“No, Damon. It’s nothing like that.” She locked eyes with him for a long moment before glancing away. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring money for vending machine tokens. I didn’t know.”
You’d know about the tokens if you’d visited even once in the past six and a half years. He pushed the thought away.
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t care about the tokens. It’s good to see your face.” He snaked out his hand and patted hers briefly, before the guard noticed.
She smiled wanly. “Yeah, yours, too. I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with.”
“What do you need?” The words were out of his mouth before she finished her sentence.
“I’m in … trouble,” she dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Listen, there’s a chance I might be getting out of here. I’ll be able to help you with whatever it is.” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.
She shook her head slowly from side to side and gave him a worried look. “No, Damon. You have a life sentence. I’m sorry, but you’re not getting released.”
“No, no. Listen. I have a meeting later today with my lawyer’s investigator. That lady who we—I—killed? Someone offed her husband, and the DA says it was me.” He laughed, a high-pitched nervous laugh. “How crazy is that? But it makes all their evidence against me look fishy.”
Her brown eyes were stark in her white face. “You’re not getting out,” she repeated. Her tone was insistent, almost urgent.
Irritation flashed in his chest. “It almost sounds like the idea bothers you.”
“Don’t be silly. I love you. I don’t want to see you rotting away in here.” She gave him a tremulous smile. Then she cocked her head to the side. “But, you know, you did kill that woman.”
His irritation swelled and then exploded.
“Are you insane? She was obsessed with you … tormenting you. You begged me to help you. Anastasia, for crying out loud, you paid me to do it.”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. She tilted her head toward the bored guard in the front of the room.
Her sharp tone filled him with instant shame. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
She pressed her lips together in a thin line of displeasure and nodded her agreement.
“Please, Anastasia. I’m really sorry. Will you forgive me?”
“I guess.”
He exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So what kind of trouble are you in? How can I help from in here?”
She stared at him, her eyes boring into his. “Raina Noor, the woman who died—”
“Your stalker,” he reminded her.
Raina Noor’s husband was one of Anastasia’s professors. For some reason, the woman had gotten it into her head that her husband was attracted to Anastasia. Which, maybe he was, but Anastasia wasn’t that kind of girl. And on top of everything, she was battling leukemia. The constant accusations and confrontations were taking a toll on Anastasia’s health and her mental state. She was desperate when she came to Damon for help.
“Um, yeah. So, when I was strong enough to go back to school, Professor Noor was so kind to me.” Her gaze dropped to the laminated table between them and she traced circles on the surface with one finger. “After some time, we fell in love.”
“You’re involved with Noor?” He asked slowly.
“We got married in 2014, Damon.”
His brain was bouncing off the inside of his skull. He scrabbled for a response. “Wow. Congratulations, I guess. Wait—was any of that stuff about his wife even true?”
Had he killed a woman just to get her out of Anastasia’s way?
“Damon, please. He’s dead …” Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. But now you can see why you can’t ask your lawyer to challenge your DNA evidence, right?”
“What? Why?”
“If your case is reopened, the police will start searching for the person who paid you all over again.”
“I told you I didn’t want your money. It just caused more problems.”
Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t argue.
“And, if you make a big stink about the DNA results from the first time, they’re going to have to look closer at both cases.”
“But, this is my chance to get out. Don’t you understand? Do you want me to live the rest of my life like this?” He raised his hands up and looked around the room. “Here?”
She looked back at him, her face impassive. “Do you want me to spend the rest of my life in a place like this? Because that’s what’ll happen, Damon.”
“But why?”
“After you were in the papers, I started using my middle name. Giles never knew you and I were connected. I couldn’t tell him, obviously. But he found the family Bible, where Mom wrote your name on the line under hers and Dad’s and … he freaked out. We had a huge fight. I … I had to protect myself.”
His stomach lurched, sour and jumpy. He let out a shallow, shaky breath. “What did you do?”
Her expression hardened into a mask. “What I had to do.”
He stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Anastasia, what do you want from me?” He edged his voice with steel.
Her eyes widened and her voice softened. “Damon, please … you said you’d always be there for me.”
He tried to resist, but he could feel his heart cracking open. It had been like this for his whole life. He couldn’t deny her anything.
“Okay, bug. What do you need?”
She smiled at her childhood nickname. “I knew you’d help me. I love you, D.”
“I know you do.” She did. Even though she rarely showed it. He knew. “I love you, too. You’re my world.”
She walked her hand across the table and rested it on his arm. “I need you to let go of this idea about challenging the DNA. If anyone finds out I killed Giles or asked you to kill Raina, it’ll ruin my life. But you’re already in here. Just tell your lawyer you changed your mind.”
“Anastasia—”
“For me, Damon. Please.” Her eyes pleaded with him.
I can’t do this anymore.
The thought reverberated inside his head. He’d made his peace with what he’d done—or thought he had. But six years on the inside was a long time. And he had another fifty or sixty to go. The chance of beating the charge was tantalizing, a temptation that he knew he’d end up giving into despite his promises to Anastasia.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat, and nodded his head. “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bodhi was too tired to ride his bike to work. Because of the snow and a three-car pileup he got stuck behind just after the Sidling Hill Exit, the drive home from Carlisle had taken him more than four-and-a-half hours, instead of three.
