He’d already gone through all the major steps in the process, extraction, then cleaning up the sample, removing anything extraneous to make a pure profile, then counting and amplification, then making copies. The result, not as strong as he would prefer, was a profile he could work with.
Abbott had clearance to access CODIS, the national DNA system administered by the FBI, which held DNA profiles collected across the country. He could also access Ohio’s DNA databank and local systems across the state.
He started by running a computerized comparison of the Cuyahoga profile through all of the local and state databases holding offender profiles.
Nothing came up.
Abbott then did the same with all local and state databases holding missing person profiles.
Nothing.
He’d keep trying because new samples were added every day, and you never knew when you may hit on one.
Abbott wasn’t finished, though. He moved on to CODIS. First, he searched for comparisons with offenders.
Again, nothing.
But the FBI’s system encompassed several other federal databases, including the National Missing Person DNA Database, which compared DNA records stored in the Missing Person, Relatives of Missing Person, and Unidentified Human Remains Indexes.
Abbott’s terminal pinged.
Really?
He caught his breath.
The notification was an indication of a match.
He entered his security code to access the profile.
It was a missing person case, which included direct reference samples from the missing person, and a sample from a close relative.
Abbott took a long breath then studied the information.
Yes, the genetic information was limited but it was there.
This was it. His first hit.
He had more work to do, more steps in the process.
He looked at all the information of the submission, growing excited as he anticipated calling Lynn Narlow, the forensic pathologist at the Cuyahoga County Medical Examiner, to say they’d solved the case.
And maybe provide some comfort to the family involved.
Fifty-Four
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove
A house engulfed in flames, black smoke curling into the night sky, fire trucks and emergency crews battling the blaze.
News stories on the fire that had killed Jenn’s parents were fanned out on Greg’s kitchen table. Again, he puzzled over them, the same questions swirling.
I didn’t know she’d had these. She never talked about the fire. It was too painful for her. So why keep these clippings tucked away?
The envelope had no markings and held nothing else but the nearly thirty-year-old news articles.
Could it be related to some kind of anniversary, or why she had withdrawn from me over the last few months?
The doorbell rang.
Greg collected the clippings into the envelope, set it aside, then went to the door, wondering who it might be. It was the weekend, late afternoon. Jake was at Carter’s. Greg was alone. Looking through the window for a media truck, he saw Kat’s purple Jeep and let her in.
“Hey,” she said.
They went to the kitchen. Kat got coffee then made small talk. When they sat down at the table, she hesitated then changed the subject.
“Look, the real reason I dropped by this morning is—” Kat stopped.
“Is what?”
“There’s something I haven’t told you, Greg—I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I never told you everything after I saw Kat with Porter Sellwin.”
“Come on, Kat. We’re not going down that road again, are we?”
“Just listen. After it happened, I spoke to Jenn, telling her what I saw. Because I suspected she was cheating on you—”
“Kat, I don’t believe she would do that—”
“Listen to me, Greg. After I told her what I saw, I said if she didn’t tell you, I would. She told me I didn’t understand, said I should mind my own damn business. We argued and it got so bad that I—”
Greg’s phone rang. Holding up his hand to pause Kat, he answered.
“Greg, this is Claire Kozak. Are you home now?”
“Yes.”
“Are you home alone?”
“My sister’s with me. What is it?”
“There’s been a development. We’ll be right there. We’re on your street.”
After the call, Greg, taken aback by Kozak’s urgency, stood in silence.
“Who was that?” Kat asked.
“Kozak. There’s a development and they’ll be here any minute.” Greg looked at Kat. “What were you going to tell me?”
The impending arrival of the investigators had forced Kat to reconsider.
“Let’s talk after police are done.”
“Go on. Finish what you were saying.”
“It can wait.”
Kat began clearing the table, going to the counter, preparing fresh coffee.
“Tell me, Kat.”
“I want to wait until after they go.”
She got the coffee started then retreated to the bathroom, leaving Greg not knowing what to think.
* * *
Minutes later, Greg opened the door to four people: Kozak, Carillo, and two women he didn’t know.
“Hello, Greg,” Kozak said, “this is Dr. Rochelle Clemmons and Nora Singer, with our victim services section.”
In that instant, Greg registered their sober expressions, sending something in his chest plummeting to the pit of his stomach.
They went to the living room. Everyone found a seat while Kat brought coffee then sat at Greg’s side.
“This is my sister, Katrina,” Greg said to the others.
“Where’s Jake?” Kozak asked.
“He’s at his friend’s house,” Greg said.
Kozak nodded, glanced to her colleagues, their faces telegraphing dread, tripping an alarm, a faint clanging in a corner of Greg’s heart.
Kozak’s eyes locked on to his. She said: “Jennifer has been located—”
“What?”
“—she’s been located, but she was hurt. Badly hurt.”
“How bad? Where is she? What happened?”