saliva?’ Garcia faced Doctor Winston.
‘Yes, it can.’
‘But the blood inside the chalice belonged to Father Fabian, right?’ Hunter asked.
Doctor Winston nodded.
‘That means that our killer’s DNA, taken from the saliva, would’ve mixed with the priest’s DNA in the blood. Once DNA gets mixed together . . .’ Hunter shook his head. ‘It can’t be split apart anymore.’
Garcia looked at Doctor Winston for confirmation.
‘Robert’s right.’ He nodded. ‘The lab will be able to tell you that there’re two different sources of DNA. But they won’t be able to split them.’
‘Fantastic.’ Garcia cupped his hand over his nose. The nauseating smell was getting to him. ‘This gets better by the second. Do we have anything conclusive?’
Doctor Winston took a deep breath. ‘The blood the killer used to draw the number three on the priest’s chest. It’s human, and it’s not Father Fabian’s.’
Hunter raised his eyebrows in anticipation.
‘It belongs to a woman.’
‘A woman?’ Garcia looked baffled. ‘I didn’t know you could tell gender from a simple blood test?’
‘You can from DNA tests, or if you specifically test for levels of estrogen.’
Hunter instinctively checked his watch. ‘There’s no way you would’ve gotten DNA results this fast, doc. And you had no reason to test for estrogen levels.’
‘So how do you know the blood came from a woman?’ Garcia pressed.
‘Unless . . .’ Hunter’s questioning eyes moved back to Doctor Winston.
‘Unless what?’ Garcia asked eagerly.
‘Unless she was pregnant.’
Doctor Winston closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
Twenty-Three
Amanda Reilly re-entered the numbers into her spreadsheet and pressed the RETURN button.
Nothing changed.
The final calculation was still way short of what was needed to cover her estate agency’s bills for the month. She placed her reading glasses on the desk in front of her and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was the fourth consecutive month she’d have to default on several payments. The week was drawing to a close, and the two viewings they’d had this week hadn’t produced an offer. According to her calculations, if she didn’t get a sale soon she’d only be able to afford to keep the agency open for a few more weeks – maybe a month.
Amanda had dropped out of high school at the age of seventeen after flunking tenth grade for the second time. She was an intelligent girl, but when it came to exams and answering questions her heart would take off like a fighter jet, her mind would go blank and she couldn’t get a single answer out.
Amanda knew she was very good with people. And she had charisma – bundles of it. Her first job was as a trainee broker in a small real estate agency in central LA. It didn’t take her long to get the gist of things, and within a year her sales figures were topping everyone else’s in the agency.
She didn’t stay in central Los Angeles for long, accepting a job with Palm Properties, one of the largest real estate agencies in Palm Springs.
In California, businesses don’t come much more cutthroat than real estate, but Amanda knew how to use her assets to her advantage. Other than being smart, charismatic and charming, she was also very attractive, with shoulder-length blond hair, sky-blue eyes and porcelain-smooth skin. Some would say she slept her way into her partnership just three years after joining Palm Properties.
Amanda stayed with the agency for eleven years before giving up the partnership and opening her own agency – Reilly’s – in West Hollywood. She was a hard-working woman, and during the following ten years three other Reilly’s opened across Los Angeles. But just over a year ago, the booming American property market came crashing to a halt. Repossessions were at an all-time high. Bank loans were nonexistent. No one was buying. Not even the super-rich.
Amanda tried every trick she’d learned over the years to keep her
‘Yes, it can.’
‘But the blood inside the chalice belonged to Father Fabian, right?’ Hunter asked.
Doctor Winston nodded.
‘That means that our killer’s DNA, taken from the saliva, would’ve mixed with the priest’s DNA in the blood. Once DNA gets mixed together . . .’ Hunter shook his head. ‘It can’t be split apart anymore.’
Garcia looked at Doctor Winston for confirmation.
‘Robert’s right.’ He nodded. ‘The lab will be able to tell you that there’re two different sources of DNA. But they won’t be able to split them.’
‘Fantastic.’ Garcia cupped his hand over his nose. The nauseating smell was getting to him. ‘This gets better by the second. Do we have anything conclusive?’
Doctor Winston took a deep breath. ‘The blood the killer used to draw the number three on the priest’s chest. It’s human, and it’s not Father Fabian’s.’
Hunter raised his eyebrows in anticipation.
‘It belongs to a woman.’
‘A woman?’ Garcia looked baffled. ‘I didn’t know you could tell gender from a simple blood test?’
‘You can from DNA tests, or if you specifically test for levels of estrogen.’
Hunter instinctively checked his watch. ‘There’s no way you would’ve gotten DNA results this fast, doc. And you had no reason to test for estrogen levels.’
‘So how do you know the blood came from a woman?’ Garcia pressed.
‘Unless . . .’ Hunter’s questioning eyes moved back to Doctor Winston.
‘Unless what?’ Garcia asked eagerly.
‘Unless she was pregnant.’
Doctor Winston closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
Twenty-Three
Amanda Reilly re-entered the numbers into her spreadsheet and pressed the RETURN button.
Nothing changed.
The final calculation was still way short of what was needed to cover her estate agency’s bills for the month. She placed her reading glasses on the desk in front of her and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was the fourth consecutive month she’d have to default on several payments. The week was drawing to a close, and the two viewings they’d had this week hadn’t produced an offer. According to her calculations, if she didn’t get a sale soon she’d only be able to afford to keep the agency open for a few more weeks – maybe a month.
Amanda had dropped out of high school at the age of seventeen after flunking tenth grade for the second time. She was an intelligent girl, but when it came to exams and answering questions her heart would take off like a fighter jet, her mind would go blank and she couldn’t get a single answer out.
Amanda knew she was very good with people. And she had charisma – bundles of it. Her first job was as a trainee broker in a small real estate agency in central LA. It didn’t take her long to get the gist of things, and within a year her sales figures were topping everyone else’s in the agency.
She didn’t stay in central Los Angeles for long, accepting a job with Palm Properties, one of the largest real estate agencies in Palm Springs.
In California, businesses don’t come much more cutthroat than real estate, but Amanda knew how to use her assets to her advantage. Other than being smart, charismatic and charming, she was also very attractive, with shoulder-length blond hair, sky-blue eyes and porcelain-smooth skin. Some would say she slept her way into her partnership just three years after joining Palm Properties.
Amanda stayed with the agency for eleven years before giving up the partnership and opening her own agency – Reilly’s – in West Hollywood. She was a hard-working woman, and during the following ten years three other Reilly’s opened across Los Angeles. But just over a year ago, the booming American property market came crashing to a halt. Repossessions were at an all-time high. Bank loans were nonexistent. No one was buying. Not even the super-rich.
Amanda tried every trick she’d learned over the years to keep her
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