“Gagne just phoned with DNA results on feline hair I brought from Guatemala.”
“It’s Krazy Kat.”
“He’s found a match between two of the four samples.”
“What four samples?”
I explained how Minos had packaged hair from the Specter, Eduardo, and Gerardi homes, along with some that I’d taken from the Paraiso jeans. Then I hit speakerphone and punched in the lab number.
“Which samples match?” Ryan asked.
When the receptionist answered, I asked for Gagne.
“That’s what I’m anxious to know. The Eduardo cat’s been ruled out.”
“Why?”
“Persian.”
“Poor Fluffy.”
“Buttercup.”
Gagne came on the line.
“Sorry,” I said. “You caught me underground.”
“You sound like you’re still down there.”
“I have you on speakerphone. Detective Ryan is with me.”
“Ryan’s on this?”
“All over it. Please repeat what you were saying.”
“I was saying that I went with mitochondrial DNA. Three of the samples looked O.K., but the hairs in the packet marked ‘Paraiso’ had no root or sheath with an appropriate follicular tag to enable genomic DNA processing. You told me to test everything.”
I had. But I’d meant Gagne could use the entire Paraiso sample, since the Guatemala forensics lab had retained hair for future testing. I had no idea Minos’s package contained other samples.
“I could have looked for epithelial cells on the Paraiso shafts, but given the context I doubted I’d find much,” Gagne went on.
“Cats have polymorphic regions in their mitochondrial DNA?” I asked.
“Just like humans. A feline geneticist at a cancer institute in the U.S. researches this stuff, has excellent stats on population variability.”
Ryan was holding a finger to his head, mimicked pulling a trigger. Linus Pauling he’s not.
“What was the match, M. Gagne?”
A paper rustled. I held my breath.
“The sample marked ‘Paraiso’ profiled like the sample marked
‘Specter.’”
Ryan stopped blowing smoke from his fingertip and stared at the phone.
“Meaning they were consistent?”
“Meaning they were identical.”
“Thank you.”
I disconnected.
“You can holster your weapon.”
Ryan dropped his gun pantomime and placed hands on hips.
“How can he be so sure it’s a match?”
“It’s his business to be sure.”
“The hair’s been in a friggin’ septic tank.” Ryan’s tone oozed skepticism.
“Do you know anything about DNA?”
“What I don’t know I have a feeling I’m about to learn.” He raised a hand, palm out. “The five-minute version. Please.”
“Do you know what a DNA molecule looks like?” I asked.
“A spiral staircase.”
“Very good. Sugars and phosphates form the handrails, and bases form the steps. How can I bring this down to your level?”
Ryan opened his mouth to object, but I cut him off.
“Think of the bases as Legos that only come in four colors. If there’s a red Lego on one half of a step, there’s always a blue Lego on the other. Green pairs with yellow.”
