Page 154 of The Bone Code

For diversion, I found the remote and clicked to WCSC, the “Low Country’s News Leader.” Half-watched while I ate.

A gunman had robbed a Dollar General and shot the clerk. An overturned eighteen-wheeler was causing a traffic mess on I-526. Deputies were looking for a van whose driver was allegedly trying to lure kids. The spike in capno cases was placing a strain on medical resources in Charleston and elsewhere in South Carolina. Columbia, Florence, Georgetown, Greenville, Aiken, Spartanburg.

The station went to a commercial break. A twenty-something with a body-fat index below twelve percent hawked a diet plan guaranteed to change my life. Subway tried to entice me with a deal on the classic foot-long. A gecko urged me to switch insurance carriers.

Then an ad that caused me to go ruler-straight in my chair.

An actor sat at a microscope wearing a lab coat and a look of forty-karat concern. Sullie Huger’s company logo hovered above and behind him, a partially uncoiled double helix topped byGeneFreein bold green letters.

The screen filled with a tight shot on the would-be scientist’s face. Looking right into the camera, he asked a series of rhetorical questions.

“Do you worry about the current pandemic in our state? Do you fear that you or a family member may be susceptible to this menace? That your beloved pet may be threatened? Listen to what the experts are saying.”

A white-coated woman appeared, a stethoscope looping her neck. She said a few words about capnocytophaga and explained that immunity to the infection was a matter of genetics. Disturbingimages of capno sufferers and caged dogs scrolled beside her. Then the original actor reclaimed the spotlight.

“Take no chances. Protect yourself and your loved ones and reduce unnecessary stress. It’s quick and easy to order our kit online. Send us a swab, and we’ll tell you what’s in your genes.”

The logo expanded to full screen, and a male voiceover gave the GeneFree web address and a phone number. Both appeared in large print. Then, “Don’t delay! Act today! Blah blah blah!” The usual infomercial hard sell.

As I copied the contact information, a gaggle of cells in my lower centers did their annoying elbow nudge.

What?

The anchor returned with a report on the upcoming Holiday Festival of Lights at James Island County Park. I’d taken Katy every Christmas season when she was little. She’d loved the meandering drive through the electric fantasy-land displays.

I finished my soup, carried my dishes to the sink, then climbed to my room. Birdie joined me in bed.

So did the vigilant gaggle in my hindbrain. Shifting tactics, the cells launched their rehash routine.

At last, I knew the names of the container vics on both sides of the border. And I understood how, in this age of the FBI, RCMP, IAFIS, CODIS, WWW, and DNA, all four had vanished without leaving a ripple.

Each had fallen through a different crack in the system. Melanie and Ella Chalmers/Chalamet had been hiding out as illegals in Canada, using aliases. Harmony Boatwright had lacked any meaningful familial support structure. Ditto Lena Chalamet, who’d bounced from foster home to foster home and eventually ended up on the streets.

No one had made an inquiry or raised an alarm. No one had entered a police station to fill out a form.

All had been murdered, and their killer had gone undetected.

Killers?

Was my gut right? Was that killer Arlo Murray?

If so, what had motivated him?

Melanie Chalmers and Arlo Murray had both worked for the Human Genome Project. Same place, same time, but he’d lied about knowing her. Why?

Sullie Huger had also worked for the HGP. Was that fact relevant? Where had he been employed? Doing what? His expertise was in chemistry and computer systems. Might Huger have useful information concerning Lena or Murray?

Lena had gone to Charleston apparently pursuing a lead concerning her mother. Harmony had met her there.

Had Murray traveled south to strike again a decade and a half after killing Melanie and Ella in Montreal?

Unified Theory jarred me awake.

The French doors showed a limbo mix of grays and pinks, a sky not finished with dawn but not quite ready for morning.

I fumbled for my phone.

Seeing Ryan’s name lifted my spirits. Hearing his voice did not.