by Kathy Reichs
“Unfortunately, those approaches have not been as effective as hoped against rapidly evolving pathogens like influenza or against emerging disease threats such as Ebola or Zika viruses. Some researchers believe mRNA vaccines may prove superior.”
“How so?”
“By introducing an mRNA sequence—”
“Messenger RNA. A molecule that tells cells what to build.”
Bangoboshe ignored my interruption.
“Before injection, the mRNA is coated in lipid nanoparticles that allow the molecule to gain access to the interior of the recipient’s cells. Once inside, the mRNA codes for a disease-specific antigen.”
“A protein used by the pathogen to cause disease.” I knew I should shut up and listen, but I wanted to be sure I understood. “The idea being that the recipient’s immune system will recognize the protein and begin setting up a defense.”
“Yes. As with its counterparts, the mRNA vaccine enables the body to mimic an infection and elicit an immune response without causing actual disease.”
“What’s the advantage?”
“Quicker, cheaper, safer. So the proponents claim.”
“Is the technique in use now?”
“Several are in the pipeline for FDA approval. And, of course, there is the situation with the COVID vaccine.”
I juggled everything Bangoboshe had said. Not sure what she did during the gap. Then, “This has been enormously helpful, Dr. Bangoboshe.”
“Now it’s back to grading for me. Would that my students were as keen as you. Or as apt.”
“Thanks so much for your time.”
“You are most welcome.”
Feeling keen and apt, I disconnected.
The sun had wrapped up its cycle, leaving the room in shadow. I was turning on lights when my phone sang a few bars about all-day music.
The screen showed only an unfamiliar number. I was about to hit ignore when something caused me to hesitate. For some reason, I accepted the call.
“Temperance Brennan.”
“It’s Abilene. Abilene Monger. I work for Dr. Huger.”
“Of course, Abilene. How nice to hear from you.” Not sure that it would be.
“I, well, you said any little thing could be useful.” In case she wasn’t being clear, she added, “In finding your niece, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I probably shouldn’t be talking to you. Could get me fired. But, well, your niece seemed like such a sweet little girl. It’s been tearing me up thinking about her lost somewhere and maybe needing help. I read all these dreadful stories about sex trafficking and such.”
I waited for her to go on. She didn’t.
“I promise anything you say will stay between us,” I encouraged.
“I consulted my pastor, and he said I should phone you.”
“You’ve thought of something else the girls said?”
“They asked about a Canadian pharmaceutical company.”
“Do you recall which one?”
“In over jacks.”
I was lost.
“InovoVax. Do you hear the rhyme? It makes sense to me because I play poker.”
“I do. Very clever.”
Several seconds passed. In the silence, I feared she might hear the banging of my heart.
“But I must be honest,” Abilene said at last. “I made up the rhyme because I also saw the name in print.”
“In print.”
“Well, in pixels or whatever. On caller ID.”
“Someone at InovoVax phoned someone at GeneFree?”
“Many times.”
“Do you know who?”
I heard a soft clicking. Pictured Abilene shaking her head, the swinging eyeglass chains connecting with the phone.
“Good Lord, that was a knuckle-brained move. I was wagging my noggin, but you can’t see me.”
“You don’t know who called?”
“With the new system, the party comes up on my screen, then the call rolls automatically to the proper extension.”
“When was the last time you noted a call from InovoVax?”
“Earlier this week.”
“Would the number remain in the system?”
“Huh. Mighty fine question. No reason I can’t have a little look-see.”
I heard keys click. A lot of them.
“Yes. Here it is. Oh, my. With all those zeros, I’m sure it must be the number for the main switchboard.”
“Can you dial it?”
She did. It was. A mechanical voice apologized that InovoVax was closed for the day, instructed that messages could be left only on individual extensions.
“It’s after five,” Abilene said. “Still, doesn’t that just suck pickles?”
“It does. Do you know who the caller was trying to reach?”
