I had to hold back a gasp of sudden understanding. “The bone marrow transplant!”
“And when did this occur?”
“Almost forty years ago, in Russia,” I told her.
“Ah! Back then, I feel confident they used a procedure in which the sick person’s bone marrow is destroyed by very strong chemotherapy and then replaced with the donor’s. In such a situation, the recipient will forever have the donor’s blood DNA but will retain their original DNA in the rest of their body. They essentially have chimeric DNA. I can send you information concerning this condition. A forensic laboratory could confirm it, if samples are available from the blood and at least one other organ of the suspected criminal.”
“Would a hair analysis be enough to confirm the chimerism?” I asked, dreading a negative response.
“If it contained the root, yes. That would suffice. Or a cheek swab to collect saliva.”
I lightly punched Wukowski in the arm and whispered, “I knew it! I knew Mick wasn’t guilty.”
He shifted beside me and spoke. “Dr. Lang, when you provide that data to Ms. Bonaparte, can you also recommend a consultant who would be willing to testify in court, should it come to that?”
“I’d be happy to do so, Detective. I’ll send the studies that I’m aware of after the call ends. I wish you the best, Ms. Bonaparte. These cases can be extremely difficult, due to lack of general knowledge about the condition. Mr. Swanson is fortunate, even posthumously, that you pursued all avenues. Many forensic experts think DNA evidence is one hundred percent reliable, but that’s simply not so in these very rare cases.”
Wukowski hung his head while I ended the call. Then he looked me in the eyes, his hands resting on my shoulders. “If you hadn’t gone on what I thought was a fool’s errand, Angie, the memory of an innocent man would forever be stained and a guilty one would walk free. I’m so sorry for dismissing your intuition. I should’ve known better.”
I leaned into him, displacing his hands, and said with an impish grin, “Let that be a lesson to you, caro mio.”
Wukowski gave me a rueful grin and turned for the bedroom. “I have to change clothes. Call Spider and tell him I need the vials from his safe right now. Hunter’s gone free for too long already.”
“Go get him,” I said.
Chapter 61
The wound is the place where the light enters you.
Rumi
On Tuesday morning, the results of the DNA analysis of blood and hair from the vials came back. Wukowski drove to my condo to deliver the news in person. “The blood matches Mick’s, the hair doesn’t.” He gave me a long considering look. “Mick’s statement isn’t proof that both those samples came from Hunter. We need samples from Hunter himself. Since he’s under arrest for felony assault, he can’t refuse. The DA is on it, but it’ll take a few days. We don’t want to rush it and maybe get inconclusive results.”
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding and nodded. “The conviction’s the thing, with apologies to Shakespeare.”
***
As Tuesday melted into Wednesday and no news from the new tests surfaced, I shoved down my feelings and did my job. But at night, Mick’s eyes, open as he lay on the shop floor, haunted my dreams.
Bobbie ghosted in and out of the office on his current assignment, bringing me take-out lunch and Starbucks coffee, and gossiping about inconsequentials in an obvious attempt to distract me.
Debby invited Bart to speak to the owners about next steps for the Galleria, and I attended for moral support. From Metal Works’ dark storefront, an imaginary Mick Swanson called to me with the imprecation of his letter. I implore you to reveal the truth.
And at night, I dreamed about the assault at the farmhouse… and this time it ended in disaster.
On Thursday, when I hounded Wukowski yet again for news of the DNA results, he told me, “Be patient and let the process work itself out. And speaking of being patient, the department has released Metal Works. I think it’s time to retrieve those panels that Swanson created. That is… well, unless seeing them would be too painful.”
I pondered that idea over a cup of tea, then finally reached the conclusion that the panels represented the artist and not the fugitive. They symbolized the part of his being that Mick sought so hard to fulfill. I wanted them here, in my condo, in my bedroom, in my life.
Bram and Wukowski installed them that day.
Later, looking at them as I lay in Wukowski’s arms, I felt a sense of peace. The empty wall overflowed with beauty, with the evidence of a life, if not completed, at least well lived.
At long last, on Friday the results came back. Blood and tissue samples proved conclusively that Artur Hunter was indeed a human chimera and exonerated Mick of the Illinois murder charges.
“It’s done, Mick. Your name is cleared and Debby is safe,” I whispered that night as I prepared for bed. “Now it’s time for you to let go. Rest in peace.”
He never appeared in my dreams after that.
Chapter 62
A great relationship doesn’t happen because of the love you had in the beginning, but how well you continue building love until the end.
Anonymous
Saturday dawned warm and sunny. My lakefront run celebrated the end of the most difficult case I ever encountered, not only for its complexity and danger but also for the wedge it almost drove between me and Wukowski just as our long separation came to an end.
Midway, I stopped to breathe and look out over Lake Michigan. How many times I’d watched these waters, from my condo and along this path, and felt its turmoil or its peace roll over me. My relationship with Wukowski is like that, I thought. Up and down, sometimes joyful and often difficult, always changing, but solid and dependable. There.
No more dilly-dallying, I chastised myself. I took a
