“Well, that’s all very interesting,” Laurie said. “But there’s a reality here that I must bring to your attention above and beyond the problem of us not having the father’s DNA.”
“We might not have the father’s complete DNA, but with the fetus’s DNA we have fifty percent of it right off the bat. We also have the mother’s DNA, so we don’t have to guess which half of the fetus’s DNA comes from the father. Interestingly enough, this situation turns out to be exactly the same as an individual who was conceived with donor sperm. Many of these people are very interested in finding theirgenetic fathers if for no other reason than to feel genetically connected. Entire websites and organizations have popped up just to help these people, along with fascinating statistical tools to help them find genetic matches in the vast DNA database, which is expanding on a day-to-day basis. I’m sure that it will work.”
Laurie cleared her throat, not sure how to begin explaining to Aria that her suggestion wasn’t about to happen. With her elbows on the desk, Laurie tented her hands and looked her straight in the eyes. Aria stared back with even more intensity, absolutely confident in what she had just said.
“It sounds to me that you’ve given this idea some serious thought,” Laurie said, wanting not to sound too negative in light of Aria’s zeal.
“You bet your ass,” Aria said. “I stayed up most of the night reading about genetic genealogy. It’s surprisingly complicated stuff, which I am amazed has been absorbed and understood by so many people trained in neither biology nor statistics.”
“I hate to break this to you, Aria, but unfortunately, there is a legal restriction here that is insurmountable.”
“Oh, come on,” Aria snapped. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Laurie gritted her teeth at Aria’s choice of words. “I know you like to speak your mind,” she said. “But in my presence, I ask you to refrain from vulgarity.”
Aria rolled her eyes.
“I see you don’t agree,” Laurie said. “Well, be that as it may, I need to tell you that here in New York State we have a Commission of Forensic Science established by law. One of the commission’s major roles is accreditation of DNA laboratories, which is necessary if DNA results are to be accepted in the court of law. The OCME Molecular Genetics laboratory is accredited, as I’m sure you are aware, and we must maintain that accreditation, which requires constant effort. Commercial genealogy companies are not accredited DNAlaboratories, and if our lab has anything to do with them, we would instantly lose our accreditation. Do you understand?”
It was now Aria’s turn to stare with disbelief at Laurie.
“Your silence tells me you don’t understand,” Laurie said. “Let me give you an example. In the court of law, evidence must have a clear chain of custody that cannot be challenged. Commercial DNA laboratories accept saliva DNA samples with absolutely no chain of custody. All they have is the consumer’s word of the origin of any given sample. Same with how the sample is treated in their laboratories. Obviously, we here at the OCME have to do it in a completely different fashion. Also, our laboratory has to adhere to specific rules about training and mechanisms to uncover negligence or misconduct. The commercial labs have none of that. We’re two different worlds that cannot work together or interact.”
“I think this sucks,” Aria said. “It’s bureaucratic bullshit. Here’s an opportunity for a major witness to be discovered, and it has to be abandoned. That doesn’t make sense to me. No way!”
“You are entitled to your opinion,” Laurie said. “But that’s the way it has to be. Perhaps we can find another forensic case for you to become interested in pursuing.”
Aria stood up. “I’m not going to give up on this one even if I can’t get the Molecular Genetics lab involved. As you said yesterday, I’m still listening to Kera Jacobsen.”
“Suit yourself,” Laurie said. “But I’d like you to keep me informed of what progress you make and don’t make, and you cannot involve our Molecular Genetics Department. In the meantime, I’d like you to dictate the autopsy report.”
“Okay,” Aria said simply. She stood and walked out without saying goodbye or looking back.
For a few minutes Laurie stared at the open door, replaying some parts of the conversation and marveling anew at Aria’s personality. Fora moment, she entertained the idea of giving Jack a call to find out what had transpired during the autopsy he’d done with the woman. She still couldn’t believe there had been no fireworks, knowing what she did about both people. But she didn’t have time for such a personal indulgence, when she was imminently expecting a call from the architects about the new Pathology building.
CHAPTER 20
May 9th
11:25A.M.
Disconnecting from the dictation service after finishing Kera’s autopsy report, Aria removed her feet from the corner of the beat-up metal desk that she’d been assigned and let them fall to the floor. That way she was able to tilt forward enough to get her phone out of her back pocket. She’d not felt any buzz of incoming messages, but she was still hopeful. But there were no emails, texts, or voice mail, which confused and aggravated her. She’d left Madison a text to contact her almost four hours ago. As an added inducement she’d added that she was psyched to connect with her. Yet there had been no communication whatsoever. It never failed to amaze her how people were generally unreliable.
With sudden resolve, Aria decided to pay Social Services at the Hassenfeld Children’s Hospital a visit. After Madison’s apparent enthusiasm last night at Nobu for finding Lover Boy, Aria was shocked she’d not gotten in touch that morning even if she was ridiculously busy, which was probably the case. Although Aria knew she could callthe Hassenfeld Social Services line, she decided that wasn’t all that different from leaving a message on Madison’s mobile, which had gotten no response. The solution, simply enough, was to walk over there, barge in on whatever she was doing, and talk to her directly. It was only the equivalent of four city blocks away, and having been an NYU pathology resident for almost four years, she knew exactly where the Social Services Department was in the pediatric outpatient clinic.
The weather was again stellar, with a transparent blue sky and bright sunshine that seemed a world away from the windowless OCME autopsy room. Walking north up First Avenue, Aria passed the busy front of the NYU Langone Medical Center with taxis and a few ambulances lined up in the turnout. She continued on, passing the Emergency Services entrance until she arrived at the driveway for the Kimmel Pavilion. Turning right again on 34th Street, she passed the huge, whimsical sculpture of the Dalmatian balancing a full-size yellow cab on its nose and entered the Hassenfeld Children’s Hospital. With her resident white coat and ID card, she wasn’t challenged by the security personnel.
The clinic was packed with children of all ages and their parents. She skirted the reception desk and went directly to the tiny Social Services scheduling office. Inside were two secretaries manning two desks pushed together to face each other. They wore headsets, as they were almost constantly on the phone scheduling visits. Aria had to wait until one of the women looked up and beckoned to her to indicate she was momentarily free. “Can I help you, Doctor?” she asked.
“I’m looking for Madison Bryant,” Aria said. “Can you direct me to her office?”
Instead of answering directly, the secretary looked over at her colleague as if she needed help. The other secretary had heard Aria’s request and in what was clearly a nonverbal exchange between the coworkers, merely shrugged her shoulders.
“Her office is the third door heading down the main hall,” the secretary said. “But she’s not there. She’s in intensive care in Bellevue Hospital.”
“What?” Aria was sure she’d misheard. “Why? What happened?”
“An awful accident from what we have heard,” the woman said. “The poor woman was hit by a train.”