“Nope. I used to make every outgoing connection and take every incoming message. Now it’s all autodial and voice mail. Before long, I’ll lose my job to Roxie the Robot. I swear, the world’s going to hell in a handbasket. Soon folks won’t engage in even the tiniest smidgen of personal interaction.”
After listening to further lamentations and emitting a series of sympathetic sounds, I thanked Abilene and disconnected.
I sat in the dark, adrenaline firing through me like shot from a twelve-gauge. Fresh questions swirling.
Other than Lena, the calls from InovoVax to GeneFree were the first concrete tie between Montreal and Charleston. What was their purpose?
Was Sullie Huger in contact with someone at the pharmaceutical company in Laval? Arlo Murray?
Huger and Murray were employed by the HGP at the same time. Had they met at MIT?
Huger was the more senior of the two scientists. Had he arranged for Murray’s position at InovoVax?
Mélanie Chalamet/Melanie Chalmers was with the HGP at MIT. Was Huger or Murray the “hotshot colleague” who’d gotten her hired at InovoVax?
Lena went to Murray to gain information about her mother and sister. He’d shut down her efforts. Had Lena then approached Huger?
Was Huger involved in Murray’s misconduct at InovoVax? What was that misconduct? Had Mélanie Chalamet/Melanie Chalmers discovered what Murray was up to? Were she and Ella murdered because of that discovery? Silenced by bullets?
Fired by whom?
Did that same shooter kill Lena and Harmony fifteen years later? Were they getting too close to the same secret?
Silence hummed around me. Suddenly, Anne’s house seemed very big. And very unpeopled.
I opened the glass doors and stepped onto the deck. Note to self: remind Anne that the lock still doesn’t engage properly.
Out beyond the aqua glow of the pool, the tide was high and boisterously slamming the beach. Gulls were engaged in heated conversation. Though normally an effective tranq, the Low Country concert failed to calm.
Closing the panels behind me, I moved to the kitchen and turned on the tiny countertop TV. A local news channel came to life. Whatever. At that moment, talking heads trumped no company at all.
I was opening a Kraft dinner when one of the heads snagged my attention. A familiar voice. I turned.
The actor-scientist was again hawking GeneFree, his expression sincere as a prayer-meeting preacher’s.
While I listened to the pitch, several flyaway bytes collided in my brain, casting off the first murky particles of an idea.
Ah, Jesus.
I felt a sudden coldness at the base of my skull.
No way.
But the theory would explain so much.
I guzzled my mac and cheese and opened my laptop, aware that it would be an internet night.
Unaware of the horror lying in wait.
36
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 19
Vaccines. Viruses. CRISPR. mRNA. GeneFree. InovoVax. Murray. Huger. Chalamet/Chalmers.
I started with GeneFree.
Huger’s first online venture launched in August 1999. Named GeneMe, the service relied on Y-chromosome DNA, and, s
ince that part of the genome is passed only from father to son, was limited mostly to paternity testing. Eventually, GeneMe added mitochondrial DNA, carried by both males and females. Since mtDNA is passed only from mother to offspring, its testing allowed tracing through female lines.
By 2000, GeneMe’s capabilities had expanded. Users could order DNA profiles, enter results from other testing companies, search the site’s DNA database, create online family trees, and connect with relatives. No ancestry, yet.
Huger charged nothing for a GeneMe account.
That puzzled me. Was free access a public service? If not, how did he make money?
I quickly found the answer. GeneMe offered online consultations to help customers understand their test results. For a fee.
In October 2006, GeneMe.com acquired GlobalGeneLink.com, a rival company located in Provo, Utah. GGL’s genealogy database was large, allowing GeneMe to expand into the area of multigenerational ancestry tracing. Huger shut down GeneMe and relaunched as GeneFree. From then on, users had to pony up for access to services.
Ironic, I thought. Given the new name.