So when he woke up at six-thirty, after a measly three hours’ rest, he sleepwalked through his morning routine then warmed up the VW Bug while he shoveled and salted the front walk.
An hour later, he’d battled through Pittsburgh’s snowy rush hour traffic and was sitting in his temporary office at the medical examiner’s building, hiding a yawn behind his mug of green tea.
Tory walked into the room at eight o’clock on the dot. Her complexion was rosy—whether the color was from excitement or the cold, Bodhi couldn’t be sure.
“You were right!” she exclaimed by way of greeting, removing all doubt as to the source of her flushed cheeks. She waved a sheaf of papers at him.
He abandoned his tea, suddenly alert and clear-minded.
“I was starting to wonder. I thought you were going to email me the studies?”
She smiled guiltily. “I was. But I ended up going down a rabbit hole … and, by that point, it was so late, I figured I’d walk you through my findings in person. But, here, these copies are for you.”
“Thanks.” He flippe
d through the studies. “Can you give me the highlights for now? We should get in to see Saul as soon as we can.”
“Right. Broad strokes.” She reached into the chest pocket of her lab jacket, pulled out her eyeglasses, and put them on. “Hope Noor is a chimera.”
“So she has a mixture of her own original DNA and Damon Tenley’s donated DNA?”
“Yes, maybe. Typically, chimerism involves mixed DNA. But her tears contained Damon Tenley’s DNA only.”
“How can that be possible?”
“Read the second study in your stack. The researchers evaluated buccal swabs, blood samples, and hair follicle samples from peripheral stem cell and bone marrow transplant recipients, including patients with leukemia. If you look at the chart, you’ll see that the leukemia patients’ blood samples showed one hundred percent donor DNA. The hair and cheek samples were mixed.”
“What about tears?”
“Yeah, so, tears aren’t typically the best source of DNA. You know, the genetic material is diluted. So, I didn’t find any studies that specifically used tears to confirm chimerism. But you know your source was Hope Noor or Anastasia Kessler or whoever she is. And the sample results match Damon Tenley. So it’s safe to hypothesize that tears, like blood, can show complete replacement of the original DNA with donor DNA. Because it happened.”
“And you’d expect to see this result more than six years post-transplant?”
“Again, I didn’t find any studies that tested for chimerism that far out from transplant. But DNA can survive for years outside the body if the conditions are right. Why not inside the body, particularly a body where the original DNA has been utterly wiped out by aggressive chemotherapy and radiation?”
He nodded. “That holds water. But your Giles Noor crime scene report said Hope Noor’s DNA was also found at the scene. How? And how did you match it?”
“Dried sweat on the bed sheets came back with three sources of DNA. We matched Tenley in the CODIS database and Giles against his corpse. That left one unknown. Standard procedure would be to get a sample from everyone in the household, which meant Hope. She was a mess, practically catatonic, the night of the murder. So I told Fred to ask her for a hair sample. Less invasive, quicker, and less messy. She consented, and he plucked five strands from her head.”
“And donor DNA isn’t always found in hair follicles—”
“More often than not, at least in leukemia patients, the percentage of donor DNA is insignificant, according to the study.”
“So you matched the sweat DNA to the hair DNA without realizing Hope Noor’s sweat contained her DNA as well as her donor’s.”
“Exactly.”
“So …”
“So …”
“Anastasia Kessler, also known as Hope Noor, killed Giles.”
“I feel like I screwed up. I didn’t even consider chimerism.”
He searched her tight, tense face. “And there’s no reason why you would. Chimerism is an anomalous event. A convicted murderer acting as a bone marrow donor for someone who will later commit a murder of her own is a one-of-a-kind event. That just doesn’t happen, Tory.”
She barked out a tight laugh. “Well, when you put it that way …”
“Exactly. And you have neither the time nor the budget to treat every sample as an outlier. Saul would have your head if you did.”
This time her laugh was genuine. “Speaking of Saul, we need to bring him up to speed.”
A voice broke into their conversation. “Not right now. We’ve been summoned to the DA’s office. Stat.”
They turned in unison to see Saul standing in the door with a grim expression.
“You drive,” Bodhi told him. “We’ll fill you in on the way.”
Chapter Thirty
“It’s your party, detectives. Take it away,” Meghan said once the entire group was assembled around her office’s largest conference room table for the third time in less than a week. She waved a hand toward Detectives Gilbert and Martin.
To Bodhi’s moderate surprise, Detective Martin took the lead. “Thanks, Meghan. We asked the district attorney to call this last-minute meeting because there’s been a development in our investigation. Detective Gilbert and I appreciate everyone making room in their schedules on no notice.”
Saul interjected, “You had great timing, actually. On the drive over, Dr. King and Ms. Thurmont filled me in on a development on our end, so we’re going to need a few minutes of everyone’s time after the detectives have finished.”
