Double Helix: DNA Never Lies

By Mela Barrows Bennett

Pathologist Janis Saunders heads up an investigation into a devastating plane crash. Everything adds up, with one exception: A passenger is missing from the wreckage. Saunders’ obsession to solve the mystery of what happened to this beautiful young lady is driving a wedge between her and her new husband. But, no matter the cost, Saunders will either find the missing woman or prove she is dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483488202

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DOUBLE HELIX

DNA Never Lies

Mela Barrows Bennett

Copyright © 2018 Mela Barrows Bennett.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-8821-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-8820-2 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 7/20/2018

Also by the author:

Murder Makes the Rounds

Murder in Exam Room Three

Writing As Barbara Wilhelm:

Elizabeth’s Knights

Elizabeth’s Quest

Elizabeth’s Trial

In Your Dreams

A Lawyer for Soda Flats

DEDICATION

To my sister, Jeanne, for her constant support and encouragement, as well as serving as my unofficial West Coast publicist.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Medical facts and cultural references in this work are accurate for the time period of the story and may or may not reflect subsequent changes and/or advances.

ONE

Sunday, March 7, 2004

Green Valley, NY

Dr. David Hunter shifted his weight wearily as he sat in a chair at his kitchen table. The maneuver did nothing to relieve his increasing anxiety. Staring at the cluster of pharmaceutical company fridge magnets holding up family photos, assorted messages and reminders, he sipped his Kona coffee and tried to focus his eyes. At a more decent hour, he would be savoring his favorite brew, letting each smooth sip gradually bring him to terms with the new day. Now, it was reduced to a means of staying awake and steadying his nerves, when what he wanted was to return to the beckoning cocoon of his bed. He lifted up his wire rim glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His eyes burned as he tried to focus. The kitchen clock, emblazoned with the name of the latest wonder drug to treat hypertension, proclaimed the time in screaming-red neon as 3:12 AM. Had it truly not even been an hour since life had taken such an unexpected turn? It felt like days. Predictably, the damned phone had started it all.

Being awakened by an electronic summons was certainly not an unusual occurrence in the middle of the night, and he had not questioned the assumption that someone wanted to speak with him. He wasn’t on call, but if the member of his group who was had one of those nights from hell, he might need backup. Of course, it was more likely to be one of the nursing homes, or, since it was the weekend, an inebriated wrong number. Surprisingly, it was none of the above. The call was for his wife, and she was not on call either. She was Chief of Pathology, and was rarely paged concerning work during her off-hours. That was his first hint that such a great day would end so badly. So, here they were in the kitchen, with her making one phone call after another. At least little Alice Rose was blissfully unaware, asleep in her crib.

The thirty-five-year-old internist and his wife, Dr. Janis Saunders, had celebrated their first anniversary last night with a special evening out. Their path to the altar had been an unconventional one, though in these times, David wondered if anyone followed the traditional progression of dating, marriage, and family. They had met while serving on Medical Executive Committee for Green Valley Memorial Hospital. He was Medical Staff President and she was one of the members-at-large. As they worked together to foil a potentially disastrous hospital merger promoted by their ex-CEO, the two confirmed loners had grown closer personally as well. Neither was looking for more than a lusty friendship, and they had not been prepared for the consequences resulting from the elaborate lies from the past that Janis had trustingly accepted.

David Hunter had been at Green Valley Memorial for seven years, having come to join forces with fellow internist and friend, Wesley Fox. They had done their residency in Internal Medicine together at University Medical Center (usually referred to as UMC) near New York City, and Wes had gone directly to Green Valley thereafter, to take over the largest practice in town. Wesley Fox’s wife, Deb, ran an antique shop and was instrumental in starting the English hunting motif in the offices of Fox and Hunter, even before she had married Wes.

As he watched Janis waiting on the phone for a reply to her latest question, he thought again about how much he was attracted to her, even with no makeup and wearing faded, rumpled scrubs. She was tall, only some three inches shy of his six foot one, with long black hair that she wore wound up on her head during the day. Janis had gorgeous blue eyes, hidden to most of the world behind her geeky work glasses, and a shapely body toned by hours with the weight machines in the gym and the dumbbells she kept in her office. She said it was her way to work off stress. Him, he preferred running. He smiled to himself. Until they began to work together, no one knew there was a good-looking woman under the beastly get-up she wore in the pathology lab. Two years ago, all she was to him was a name printed on the pathology reports. Now, he looked forward to a lifetime of anniversaries.

This first one had certainly started out well. They took a relaxing limo ride to the hotel by the airport where they had spent their wedding night. David enjoyed the chance for them to concentrate on each other, and not be bothered by traffic. He shared the news that their case presentation based on the details surrounding the deaths of two hospital Trustees would soon be published. It had taken months to complete the report and obtain the required releases.

