Chapter 3 : June 2009
Claudia Reid stared at her computer screen in total disbelief. Sighing in exasperation, she grabbed the receiver of her phone and angrily punched an internal number.
“Derek? Could you come to my office? Now!”
Thirty seconds later, Claudia’s office door opened and Derek Abbott walked in clutching a pile of computer printouts, his body language radiating caution, his eyes wary.
Claudia looked up, her eyes falling on the paperwork.
“What the hell are these results?” she said, her voice rising unintentionally as she waved a flustered hand at the computer monitor. “They can’t possibly be correct. It’s your first week as a unit head, leading the profiling, and you come up with this. I…” She raised her arms in exasperation.
“I know, Claudia. I’ve been tearing my hair out since the first result appeared. I’ve been checking and rechecking everything. That’s why I didn’t come to see you earlier. I know they can’t be right but all the controls are correct; all the other results in the batch are normal. I can’t find any explanation.”
“Derek, I know with DNA profiling we occasionally see rare alleles. That’s what makes it exciting. But now the database is getting larger, we’re pretty sure we’ve seen most of the variants. OK, new ones are still going to pop up and it’s great when they do. But there are ten pairs of results here, twenty alleles, and eighteen of them aren’t on the list, eighteen alleles that have never been seen before! That’s impossible, Derek!”
She breathed out heavily, angry with herself for trusting such a junior biochemist. He’d seemed so good, so competent. She’d given him responsibility and he’d failed her within days. Her eyes fixed on his with a scowl. “Have you repeated the profiling?”
“It’s on now, Claudia,” stammered Derek. “I’ve used different controls, a whole pile of them. Look, I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine what’s gone wrong.”
“Let me have the new results as soon as you have them. And leave those printouts for me to look through.” She dismissed him with her eyes and he turned to leave.
“And Derek,” she called after him, “don’t discuss this with anyone. It’s too embarrassing.”
Claudia spent the rest of the morning analysing the printouts, a sinking feeling in her gut. How could this happen? High technology aside, the raison d’être of her laboratory was very straightforward: it profiled the DNA on the ever-increasing numbers of buccal swabs taken by the police under the Criminal Justice Act from anyone arrested, charged, convicted or cautioned in relation to a ‘recordable’ offence: CJ samples. The profiles were sent to the National DNA Database where they were run against the outstanding crime database. If there was no hit, the profiles were still added to the DNA Database – a potential time-bomb ticking against anyone on the database who committed a crime in the future.
It was crucial that all the results were correct; that there were no mistakes, no misinterpretations, no mix ups. As a section head, Claudia was part of a team whose job it was to ensure the system was watertight.
And now this.
Three hours later there was a hesitant knock on Claudia’s door.
“Come in,” she called abruptly.
Derek shuffled in, the same injured look on his face.
“I don’t need to ask, do I?” said Claudia curtly, her hopes evaporating.
He handed her the latest printouts.
“Look, Claudia,” he mumbled defensively, “I supervised every step of the repeat profiling myself. I used a whole gamut of controls. There is no reason to believe that these results aren’t correct.”
“I can see that,” said Claudia, frowning at the charts in front of her.
After ten minutes of close scrutiny, she sighed and pushed the charts away from her, touching them gingerly as if they were about to burst into flames.
“OK, supposing they are for real. What would it mean? As far as we know, variation in STRs affects nothing we can measure or observe in an individual. This person isn’t going to have two heads. He…” She paused to glance at one of the results that showed the gender. “Yes, he. He could be that very rare beast we assume we’ll never see. The one in a squillion that can exist in theory but who is really no more than a statistician’s dream.”
Derek was eager to agree – anything that would deflect his boss’s thoughts away from considering him incompetent. “Yes, he could be the one person in the history of the universe to have such a set of sequences. But perhaps the database simply isn’t big enough yet. After all, it still has far less than ten per cent of the population on it. Given another five years, we’ll probably regard these results as just another example of relatively rare profiles, but otherwise nothing special.”
Claudia looked up at him. She didn’t buy it. People had children. Genes were passed on. Why hadn’t they seen any of these alleles before? The results couldn’t be a one-off. But she was happy that Derek seemed to regard the profile as no more than a statistic. She wanted to keep these results to herself for the time being.
