Page 122 of Tear Me Apart
She opens it to see a DNA profile.
“What’s this?”
He is whispering, like someone is nearby, possibly listening. “This is a DNA profile from Vivian Armstrong’s crime scene. According to the evidence, it’s always been attributed to the midwife. Thing is, that’s not at all whose it is. But I did find a match in the system.”
“That’s great news. Whoever it is might be the killer, and who took Mindy. Tell me.”
She hears another whoosh. “Check the email I just sent.”
This one contains two DNA profiles, side by side. It takes her all of ten seconds to see they are a perfect match. Just to be sure, she scans the ID—the bottom right corner of each profile holds the identification data, coded by number to maintain the privacy of the samples for the lab, and avoid any intrusion or personal bias by Juliet or her staff when they run the DNA. It’s fail-safe. These numbers also match.
“Don’t keep me in suspense any longer, Bai. Do you have a name or only a number match?”
“Juliet, you did not hear this from me, okay?”
“Bai. Spit it out.”
“The profile belongs to Lauren. Your sister was at the Armstrong crime scene.”
72
The shock of the words slams into her. It takes her a minute to catch her breath. When she can speak again, she says, “What are you talking about? There’s no way Lauren was there. She was in Colorado. The baby...the doctor... Bai, there must be a mistake.”
“I ran it four times. There’s no mistake. The evidence team from Nashville has your sister’s DNA, but they don’t have the report yet. I had to let you know first.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No. But there’s no way I can keep this quiet.”
“I know, I know.” She holds her head in both hands.Think, Juliet. Think.
Zack’s voice comes to her.There’s something off about your sister.
“Juliet? Are you there?”
“I am. Bai, can you give me an hour before you tell anyone?”
“Oh God, Juliet. I—”
“I know what I’m asking. I don’t blame you if you say no. But one hour, Bai. Just enough for me to talk to Lauren and find out what the hell is going on. Please.”
He is silent for a moment, then she hears a click. “I’ve set a timer. One hour, Juliet, and then I have to tell Woody. And you sure as hell better act surprised when he calls to tell you, because I refuse to lose my job over this.”
“You’re the best, Bai. Thank you so much.”
She slams down the phone and prints out the email. If she is going to confront Lauren, she is going to need proof.
But what kind of proof is this? Other than somehow her sister’s DNA is in Vivian Armstrong’s house. That’s all it is, right? It doesn’t mean...
She cleans her tracks from the computer and shuts it down. Sits for a moment, at the perfect marble-topped desk, staring at the paper with the samples side-by-side, the match clear as day.
Oh, Lauren. You really have been lying to all of us.
She steps out onto the deck. The day is gorgeous, unseasonably warm, sunny with blue skies and a few white clouds. Another big storm is coming tomorrow, a blizzard, estimated to drop anywhere from a foot to two feet of snow. Good timing, it will chase off the reporters for a little while, make them hunker down in their hotel rooms. No one wants to stand outside in a blizzard hoping for a glimpse of a sick kid.
The sense of the world spinning, rushing toward her, is palpable. The stream next to the house gurgles in warning, as if it too knows it’s going to be overwhelmed on the morrow. Her tears start to fall; she brushes them away angrily.
She needs to talk to Zack.