Roland Lee laughed. “It looks like I’m the only one without big news.” He shot Meghan a sideways look as he said it, and Bodhi suspected Roland didn’t fully trust his boss.
“Why don’t I get started then?” Detective Martin took a stack of photo prints out of a folder and handed them to Tory, who was on her left. “Take one and pass the rest, if you don’t mind.”
Tory removed the top print and handed the stack to Bodhi. As Bodhi passed the pictures to Saul, he studied the sheet in his hand. Three photographs were arrayed on the page. Three haunted-looking women stared back at him. No, wait. One woman, three different hairstyles. Something about the curve of her lips and the shape of her large eyes resonated, striking a chord in his memory.
He looked up at Detective Martin as the pictures made their way around the table. “Is this … ?”
“Hope Noor. Yes. Also known as Anastasia H. Kessler, daughter of Frank and Lisa Kessler, who were Damon Tenley’s guardians after his parents died. She grew up considering Tenley her older brother. We assume”
“How?” Meghan demanded. “How did Giles Noor end up married to the sister of the man who killed his first wife?”
Detective Gilbert fielded the question. “Interview subjects paint a picture of a close relationship between Anastasia/Hope and Tenley. It also appears she had a crush on Professor Noor. It’s possible she’s the one who paid Tenley to get Raina Noor out of the way so she could make a move on him.”
“If that’s true, she’s as demented as Tenley is,” Roland observed.
“No argument from me,” the detective responded.
“Okay, assuming for the sake of argument that Tenley killed Raina at Hope’s request, that still doesn’t explain why his DNA was present when Giles was murdered more than six years later,” Meghan said.
“Bodhi and Tory have a theory about that,” Saul offered.
Tory caught Bodhi’s eye and mouthed ‘you do it.’ He turned to Detective Martin. “Should I jump in now?”
“Sure.”
“Anastasia Kessler was diagnosed with leukemia at some point in 2011 or 2012. Mr. Tenley was tested to see if he could donate bone marrow or peripheral stem cells—”
“What’s the difference?” Roland wanted to know.
“For our purposes, there isn’t one. Both procedures are referred to under the general umbrella of a ‘bone marrow transplant.’ The harvesting process differs, but the result is the same. The transplant recipient receives healthy donor white blood cells to replace the cancerous blood cells, which have been wiped out by chemotherapy, irradiation, or a combination of the two.”
“And Tenley was a match?”
“Yes, according to his lawyer.”
Meghan narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been talking to Penny Geoffries?”
Before Bodhi had the chance to respond, Detective Martin interjected. “That squares with what Anastasia’s former roommate and Tenley’s old army buddy both told us. She had leukemia, and Tenley donated his bone marrow.”
“And this happened before Raina Noor’s murder?” Meghan asked.
“Yes. I don’t know the exact timing, but it was somewhere in the neighborhood of three to six weeks before Raina was killed,” Bodhi confirmed.
“Okay. Go on.”
“Although we think of a person’s DNA as being as unique as a snowflake—or better yet, a fingerprint, that’s not always true.”
“You mean like in the case of identical twins?” Detective Gilbert a
sked.
“Yes, or in this case, when a transplant recipient receives stem cells from a donor. That donor’s DNA is encoded in the cells. So, now, she has both sets of DNA in her body. It’s called chimerism.”
Both prosecutors and both detectives stared hard at Bodhi, Tory, and Saul.
“This is a real thing?” Roland Lee wanted to know.
“It’s real, and Bodhi called in a favor with another jurisdiction to use a rapid DNA machine to confirm that Hope Noor is carrying Damon Tenley’s DNA. I reviewed the results myself,” Tory said.
There was a heavy silence.
“So, is our theory that the wife killed Giles Noor?” Meghan asked.
“That’s the medical examiner’s current working hypothesis,” Saul said. He looked at Detective Gilbert.
“The PPD is operating under the same theory.”
“Well, hell. What’s her motive?”
“Apparently, the Noors had an argument the night Giles was killed. We sent a uniform out to re-interview a neighbor about the fight and to see if she could identify Hope as Anastasia from the photos. I guess there’s no need to get the ID seeing as how the ME’s office has DNA confirmation,” Detective Gilbert said.
“Do we know where Hope Noor is right now?” Meghan asked.
“No, but I told Vitanni to sit on the Noor house when she finishes taking the witness statement. I’ll call her now to tell her to skip the photo identification,” Detective Martin offered. She stood and walked over to the windows at the far side of the room to make the call.
“Do we have enough for an arrest warrant?” Detective Gilbert asked.
Meghan frowned. “Possibly. But given the optics, I’d like to get a search warrant for the house and her vehicle first and see if we can find more to connect Hope Noor to Anastasia Kessler. Write it up yourself and run it by Roland before you take it to a judge.”
Detective Gilbert scowled back at her. “With all due respect, I don’t need a prosecutor to babysit me on a search warrant.”
The district attorney arched a brow. “After what happened during the Tenley search, I’d like you to humor me.”
Twisted Path Page 17
