DNA.
“This is nature,” he says. “Everything comes from this. You control this, you control the world.”
“How can you control DNA?” I ask, not understanding this at all.
“By creating it. Timmerman was creating synthetic DNA. There were rumors that he was, and now I’d bet anything on it.”
“Is that known to be possible?”
He nods. “Sure, everybody’s trying it, and some think they’re making good progress. But right now it’s just a theory. A damn good one, but just a theory.”
“What could you do with it?”
“Anything you want. See, if you can create DNA, then you program it however you want. Then you inject it into a cell, and once it gets inside, it’s like it boots itself up. Like a computer program, you know? Then it gets the cell to do whatever it wants it to do. Whatever you want it to do.”
“Give me an example,” I say.
“You’re not getting it,” he says, and truer words were never spoken. “Everything is an example. You can duplicate life-forms, or you can create completely new ones.”
“So it’s cloning?”
He smiles. “Cloning is yesterday’s news. If Timmerman pulled this off, it’s no wonder somebody killed him for it. Shit, I’d kill him for it.”
It’s starting to dawn on me. “So Waggy… the Bernese…”
“Came from the lab” is how he finishes my sentence. “Did Timmerman own the dog’s father or mother?”
I nod. “Father. He was a champion.”
“So he took the father’s DNA…”
I interrupt. “Isn’t that cloning?”
He shakes his head. “No, because I’ll bet Timmerman didn’t use the father’s DNA. He copied it; he created new, synthetic DNA just like it.”
“Why?”
“Just to prove to himself that he could. Like a test.”
“So why would someone then want to kill Waggy?”
“Maybe to keep anyone from knowing what Timmerman was doing,” he says. “There must be something about the DNA that identifies it as synthetic.”
I nod. “Which is why Timmerman sent his own DNA in to be tested. It must have been a copy as well, and he wanted to see if the lab would pick up on it.”
“Now you’re getting it,” he says, as I feel myself beaming at the approval. “But the lab missed it, because they didn’t know what they were looking for. It’s completely understandable.”
“But if he proved he could synthetically produce his own DNA, why did he have to use the process to create the dog?”
“Because copying DNA is one thing, but creating a living thing with it is far more complicated. And to exactly copy a champion show dog, that’s about as good as it gets.”
“So why would the FBI be watching Timmerman? What would they be afraid of?”
McCarty shakes his head as if disappointed. “Maybe you’re not getting it after all. This is the ticket to creating anything… a new life-form, fuel, anything. For instance, you could create bacteria and viruses that we don’t know how to deal with; you think the government might be interested in that?”
“Holy shit,” Sam says, an appropriate comment considering the circumstances.
“Did you say fuel?” I ask. “This stuff can create fuel?”
He nods. “Sure, that’s probably the main reason companies are pursuing it. You can tell cells to make biofuels. If Timmerman could figure out a way to do it cost-effectively, you know what that would be worth?”
“I can imagine,” I say, though I’m not sure I can. “One thing I didn’t mention. I think that there might have been a secondary explosion that took place in Timmerman’s laboratory.”
McCarty smiles and says, “Fuels have a tendency to do that.”
I DON’T HAVE TIME TO CONSIDER the staggering implication of what McCarty had to say. I’m in danger of being late for court, and I’m aware that Hatchet would strangle me, DNA strand by DNA strand, for that offense. On the way in, I get a call from a local TV reporter asking me if I’ve heard that Waggy was stolen last night, and that Charles Robinson is out making statements accusing me of being behind the theft. He is threatening to go to the police and file charges, an empty threat since he has no evidence. At least I hope he has no evidence.
Since it’s been all over the news this morning, I acknowledge that I’ve heard about it, and am outraged by Robinson’s accusations. I deny any involvement; once I’ve committed a serious felony, lying to a reporter seems easy by comparison.
I tell the reporter that I will have more of a comment later, after court, but I manage to find the time to accuse Robinson of not adequately providing for Waggy’s security, and I further threaten a lawsuit against Robinson on Steven’s behalf if Waggy is not quickly found, safe and sound.
I make it to court with only ten minutes to spare, and I can see that Kevin was getting nervous that he might have to take over. We don’t talk about the events of last night, but he obviously knows what happened.
I wish I didn’t have to be here; it requires my total concentration, and I’d much rather be thinking about what I learned this morning. McCarty was credible. It may turn out to be a lunatic theory, but it had the ring of truth to it, and his confidence in what he was saying was contagious.
Hatchet makes no mention of the Waggy kidnapping; he probably doesn’t care much either way, as long as it doesn’t involve him.
Richard calls Philip Sandler, Walter Timmerman’s attorney. He is there to testify about his preparation of Walter’s will, and Steven’s connection to that.
Sandler says that Timmerman called him three weeks before his death and mentioned that he was considering disinheriting Steven.
“Did he say why?” Richard asks.
“He had a contentious relationship with Steven, and he was particularly upset with him at that point.”
“Did he share with you what he was upset about?”
“He felt that Steven was mistreating his stepmother, Diana. His view was that Steven never accepted her into the family.”
“What happened after that phone call?” Richard asks.
“About a week later, he called and said that he and Steven had argued about it, and he definitely wanted to disinherit Steven.”
“So he was taken out of the will entirely?” Richard asks.
“No, but he would only receive money if Diana were also not alive when the will was settled.”
When Richard turns the witness over to me, my first question is, “Mr. Sandler, you said that Walter and Steven Timmerman had a contentious relationship. Would you say they never got along?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. It was up and down. Sometimes things were good, sometimes they weren’t.”
“And sometimes Steven was in the will, and sometimes he wasn’t?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“How many times did Walter Timmerman instruct you to take Steven out of the will?”
“Probably twenty times.”
“And did you do so each time?” I ask.
“No, on a number of those occasions he called and told me he had changed his mind before I had a chance to do it.”
“How many times did you actually do it?”
“Nine.”
“And the first eight of those times, he subsequently instructed you to put his son back into the will?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever say that Steven had threatened him, or that he was afraid for his life if he kept Steven
