Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

An SNP, or single nucleotide polymorphism, is a DNA sequence variation in which a single base varies between members of a species or between paired chromosomes in an individual. In mega-oversimplified terms, it means there are multiple forms of a “gene.” Millions of SNPs have been cataloged in the human genome. Some are responsible for diseases, such as sickle cell. Others are normal variations.

“Yes,” I said.

“Compared to other animal species, the genetic diversity exhibited by Homo sapiens is minuscule. That’s because our common links are so recent. We’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent identical at the level of our DNA. It’s that little bitty one tenth of one percent that makes us different.”

I heard a series of beeps, checked the phone screen. Ollie. Already? Though curious, I hit ignore.

“—according to Frudakis, and others agree, about one percent of that one tenth of one percent differs as a function of our history. His method mines that point-oh-oh-one percent to find distinctive differences that determine genetic ancestry. Several companies are now doing this type of analysis, some for genealogical purposes, others to aid in forensic investigations. Sorenson Forensics has a program called LEADSM. I have a very dear friend there who—”

“The Saint-Hyacinthe baby’s genetic markers were compared to those found in specific reference populations?” I was eager to finish the call and get back to Ollie.

“Yes? The results suggest she is seventy-two percent indigenous American and twenty-eight percent Western European.”

That got my attention. “The baby’s parents are aboriginal?”

“One or the other might have been categorized as such. Race is such a complex—”

“Thank you so much. This is really very helpful. Sorry, but I have to take another call.”

I disconnected and dialed Ollie. He answered on the first ring.

“It’s Brennan. You phoned?”

“Good morning, starshine. Sorry to wake you.”

“I was up.” I told him about Annoux’s report. “The approach is a bit controversial.”

“Why’s that?”

“Racial DNA profiling?”

“Right. So Ruben is Indian.”

“Native American. She or the child’s father.”

“Or both.”

“Yes. Why did you try to reach me?”

“I have good news.”

“You netted Ruben?”

“Not that good. I just got a call from Susan Forex. She’s unhappy with her latest boarder and wants her gone.”

“Why not simply kick her out?”

“The lady refuses to budge.”

The implication struck home.

“Better than a warrant,” I said.

“Better than a warrant,” Ollie agreed.

IN THE LATE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, SPURRED BY COMPETITION in the fur trade, the Hudson’s Bay Company expanded westward into the Canadian interior, establishing a string of posts along the major rivers. One was built on the North Saskatchewan, at what is now Edmonton. E-town was also a player in the Klondike gold rush of the 1890s, and in the post–World War II oil boom.

Today Edmonton is the capital of Alberta province. She has an impressive legislature building, a university, a conservatory, a living-history museum, and a gazillion parks. These attractions draw thousands of tourists. But nothing can compete with the mall.

Encompassing over six million square feet and containing more than eight hundred stores, West Edmonton Mall is North America’s largest and the fifth largest in the world. And the big gorilla isn’t all about shopping. The complex also has a giant water park, a man-made lake, a skating rink, two mini-golf courses, twenty-one movie theaters, a casino, an amusement park, and countless other delights.

Susan Forex lived a stone’s throw away. A very short throw.

Ollie, Ryan, and I pulled into the neighborhood at seven-forty-five. Ollie had purchased coffee and donuts, and we’d breakfasted in the car. I dislike jelly-filled, which most of them were, so I shamelessly grabbed all three chocolate-glazed.

High on sugar and caffeine, I checked out the ’hood. The houses were closely packed and all of a type, some fronted by large porches, others having little more than a stoop. Each had a flower bed or shrubbery hiding the foundation and a small patch of lawn running to the sidewalk. Here and there a bicycle or pull toy lay abandoned in the grass.

Ollie slid to the curb in front of a two-story number with gray siding and black shutters. The front steps were on the left. A covered porch ran sideways, across the front.

“Very Brady Bunch.”

I couldn’t disagree with Ollie’s take. The setting wasn’t what I’d expected.

“Pretty lady likes to get away from the job,” Ollie added.

“Most of us do,” Ryan said.

“Bet the neighbors are clueless about her line of work.”

“You talk cop shop over the backyard fence?” Ryan’s tone was totally flat.

“I live in a condo.”

“You get my meaning.”

“My job isn’t sucking off johns in an alley.”

“ Mon Dieu , we’re judgmental.”

“My bad. Forex probably organizes the annual homeowners’ picnic.”

“She might.”

“Only if it’s held during daylight.”

“The beauty of self-employment. You control your own hours.”

“Nice image. Forex and the prossie posse serving up coleslaw.”

I’d had my fill of the hostile repartee. “What do you know about this boarder?”

“Her name’s Aurora Devereaux. She’s new in town and so far has managed to stay under the radar.”

“Did you run the name?” Ryan asked.

Ollie palm-smacked his forehead. “Wish I’d thought of that.”

“You’re a real asshat.” Ryan’s words were ice.

That did it.

“We’re treading on the edge of my patience here.” I glared from Ollie to Ryan in the backseat. “I don’t know what the problem is, but you both need to dial down the attitude.”

Ollie mouthed the word “hormones.”

“Devereaux?” Resisting the urge to smack him.

“It’s a shiny new alias, one of several. The lady’s real name is Norma Devlin. She’s twenty-two, from Calgary, landed in Edmonton four months back. Calgary PD says her jacket’s pretty crowded, most of it juvie, so it’s unavailable without a warrant. Mostly petty shit, shoplifting, soliciting, disorderly. Lot of probation, no jail time.”

“Whatever Devereaux did to anger Forex, it wasn’t prostitution,” I said.

“Nope.” Ollie disengaged his seat belt. “Let’s do us some evicting.”

Forex answered the bell in seconds. She was dressed in jeans and an untucked blue cotton shirt. With her hair pulled back and sans makeup, she looked years older than she had in the Cowboy. And tired. She also looked like she’d just dropped her kid off for soccer.

“It took you long enough.” In a loud whisper.

“Good morning, Foxy. We’re good. And yourself?”

Forex’s eyes flicked past Ollie and did a quick scan of the street. Holding the door wide, she stepped back.

“You’re asking us in?” Ollie wanted an explicit invitation.

“Yes.” Hissed.

“All of us?”

“Yes.” She made a fast scooping gesture with one hand.

Ollie entered. Ryan. Yours truly. Forex quickly closed the door behind us.

I looked around. We were standing in an overfurnished parlor that L’ed into an overfurnished dining room. Dark, heavy carved stuff like my grandmother had. The carpet was moss, the sofa aqua and green stripes, the wing chairs a shade of turquoise that didn’t really blend.

A staircase rose on our left, two steps to a landing, then a right turn and up. The usual framed pictures of babies and graduates and brides angled up the wall above the banister.