Frameshift

Helen nodded. “The Klimus Technique, right — wonderful method; we’re starting to use it here. How is he to work for?”

Pierre decided to be honest. “He’s a bear. Fortunately, he’s spending a lot of time at the Institute of Human Origins these days; he’s gotten interested in Neanderthal DNA.”

Helen smiled. “I saw him on TV once — he looks old enough to have firsthand knowledge of that.”

Pierre laughed and looked around the room. Like just about every lab he’d ever been in, this one had some Far Side cartoons taped to the filing cabinets. “Nice equipment you’ve got here,” he said.

Helen looked at the centrifuges, microscopes, and other hardware, as if appraising them herself. “It does the trick. We don’t get to do nearly as much DNA work in-house as I’d like, but it’s quite exciting when I get to testify in court. We nailed a serial rapist last week. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

Pierre nodded. “I read about that case in the Chronicle.

Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, I’m wondering if you can help me out. I— I was assaulted last week; that’s why I’m down here. I’m trying to find out why that particular person might have gone after me and, well…”

“And they told you to take a hike downstairs, right?”

Pierre smiled. “Exactly.”

“What do you want to know?”

“One of the officers who came to investigate said the guy who attacked me was a neo-Nazi, and he had a long record. I was wondering if there was any other info I could see about him.”

Helen frowned. “Are you really with the Human Genome Center?”

Pierre was about to reach for his wallet, but then decided against it.

Instead, he smiled. “Try me.”

Helen’s eyes twinkled. “Let’s see… What’s a riflip?”

“Restriction-fragment-length polymorphism,” said Pierre at once. “The variation from person to person in the sizes of DNA pieces snipped out by a specific restriction enzyme.”

Helen smiled. “I’d love a tour of your lab, Pierre.”

This time Pierre did pull out his wallet. He removed a business card — he’d gotten new ones the previous month, when the lab had changed its name from Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory to Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory — and handed it to her. “Anytime.”

She walked over to her desk and slipped the card into a little metal card box. She then moved over to her computer terminal. “What would you like to know?”

“The man who attacked me was named Chuck Hanratty. I’m still trying to figure out why he went after me in particular. It’s a bit unnerving, having somebody try to kill you.”

Helen tapped at the keyboard with two fingers. Her delicate eyebrows went up. “You offed him.”

“He fell on his own knife, actually. Does it really say I killed him?”

“No, no. Sorry. It says he was killed in a struggle with his intended victim. What do you want to know?”

“Anything at all. Anybody else he’d ever attacked, for instance.”

“I’ll print you out a copy of his rap sheet; just don’t ever tell anyone where you got it. And — that’s interesting. After he died, some of our people went over his rooming house. Guy lived in the Tenderloin — rough neighborhood. Anyway, among the things they found was a wallet containing credit cards belonging to a fellow named Bryan — that’s with a Y — Proctor. Cross-reference in the file says that Proctor was shot to death here in SF by an unknown intruder two days before the attack on you.

They found a gun at Hanratty’s place, too. Ballistics confirmed it was the murder weapon in the Proctor case.”

“Did this Proctor leave any family behind?”

Helen touched some more keys. “A wife.”

“Is there any way I could speak to her?”

Helen shrugged. “That’d be up to her.”

Chapter 19

“Pierre Tardivel?”

Pierre was bent over his lab countertop. He looked up. “Yes?”

A short man with a bulldog face and blue-gray stubble entered the room. “My name is Avi Meyer.” He snapped open an ID case, flashed a photo card. “I’m a federal agent, Department of Justice. I’d like to have a word with you.”

Pierre straightened up. “Ah — sure. Sure. Have a seat.” Pierre indicated a lab stool.

Avi continued to stand. “You’re not an American—”

“No, I’m—”

“From Canada, right?”

“Yes, I was born—”

“In Quebec.”

“Quebec, yes. Montreal. What’s this all—?”

“What brings you to the States?”

Pierre thought about saying “Air Canada,” but decided against it. “I’m on a postdoctoral fellowship.”

“You’re a geneticist?”

“Yes. Well, my Ph.D. is in molecular biology, but—”

“What is your association with the other geneticists here?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. They’re my colleagues; some are my friends—”

“Professor Sinclair — what’s your association with him?”

“With Toby? I like him well enough, but I hardly know him.”

“What about Donna Yamasaki?”

Pierre raised his eyebrows. “She’s nice, but her name—”

“Did you know her before coming to Berkeley?”

“Not at all.”

“You work under Burian Klimus.”

“Yes. I mean, there are several layers between him and me, but, sure, he’s the top person here.”

“When did you first meet him?”

“About three days after I started here.”

“You didn’t know him beforehand?”