In April 2018, GeneFree announced that it was in talks to acquire a Cincinnati-based company called Rasmussen Genetic Ancestry Foundation. RGAF had three elements that appealed to Huger: an advanced DNA-testing capability, an immense repository of genealogy data, and a sophisticated media-sharing strategy.
RGAF.com closed on July 1, 2018, and its assets were transferred to GeneFree.com. GeneFree could now perform SNP whole-genome testing, and it owned a monstrous database.
The date triggered another cerebral collision.
Holy freaking crap!
Was that it? Had Lena and Harmony unearthed dirt that would have jeopardized the GeneFree acquisition of RGAF?
The timing fit. The girls vanished in February 2018.
The realization sparked a fusillade of new questions.
Was the girls’ dirt the same dirt Lena’s mother had discovered?
Was that dirt damaging enough to trigger four murders?
What was the dirt?
Remembering the old adage—follow the money—I logged on to GeneFree.com. The site’s home page featured side-by-side smiling families, one in vivid color with Mom, Dad, Junior, and Sis in modern dress, one in sepia tones showing Mama, Papa, and six young-uns in nineteenth-century garb. Reminded me of the portrait of Polly Beecroft’s grandmother and great-aunt.
Above the photos, tabs offered choices: Biological Parentage. DNA. Genealogy. Health.
Below the tabs, a pulsating red headline warned of the dangers of capnocytophaga. Below the headline, text stated that immunity to capno was genetically determined and that GeneFree could provide diagnostics and thus peace of mind.
A link took me to a page dedicated to capno. For a hefty price, I could obtain a specialized DNA-testing kit, a personalized health report, and support from medical and genetic-counseling resources.
I returned to the home page and took a whirl through the rest of the site. Was constantly bombarded by sidebar and pop-up ads linking to online sources for health foods and homeopathic remedies and to pages for those whose DNA indicated they were capno-vulnerable.
I was still whirling when Ryan phoned. I briefed him on the calls connecting the switchboard at InovoVax with the GeneFree offices, on Abilene Monger’s account of Lena and Harmony’s visit with Huger, and on my visit to GeneFree.com. I avoided mention of my theory, still in the embryonic scattered-particle stage.
“How much profit could there be in testing spit and selling hemp?” I asked, as much to myself as to him.
“Ask Vislosky to pull GeneFree’s financials? Maybe try for Huger’s tax returns?”
“Good idea.”
“Not likely she’ll get them without a warrant.”
“I can feel it in my gut, Ryan. The calls were between Arlo Murray and Sullie Huger. I know there’s a connection between those two.”
“The lady wins a Kewpie doll!” Faux exultation.
“What does that mean?”
“Claudel’s been on a roll.”
“What’s he got?”
“Raging heartburn, I suspect. The guy looks like he hasn’t slept in days.”
“What did he find?” Enunciating each word.
“I don’t want to steal Claudel’s thunder.”
“No issue. He has plenty to spare.”
“He’ll phone you shortly.”
“Ryan, I’d rather you—”
“Patience, buttercup.”
“Don’t call me that.” Overly theatrical sigh. “In the meantime, will you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you find out if Huger has traveled to Canada recently?”
“Aucun problème. No problem. Oh, and one other development. SIJ dug a mobile phone from the debris at InovoVax.”
“Wow.”
“They think the explosion blasted it through a window out onto the grass.”
“Flukey good luck.”
“That, plus the thing had a metal case, a screen protector, and an impact band.”
“It’s Murray’s?”
“That’s the thinking. Who leaves their mobile at the office overnight?”
“Does it still work?”
“Can’t answer that.”
“Can the e-geeks get into it?”
“Or that.”
“Ryan, can’t you just tell me what Claud—”
Call-waiting beeped.
“Never mind. The sleepless wonder is on the line now.”
“Je t’aime, ma chère.”
“I love you, too.”
“Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
I disconnected from Ryan and answered the incoming call.
