sequencing.”
Steph glanced from the lab phone and back to Reid, scowling as though she wished he would disappear. When he didn’t, she made an irritated noise and stalked over to talk to her boss.
Reid couldn’t have asked for better timing. He’d have to thank Dr. Watson the next time he saw her…once he asked her what the hell was going on in her lab. After making sure Steph was busy on the phone and had her back to him, he shuffled through the two finished folders she’d given him. The proper paperwork was there—along with the computer printout of the scanned film results and the calculated probabilities for and against DNA matches. They were both matches, thank God. Reid only hoped they went three for three.
He looked at the Makepeace folder again. It was still empty. No paperwork, no printout.
What had she been crumpling against her lab coat? Makepeace’s results?
Reid shifted a few papers on her desk and uncovered an X-ray film of the type Genie Watson had once tried to explain to him. One side was labeled Makepeace, the other side Rape Kit Sample, along with a bunch of other stuff, labeled Ladder and CEPH and a few he couldn’t even read.
“Couldn’t finish the experiment, eh?” Reid murmured as he slid the film onto a flat lightbox and clicked it on the way Genie had shown him. The gray plastic sprang to life and he saw two rows of dark lines marching down the length of the film like grocery-store bar codes.
We test thirteen highly variable sites within the human genome, he remembered Genie explaining the DNA tests that could free or condemn a criminal with nothing more than a shadow of a bloodstain. Through chance, it’s possible that two people share the same size marker on one or both of their chromosomes. But the likelihood of two people—unless they’re identical twins—being the same at every one of those thirteen markers is so low as to be non-existent. She had paused, then grinned. “Unless you were on the O.J. jury—in which case that point-zero-nine-percent of a chance is enough to cast doubt.”
Reid remembered chuckling at the joke. But he wasn’t chuckling now. Even to his untrained eye, it was clear that the Makepeace side and the rape kit side of the film didn’t even come close to matching.
“Damn it.” He and Sturgeon had been so sure James Makepeace had abducted little Mae Wong, raped her and left her for dead in a Dumpster down by the Science Museum. She’d lived—barely—but she would never be the same laughing, happy child Reid had seen in the pictures pressed on him by Mrs. Wong. The detectives had been fiercely glad to pin the crime on Makepeace, a slimy, basement-dwelling handyman who had access to the Wong home, priors for assault and sexual misconduct, and no alibi.
This had been the first of the rapes with DNA left behind, and the first involving a child. Though the break in pattern had bothered Reid, there were enough similarities that he and Sturgeon had hoped to nail down the one case and build up the others. They had done their jobs and come up with Makepeace.
Though he’d howled his innocence to anyone who’d listen, the wriggly piece of excrement had been held on Reid and Sturgeon’s say-so—and lack of bail money—pending the DNA results and a trial.
They’d been so sure of him. Even the D.A. liked the Wong case. But it wasn’t Makepeace’s genetic material that had been taken from the little girl’s torn body. He hadn’t done it. Reid dropped the film back on Stephanie’s desk and swore viciously, helplessly, knowing that it wasn’t enough.
They didn’t have their man.
“Sorry about that,” Steph said, returning to her bench. “The day Nick and Genie left for a conference in Hawaii, we had a breakthrough in the Fenton’s Ataxia project. We convinced her not to fly home, but…” She trailed off when she glanced at his face. Shrugged. “But you’re