She drummed her fingers on the file. “Right, I have to agree that the analysis appears to be correct, as odd as it might seem. What we’ve got to do now is find out if this man has any more new alleles by using a different kit. The results will also crosscheck these. You’ll need to use the second swab from the donor, by the sound of it.”
She tried to get back to her routine work after the conversation with Derek Abbott, but she couldn’t get the unbelievable results off her mind. She kept picking up the file and staring at the data. Everything was correct; all the results tallied: the DNA profile in that file was staggeringly different from anything that had ever been seen before. For Claudia it was a gift from the gods, the breakthrough she had been dreaming of for her research.
Claudia’s research went against the grain. DNA profiling targets areas on chromosomes thought by most geneticists to have no significance other than being structural links. They even call them ‘junk DNA’. Each targeted area is a specific place, or ‘locus’, where the sequences of DNA building blocks repeat a few times – a Short Tandem Repeat or STR. The number of repeats at an STR locus can vary from one person to another, which is what gives profiling its power. Each different variant is called an allele. Claudia disagreed that the variants were junk DNA and she was collecting data to support her theory. She had to follow this sample up to find out if the donor was different from other people in any way. She had to locate the man and find out more about him.
But there was a problem: the personal data of each person on the database was totally confidential. There was no way a donor’s details could be known to an analyst at her level. That was totally against the rules.
Claudia was fully aware of the risks she’d be taking if she tried to find out the identity of the subject and approach him. If discovered, she would be severely reprimanded and probably lose her job. She might even be prosecuted. She had mulled this over while she waited for the latest results, but when they confirmed the findings beyond doubt, she decided that she couldn’t let it rest. She would make some discreet enquiries.
When she checked the sample submission ledger, Claudia realised that she might have had a lucky break. The sample came from Cumbria, a county with large swathes of countryside and low population, and the normal delivery routine of samples being channelled through the county town of Carlisle had not happened. On this occasion, a police officer from Cumbria’s Kendal Division in the Lake District had brought in the sample along with twenty others. She looked at the name of the delivering officer – PC Jeff Roberts – and wondered.
“Sal? It’s Claw. How’re you doing?”
Sal was Sally Moreton, Claudia’s ex-flatmate from her university days in Manchester and, like Claudia, a forensic biochemist. She worked for Forefront Forensics, one of the rapidly-growing private forensic science laboratories in the UK that police forces were using increasingly. Sally worked on serious crime casework in the new, purpose-built Knutsford laboratory sou
th of Manchester. Claudia had called her to talk over the profile that was starting to become an obsession with her. She desperately needed some sensible, down-to-earth advice from someone she knew she could trust. She knew whatever she discussed with Sally would go no further.
“Hi Claw, great to hear from you. It’s as frantic as ever up here. The casework keeps piling up. My bosses might be an enlightened bunch, but sometimes their sales skills outpace what we can achieve on the ground. You should see my pending tray.”
“Tell me about it,” laughed Claudia. “Crime seems to be one area completely unaffected by global credit crunches and economic gloom and doom. Even with a 24/7 shift system we’re finding it increasingly hard to stick to our targets.”
“And I’ll bet,” said Sally, “that the police officers you deal with are as impatient for results as the ones constantly knocking on our doors. I think they all watch too many of these TV series where a one-man-band laboratory staffed with a forensic superhero skilled in everything from handwriting analysis to cranial reconstruction can deliver results almost instantly. They never seem to get it that this work takes time.”
“Sal, have you got a few minutes? There’s something that I’d really like to run by you. It’s work-related, so I don’t feel too guilty calling you in office hours.”
“You mean this isn’t a social call from a friend concerned that I’m going loony and buckling under the enormous pressure of work that’s placed upon my slender shoulders?”
In her mind’s eye, the diminutive five foot one and seven stone Claudia could see her almost six foot tall athletic friend – her ash blond hair cropped stylishly short for that extra bit of streamlined efficiency in her triathlon-filled weekends. They had been known on campus as ‘Little and Large’.
“That as well, Sal, my sweet.”
“Oh, it’s my sweet is it? It must be pretty important.”
“Sal, I want to keep this between ourselves, OK?”
“Goes without saying, Claw. Have any of our heart-to-hearts over the years ended up in the Sundays yet?”
Claudia dropped her voice to little more than a whisper.
“Sal, I’ve got this incredible DNA result. It’s full of really rare alleles. The analyst who profiled it reckons it’s a statistical thing, but I’m not so sure. It could be very significant to my research and I’d really like to track down the subject.”
