“We have a complex screening process, one of the world’s best. It eliminates abnormal DNA, bacteria, infections and viruses from the samples. At first, the ‘researchers’ asked for general information on our clients. It involved no privacy concerns, so I ran a computer scan and gave them generic information. I thought it was for statistical analysis, demographic tables.”
“How did you give them information?”
“They would tell me to go to a branch of the L.A. Public Library at a specific time and leave a memory card in a certain book. I would get an envelope of cash the same way.”
“So you never saw anyone?”
“No. I was called at home by different people from ‘the study team.’ I never knew who or where they were based. They had accents, they said they were contractors. The numbers were blocked. I figured the calls came from all over the world.”
“How did this involve Tyler?”
“They started to ask for specific DNA sequences, profiles. I got nervous. This was crossing a line, but they offered more money, so I agreed.”
“What did you give them?”
“Samples of your baby’s DNA, your DNA, the donor’s DNA, your husband’s, too. They got very interested in Tyler’s DNA, they said it was exactly what they needed. They asked for all of your private information-names, address, and your complete files.”
“What did you do?”
“I told them I was uneasy and they offered me fifteen thousand dollars.”
“You took it?”
“I thought this was a start at clearing some of Brad’s debts and rebuilding our lives, so I took the money and I gave them everything. I kept working with them until your tragedy.”
“What happened?”
Polly pulled on her cigarette.
“I was getting so scared. I knew I was acting in denial, that I didn’t want to know what was going on because I needed the money. But my conscience ate at me. Finally, I demanded to know what was happening. They said their ‘research’ was going on around the world, that it was part of a ‘major operation’ and that I couldn’t tell anyone because I was implicated and there would be consequences.”
“What did you do?”
“I started freaking out, asking, What did I get myself into?”
“Did you go to the police?”
“I was afraid. I was sure I was being followed, the house was being watched. I started making errors at work. But I thought I was okay when the clinic got your notification.”
“My notification?”
“We monitor and update all of our client files, like whenever there’s a miscarriage, a stillbirth or a crib death we update the file. When your doctor alerted us to your terrible crash, your husband’s death and Tyler’s death, I was sad. But also-and oh, God forgive me-I was relieved because I thought that this would end my dealings with the study group.”
“What do you mean?”
“At that time they’d called demanding more DNA information on Tyler’s file. I told them I was finished with them because Tyler had just died in a car accident. They said, ‘Oh we know about that. Your information is incorrect. We’ve recovered that case.’ And I said, ‘What do you mean you’ve recovered that case?’ and they said, ‘That child is actually alive. Our work continues.’”
“What!”
“I was so terrified, so overcome with guilt. I called you to somehow let you know that your baby is alive.”
“Who are these people, Polly?”
“I’m so sorry. Come back tomorrow, I’ll give you my files. I’m so messed up with Brad and everything. I need to sleep.”
“Wait! Polly, what is this ‘operation’? What are they talking about?”
“I don’t know.” She started to sob. “I’m so scared. All they said was that it was going to change everything and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.”
46
Santa Ana, California
A stern-faced police officer stood before Emma’s car and pointed at her then at the curb, commanding her to park.
What was going on?
Traffic clogged Third Street. Emma was still a block from Polly Larenski’s duplex when she got out and started walking toward the emergency lights splashing red and blue on the neighborhood. Excited children on bicycles and worried adults hurrying behind them gathered at a cluster of police cars, fire trucks and news crews that ringed a spectacle down the street.
The smell of charred wood permeated the air.
Emma heard the roar of a pumper truck, the bursts of radio chatter. The pavement was wet from water leaking from the lines of fire hoses. As she got to the yellow plastic tape that cordoned the site, she stopped.
Polly’s duplex had burned.
Firefighters hosed the ruins. Spears of scorched walls rose from smoldering heaps of rubble and ash. Emma’s heart raced.
Where was Polly?
The boy beside her was sitting on his bicycle and talking to the boy standing next to him.
“I heard the fire guy say that a lady died.”
“Do you know who it was?” Emma’s intensity startled the boys.
“I think it was the lady that lived there.”
Emma cast around the area and rushed toward a firefighter carrying a hose to a truck.
“Excuse me. This is my-my friend’s house. I’m supposed to see her. Was anyone hurt?”
The firefighter’s face was smudged with soot.
“There was a female fatality. Better talk to the captain. He’s in his van over there.”
Emma spotted the fire van and hurried toward it, the ramifications of what happened enveloping her with each step. She felt something fracture, felt something break off and slip away.
She couldn’t believe this was happening.
The captain’s window was down. He sat behind the wheel reading from a clipboard, ending a conversation on his radio.
“That’s right-get back to me. Ten-four.” He clicked his handheld microphone.
“Can you help me, please?” Emma said. “My friend lives here. We’re supposed to meet today. What happened?”
“Your name?”
“Emma Lane.”
He glanced at his clipboard. “Well, Emma, unfortunately a fire started in the garage. We suspect the cause was faulty welding equipment belonging to a neighbor, a male resident working on his car.”
“Was someone hurt?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. One fatality, likely due to smoke inhalation, a female resident. Everyone else got out, both homes were destroyed. We estimate damage at-”
“Polly Larenski? Did she get out? I need to see her.”
The captain checked his clipboard, flipped a page, his chin tensed. Before he flipped it back, Emma glimpsed Larenski on his sheet.
