DNA, Whatever That Is
DNA comes up a lot in this job, but what it is exactly, don’t ask me.
We were in Addie’s apartment in College Town, which is near the downtown towers, but very different, with lots of grass and none of the downtown shadows. Addie’s apartment was full of light. A couple of tennis racquets stood in one corner and under the couch Bernie and Addie were sitting on lay a tennis ball, no doubt about that, even though I couldn’t see it.
“The DNA results came in,” Bernie said. “The lab says we’ve got a match.”
“Meaning it’s my great grandmother’s sister Betty?” Addie said.
“They can’t say that precisely,” Bernie said. “Just that it’s a female related to you on your mother’s side.”
“But who else could it be?” Addie said.
“So,” Addie said, “Betty was a script girl and she was killed on the Greed shoot and no one was punished?”
“That’s it,” Bernie said.
Addie was quiet for a while. Bernie just sat there. Me, too, although I wanted to root around under the couch for that tennis ball pretty bad. Finally she said, “Should I be crying? It was so long ago.”
Bernie nodded. Then he opened up the film can with the Martin Ramirez painting inside, took out the painting – that strange picture of trains and tunnels – and said, “Can’t think of anyone else who should end up with this.”
He handed her the painting. Addie cried then, but not much.
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