“To do what exactly, Claw?” replied Sally, the shock sounding in her voice. “Are you intending to go and knock on this guy’s door and say, ‘Hi, I’m a high-powered geneticist and I’ve profiled your DNA, you naughty little arrested person you, and wow, your DNA’s really weird! Could I have some more sample?’ If this guy lives in some inner-city slum, he’s really going to respond favourably.”
“I know that’s the likely outcome, Sal, but if I can get a bit further – and it’s a big ‘if’ I know – and the subject turns out to be someone who seems amenable, I might be able to get somewhere. If it turns out he’s a lout, I’ll stop immediately.”
“Claw, you know you can’t do this; it’s against the rules. It contravenes the privacy laws; you’ll lose your job!”
“Sal,” Claudia hissed, “you’re talking rather loudly. There’s no one who can hear you, is there?”
“Actually, Claw, you’ve caught me in a meeting with the directors and the local Chief Constable. They’re looking rather shocked at the conversation so far and want me to turn the phone on to speaker. Is that OK?”
“What!”
“Claw, don’t be a dummy! I’m in my office; the door’s closed and no one can hear. Relax and tell me why you want to throw away your career.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do, Sal, but don’t you see how important this is? This person could be very special.”
“You know, Claw, it’s really only you who’s likely to think that. Most people don’t agree with your theories about there being a hidden, unknown function of junk DNA. Most people think it is junk. Me, I’m open-minded because I’m your friend and I know you’re bonkers. But you’ve got to admit, with the distributions we now have for DNA profiles, everybody’s special.”
Claudia was frustrated. “I know we’re all different when we go far enough with the profiling, but Sal, most of the alleles in this sample have never been seen before, and they’re all here together in one person. I’m not talking rare here; it’s unprecedented. I’m talking outrageously unique!”
There was a silence at the other end of the line. Finally Sally said, “So, this really is the big time huh? Why don’t you go to Mike and explain? He seemed a reasonable guy when I met him. Maybe the bigwigs could arrange some sort of formal approach.”
“First,” replied Claudia, “Mike and reasonable have never met. He’s an arsehole and he thinks my research is a waste of time. And you know the rules for a CJ sample. The subject is never contacted. Full stop. Period. End of story. Anyway, even if Mike thought he could get beyond that problem because he thought it was special, he’d immediately try to take it off my hands and run with it, and then if anything came of it, claim all the glory.”
“I thought he was trying to screw you.”
“Well, he’s realised that isn’t going to happen, possibly something to do with my pointing out that he has a wife, who I happen to like, and kids; so he’s now just keen on screwing my career.”
“Sounds like you could be handing him that opportunity on a plate, Claw, to screw your career, I mean.”
She paused for a moment. “And you say the analyst who brought you the result isn’t interested?”
“Yes and no. I think Derek simply sees it as rare. He seemed more concerned that I was going to blame him for getting a wrong result. He’s not really interested in the function or otherwise of these alleles. Like everyone else here, he thinks I’m wasting my time researching them – reckons they’re structural and nothing else. That’s why I’m so keen to follow it up – it could be a big break in my research and I could prove them all wrong.”
“And lose your job! What about the review meetings, won’t you have to bring it up?”
“Yes, of course I will. But we’ve only recently had one, so I can sit on the results for now without alarm bells ringing. Even when it comes up, they probably won’t be interested. The only things that really concern them are that the results are all correct, beyond challenge, and that we’re meeting their gruelling targets.”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“Look Sal,” she continued, “I know I should probably go about this differently, but I have a strange feeling about this profile and I really want to follow it up if I can. I promise I won’t do anything daft; and I certainly don’t want you sticking your neck out. What I’m really hoping to do is track down the submitting police officer.”
There was a silence at the other end.
“Sal? Are you still there?”
She heard a long sigh. “I can’t believe what you just said, Claw. You want to contact the police officer to ask him if he’ll tell you the name of someone who gave a CJ sample?” She sounded incredulous. “They’ll have you on toast!”
“Put like that, I know it doesn’t sound very bright,” replied Claudia meekly, “but this sample comes from Cumbria, and if it happens to come from the back of beyond, the police officer might be a bit more inclined …”
“I don’t think you should underestimate these guys. They might spend their time cautioning day-trippers for parking their bicycles on a double yellow line, but they’re still cops, you know. Many of them are like me – they love running around the countryside all day – but others have a real chip about being stuck in the wilds and are out to prove they’re super cops. They certainly wouldn’t think twice about busting you.”
