Cold Vengeance - Lincoln Child [69]
His hand still throbbed, but now he hardly felt it. This was shaping up to be a very good day.
CHAPTER 36
New Orleans, Louisiana
PETER BEAUFORT’S CONSULTATION ROOM LOOKED more like a wealthy professor’s study than a doctor’s office. The bookcases were filled with leather-bound folio volumes. Beautiful landscapes in oils decorated the walls. Every piece of furniture was antique, lovingly polished and maintained: there was no hint of steel or chrome anywhere, let alone linoleum. There were no eye charts, no anatomical engravings, no treatises on medicine, no articulated skeletons hanging from hooks. Dr. Beaufort himself wore a tastefully tailored suit, sans lab coat and dangling stethoscope. In dress, manner, and appearance he avoided all suggestion of the medical man.
Pendergast eased himself into the visitor’s chair. In his youth he had spent many hours here, peppering the doctor with questions of anatomy and physiology, discussing the mysteries of diagnosis and treatment.
“Beaufort,” he said, “thank you for seeing me so early.”
The M.E. smiled. “You called me Beaufort as a youth,” he replied. “Do you think perhaps you’re old enough now to address me as Peter?”
Pendergast inclined his head. The doctor’s tone was light, almost courtly. And yet Pendergast knew him well enough to see the man was ill at ease.
A manila folder lay closed on the desktop. Beaufort opened it, put on a pair of eyeglasses, examined the pages within. “Aloysius…” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat.
“There is no need for tact in this matter,” Pendergast said.
“I see.” Beaufort hesitated. “I’ll be blunt, then. The evidence is incontrovertible. The body in that grave was that of Helen Pendergast.”
When Pendergast did not speak, Beaufort went on. “We have matches on multiple levels. For starters, the DNA on the brush matched the DNA of the remains.”
“How closely?”
“Beyond any shadow of mathematical doubt. I ordered half a dozen tests on each of four samples from the hairbrush and the remains. But it isn’t just the DNA. The dental X-rays matched, as well, showing just the single small cavity in number two—the upper right second molar. Your wife still had beautiful teeth, despite the passage of time…”
“Fingerprints?”
Beaufort cleared his throat again. “With the heat and humidity in this part of the country… well, I was able to recover only a few partial prints, but what I did recover also matches.” Beaufort turned a page. “My forensic analysis shows the corpse was definitely partially consumed by a lion. In addition to the, ah, perimortem physical evidence—teeth marks and so forth on the bones—Leo pantera DNA was found. Lion.”
“You said the fingerprints were only partials. That isn’t adequate.”
“Aloysius, the DNA evidence is conclusive. The body was that of your wife.”
“That cannot be, since Helen is still alive.”
A long silence ensued. Beaufort spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “If you don’t mind me saying so, this is very unlike you. The science tells us otherwise, and you of all people respect the science.”
“The science is wrong.” Pendergast put a hand on the arm of the chair, prepared to rise. But then he caught the look on Beaufort’s face and paused. It was obvious from the M.E.’s expression that he had more to say.
“Leaving aside that question,” Beaufort said, “there’s something else you should know. It may be nothing.” He tried to make light of it but Pendergast sensed otherwise. “Are you familiar with the science of mitochondrial DNA?”
“In general terms, as a forensic tool.”
Beaufort removed his eyeglasses, polished them, put them back on his nose. He seemed oddly embarrassed. “Forgive me if I repeat what you already know, then. Mitochondrial DNA is completely separate from a person’s regular DNA. It’s a bit of genetic material residing in the mitochondria of every cell in the body, and it is inherited unchanged