Chapter 12

Bellingham, Washington

Monday, February 24, 2020

By week two of our new family’s back-to-school adventure, we were starting to get the hang of things. Kyle was okay with cold

cereal and toast for breakfast, and that suited me just fine because I’m generally good with toast and coffee. Once he left,

I picked up the phone and dialed Lulu.

“How are things?” I asked.

“I’m bored to tears,” she replied.

“Still no movement on getting the lab up and running?”

“Not so as you’d notice. The whole purpose of having our own lab is being able to cut through the red tape. The problem is,

there’s a mountain of red tape to get through before we can get the lab certified and operational. What’s up with you and

Mel?”

“Well,” I said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

It took some time to explain our sudden return to the world of parenthood and the background that led to it.

“So you’re asking for my assistance in tracking down the real identities of two people who may have been placed in WITSEC

in the early two thousands?”

“Correct.”

“If we succeed, that’s not going to win us any points with the US Marshals Service.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Well,” Lulu observed, “if the case was big enough that the Marshals were pulled into it, you can bet it was large enough

to have garnered a good deal of media coverage, such as it was back then. My guess would be something to do with either cartels

or organized crime. What we really need is some idea of how many cases like that were active back in 2002 or 2003. Do you

have any DNA?”

“That would be a hard no. When Kyle left home, he didn’t exactly come away with his father’s pregnant girlfriend’s toothbrush

stowed in his backpack. Said girlfriend is easily a good eight-and-a-half-hour drive from here. Given the circumstances, I

don’t think a visit from me would be very welcome at this point.”

“Does the girlfriend smoke?”

“She’s expecting a baby, so I doubt it,” I answered.

“Lots of people smoke while they’re pregnant,” Lula countered, “but they don’t go around talking about it. Does your son-in-law

smoke?”

“He never used to,” I replied, “but that might have changed. Why?”

“When it comes to getting DNA samples from people who don’t want to share them, a potential suspect’s garbage can can be your best friend,” she told me, “and cigarette butts make for a very useful kind of garbage. How old is your grandson?”

“Just turned eighteen.”

“Even though he’s no longer living in the area, I’m sure he still has friends there. Check with him to see if Caroline smokes

or has a favorite kind of soda or other beverage, then see if he can enlist one of his friends to stage a raid on their trash

can, looking for items she’s likely to have touched. It would be best if whoever does that uses latex gloves, but it’s not

essential. And since we don’t need something that will hold up in court, there’s no need to worry about maintaining a chain

of evidence.”

“But how does Kyle explain this whole caper to a friend?”

“His father and Caroline met on a dating site, right?”

“Correct,” I said.

“How many times have you heard about people hooking up with people on dating sites who turn out to be something other than

what they’re pretending? Have him say he’s just trying to look into her background. That should work.

“If you and Kyle can come up with a sample attributable to the woman in question, I’ll be responsible for getting the profile.

Then, if we can find a blood relative of Caroline’s, no matter how distant, I’ll go about working up family trees, which may

help us sort out the geography involved. At that point, we start tracking down cases—most likely ones involving the feds—from

back in 2002 and 2003 that also originate from that general area.”

“That should keep us off the streets for a while,” I observed.

“Yes, it will,” she agreed with a chuckle, “but at some point, someone from that family tree is going to intersect with a

name from one of those cases. Then we’ll be in business. How are you fixed for search capability?”

“Not so hot personally,” I admitted, “but I have a friend who’s a whiz at it, and he has access to sites I’ve never even heard of.”

“Great,” Lulu replied. “Sounds like just the kind of guy we’re going to need.”

That afternoon, once Kyle came home and before Mel did, I broached the subject of trying to obtain samples of Caroline’s DNA

to learn her true identity through the use of forensic genealogy.

“Should we tell Dad about this?” he asked.

“Not until we know for sure,” I told him. “The first problem is getting a sample of her DNA. Does she happen to smoke?”

“She shouldn’t, but she does,” he replied. “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess,” I answered. “Cigarettes only or something else?”

“Nothing else that I know of.”

That was also good news. I didn’t want to be caught shipping the remains of a joint across state lines through the US Postal

Service.

“What about your father?”

“He doesn’t smoke, and I don’t think he knows she’s doing it. She only does it behind his back.”

“Sounds like she does a lot of things behind his back,” I observed. “So here’s the deal. Do you know which day of the week

is trash day at the house in Ashland?”

“Wednesdays,” he said. “I had to make sure the cans were hauled out to the curb every Tuesday night. Why?”

“Who’s your best friend down there?” I asked.

“Ricky,” he said at once. “Rick Malden. We’ve been friends since first grade. He’s the lead singer in the Rockets. Why?”

“How good of a friend is he?” I wondered. “The kind who would be willing to raid your family’s trash can to see if he can find any cigarette butts hiding there, especially cigarette butts with lipstick on them?”

“Probably, but what we’re asking him to do sounds pretty weird. What am I supposed to tell him about why we need her cigarette

butts?”

“Does Rick know about the stunt Caroline pulled with your other friend?” I asked.

“With Gabe you mean?”

“Yes, does Rick know about that?”

Kyle nodded. “When Gabe up and quit the band, Rick couldn’t figure out how come, so I told him.”

“Tell him that’s why you’re worried and why you want to find out more about Caroline. And tell him that since we’re looking

for DNA, it would be best if he wore gloves while he’s searching through the trash, and anything he finds should go in a plastic

bag.”

“Like a sandwich bag?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Kyle said. “I’ll ask him and see what he says.”

A while later, when Kyle was out in the yard, playing fetch with Sarah, I noticed that he was texting on his phone between

throws. A little while later, when he came in, he gave me a thumbs-up.

“Rick says he’ll be glad to,” he told me, “and he’ll do it tomorrow night.”

Mel was home by then. “Rick will be glad to do what?” she asked.

“Kyle’s friend Rick is going to raid Jeremy’s trash can tomorrow evening and see if he can come up with some possible evidence

containing a sample of Caroline’s DNA so we can ship it off to Lulu Benson.”

“Good-o,” Mel said. “I’m glad you took my advice.”

So was I.