“God, Sal, I suppose you’re right.” Claudia sounded utterly deflated. “I know I shouldn’t take this further. But when I saw the name ‘PC Roberts’ in the ledger, I imagined him as a really nice guy who’d be fascinated by my work a
nd happy to turn a blind eye to the rules.”
“You’re bloody kidding, Claw, right?”
“Yes, I know, naïve, huh?”
“No, Claw, I mean kidding about the name. PC Roberts. What was his first name?”
“Jeff. PC Jeff Roberts.”
“Christ, Claw! You realise that you haven’t simply phoned your old friend and partner in crime, Sally Moreton. You’ve phoned your fairy bloody godmother!”
Claudia was confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Claw. Jeff Roberts and I have a history. We had, you know, a bit of a fling.”
“What? When?”
“Well, as you know, before I worked for Forefront, I spent a couple of years in the Forensic Science Service’s Chorley lab at Preston. Jeff was among a group of police officers on a training course there trying to absorb what went on in the lab. Most of his grey cells are below waist level, so I think it was all a bit much for him, but he’s a bit of a looker and when he asked me to join him for a drink in the pub after work, I wasn’t going to say no.”
“So what happened?” asked Claudia.
“We sat and discussed roadblock design.”
“What?”
“Don’t be a plonker, Claw, what do you think happened?”
“Oh.”
“Yes, well, it was OK for a while but I then found out our PC Roberts had a Mrs Roberts and a Jeff junior–”
“He’s got a son called Jeff junior?”
“God, Claw, I don’t know what his bloody son’s called and I don’t care. The point is, if I ask him for a favour, he’ll be shit scared that if he doesn’t deliver, Mrs Roberts and I might have a little chat.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Of course I wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know that.”
“Sal, I absolutely don’t want you asking this guy for any favours. It’s my neck and I can’t get you involved.”
“Claw, have you thought beyond this connection?”
Claudia couldn’t always keep up with Sally’s rapid thought processes. “What do you mean?”
“Claw, now this might be a leap of logic, so I want you to follow me carefully,” she added, with more than a hint of mock sarcasm in her voice. “Our PC Roberts is in the Kendal Division, but he’s stationed at the Ambleside nick. Given that he brought in your sample, I’d say there was more than an outside chance that your man lives in the Lake District. Call me inspirational, call me–”
“You’re a genius, Sal!”
“Yes, well, don’t forget that so far, no rules have been broken. It’s not against the rules to check in the ledger and it’s not against the rules to put two and two together. But it is against the rules to approach PC Jeff Doe-Eyes Roberts and try to find out who the sample was taken from. However, if you happen to mention that you’re my best friend, and that we have no secrets from each other –”
“And I explain that he’d possibly be helping with a huge scientific breakthrough–”
“No, that wouldn’t touch him; remember where his brain cells are. But if perhaps you explained that there might be a link between criminality and certain profiles, if he doesn’t like the bloke, he might buy it.”
“But that’s rubbish, Sal, I can’t say that.”
“Look Claw, he’s a police officer, he doesn’t understand science. If he ever put you on the spot and quoted it back at you, you could explain in a very scientific way to him that he’d got his backside confused with his brain. Now do you want his mobile number or not?”
“You’ve got his mobile number?”
“How do you think we communicated, Claw? Smoke signals?”
“Sal, this is amazing,” beamed Claudia, excitedly writing down the number.
“Maybe, Claw, but I’m seriously not very happy with it. If you approach this guy, you’ve really got to do it very, very carefully. If he’s obviously not biting, walk away.”
“Sal, I’ll be careful, I promise. And don’t worry; we didn’t have this conversation. I found his name and recognised it. I made the association from the chats we’d had.”
“Well, I do worry, Claw. It’s a rough old world out there.”
“I love you, Sal. You’re a genius.”
“When I come and visit you in prison, I’ll be the one wearing a false moustache and glasses,” said Sally as she rang off.
Claudia put down the phone and looked at the number Sally had given her. She couldn’t believe her luck. She picked up the phone to dial, thought about it, and put the receiver back down. What was she going to say? She’d need to think it through carefully. There was a lot at stake.