“Bonsoir, détective.”
Claudel wasted no time on pleasantries.
“I went to InovoVax and found an employee who had been with the company since the gray dawn of history. A man quite aggrieved at having been passed over for the position of director. A man very free with his views concerning the boss.”
A huskiness in Claudel’s voice attested to the exhaustion Ryan had mentioned.
“It is a long and decidedly tedious story, the bottom line being this: the man confirmed that around 2000, Dr. Aubrey Sullivan Huger arranged for the hiring of Dr. Arlo Murray and Mademoiselle Mélanie Chalamet.”
“How?” I asked. “Why?”
“The gentleman was vague on those points. Apparently, Huger knew someone at InovoVax. And it helped that Chalamet spoke French.”
I briefed Claudel as I had Ryan. He listened without interrupting, then, “I must be off.”
And he was.
I sat frozen, brain integrating new bytes. Particles whipping like electrons circling a nucleus.
Ten minutes, then I snapped to and dialed Vislosky. Doubted she’d pick up after hours.
I was wrong.
“You’re like a hound on a T-bone.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I shared everything I’d told Ryan and everything he and Claudel had told me since Vislosky and I had last talked, ending with Ryan’s suggestion about Huger’s financials.
“Dig into his personal finances and those of his online companies?”
“Yes.”
“That would require a warrant. And that would require probable cause.”
“You’re creative.”
“Not that creative.”
“I know Huger’s involved in all this.”
“All what?”
“This whole cock-up.”
“Based on what?”
“My gut.”
“Problem solved. That should sway any judge.”
“Can you at least try?”
“Not without something more than your innards.”
Silence hummed across the line.
“Why did you call my investigation a cock-up?” Vislosky finally asked.
“Clusterfuck wasn’t strong enough.”
Aga
in, I was treated to dead air.
Quick shower, then I thumbed off my ringer and crawled into bed. Birdie was already there.
“Up for some late-breaking news?” Knowing I was still too agitated to sleep.
The cat was good with it.
I turned on CNN. Don Lemon was discussing yet another congressman indicted for yet another form of misconduct. Bored, I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through Twitter. Learned I’d totally missed National Princess Day.
I was wondering the whereabouts of my tiara—yeah, I have one—when Lemon’s next story snapped my eyes back to the screen.
South Carolina’s capno crisis was making the national news. Symptoms. Cause. Morbidity and mortality rates. Strained resources. CDC. Herrin was interviewed standing beside one of her portable morgue units. It sounded like COVID all over again.
“Why do you suppose this is just now entering their radar?” I asked the cat. “The outbreak seemed too limited in scope?” I recalled the piece I’d heard on the local NPR station more than a month earlier. “Or has there been national coverage that we missed?”
I was waiting for Birdie’s answer when the device buzzed in my hand. I answered. Why not? I’d only handled a bazillion calls that day.
“I may have a clusterfuck breaker.”
I offered no comment on Vislosky’s sarcasm.
“Huger and his lawyers spent the early months of 2018 finalizing terms for the sale of GeneFree to an outfit called Universal Genomics.”
“I’ve heard of them. They’re huge.”
“Would’ve been megabucks if the deal went through.”
“How mega?”
“Seven zeros mega. To the left of the decimal.”
“Would have?”
“Negotiations fell apart sometime in the fall of 2018 or early winter of 2019.”
“Why?”
“My source wasn’t privy to that detail.”
We both considered the implications.
“So the stakes were even higher than I thought.” Stream of consciousness, out loud. “Huger acquires RGAF, hoping to cash in with GeneFree’s sale to Universal Genomics. Lena and Harmony show up, threatening to put the deal in jeopardy. Huger sees the golden wad slipping through his fingers, panics, and kills them.”
Vislosky didn’t agree or disagree.
“What do you suppose they had on him?”
“I don’t know.” Stony. “But I’m going to net this fucker and drag his ass to the bag.”