David! Janis exclaimed, How exciting!

Now, Janis, this is not exactly a first for you. David smiled at her. His wife had published numerous papers in her career, and as a pathologist, was no stranger to unusual death.

"Granted, but this was our first team effort, my clever husband." Smiling back, she gave him a hug and a brief, but tantalizing kiss. David found himself thinking more about the after dinner agenda.

David waved off the praise. I’m just glad we were able to get to the truth and run our ex-CEO, JM Davenport, out of town, even if we couldn’t get him into jail. Civil court had cleaned out his bank account and the hospital had a new administrator. The hospital board had promoted from within for their replacement CEO, rather than look for another MBA in a three-piece suit. Wes put his face on a dart board in his consulting room.

Janis laughed. He would. Is he learning a lot at his ECHO workshop in Toronto?

I’ll ask Wes on Monday when he’s back at the office. He’s flying in tonight, or tomorrow morning. David tried to remember the particulars, but the details seemed unimportant at that moment.

The candlelight dinner at the hotel featured several of their favorite foods, but David had found himself looking at his wife more than his plate. The last year had been very busy, and with six-month-old Alice Rose doing new things every day, there had not been much time for romantic dinners. He wouldn’t trade a minute of it. His little daughter was already able to turn him into Jell-o with a smile. She had her mother’s crystal-blue eyes, but her hair matched his shade of brown, with the same unruly forelock he remembered from his own baby pictures. Hopefully, it would become tame with time, as had his. Alice was at Jason and Katie Burd’s for the night, and the knowledge that he and Janis had the house to themselves had added to the palpable sexual tension in the air.

They’d ended up having a light supper, accompanied by an excellent bottle of wine, enjoying quiet conversation with their well-practiced pattern of teasing banter, as both of them knew what was for dessert. They chose coffee rather than cake, and signaled for their driver. The trip home had not been short enough…or long enough for that matter. David had taken full advantage of the situation- being able to savor the fine wine at dinner and then enjoying Janis’s embrace, rather than having to negotiate traffic, or drive in an impaired state. Once at home, their lovemaking had been intense and satisfying, a throwback to the times when they had first acknowledged their mutual attraction, and David had wondered if they would spontaneously combust. With the flames lowered, the two had talked and touched quietly for hours, savoring the afterglow. It had been pure decadence to make love at leisure and savor every kiss, every touch. As he fell asleep, David decided that life was damned near perfect.

Then, at 2:13 AM, the phone rang. David had been so warm and comfortable in bed, with one arm around Janis, that he couldn’t place the sound immediately. Several seconds elapsed before he awakened and answered it. His first thought was that someone, somewhere, had misread the on-call schedule. But when they asked to speak to Dr. Saunders, he knew their perfect evening had ended. Janis was never called in the middle of the night for anything trivial. The only question in his mind now was how bad the bad news was. He watched the clock for an hour, as Janis made calls and talked with him about arranging for childcare while she was out of town. The conversation had been about as comforting as listening to nails scraping on a chalkboard. Her last call had been to Dr. Brett Normand, her associate pathologist, to arrange for hospital coverage.

Yes, he had known the truth of his fear that something was very wrong within moments of handing her the phone. With time enough for only a few words to be said, he could see it in the shocked expression on her face and hear it in her voice as she replied, What—what flight was that?

David felt a cold chill as he watched Janis grip the phone. If she were being called about a plane flight, whatever had occurred could not be anything less than a major disaster. A dozen awful scenarios flashed through his mind. As she reached for a pen and a small pad of paper, he waited for her to finish the call. Janis served with a group of fellow pathologists that handled mass disasters. Had there been a terrorist incident? A bombing? A foiled hijacking? Clearly, there had been an untoward landing of an aircraft with loss of life somewhere in this part of New York State. Where had the plane originated? What was its intended destination? Was it commercial or private? Even more disturbing was the curling serpent of dread slithering its way through his rushing torrent of thoughts. With each second, its fangs drew closer.

Finally, Janis put the receiver down and rested her hand on the phone. Her fingers were unsteady as she moved to push back an errant strand of hair from her face. This one small movement made him realize this was worse than garden-variety bad news. His wife dealt with death every day and was extraordinarily strong in the face of disaster. Only last year, she had saved a woman from the wreck of her car before it exploded, despite her own injuries and the other woman’s intent to run her over. When she turned toward him, he was shocked. Her face was pale.

David, it was the disaster team. He nodded slightly and waited for her to elaborate, repressing the unthinkable ideas in his head. A commercial airliner went down near the Catskills, less than 100 miles from here. She took a deep breath. When she continued, the tone of her voice was so flat, it was as if she were in a trance. Details are scarce, but they have found a number of dead. They need me to be part of the processing team—for COD’s and identifications.

David was immediately suspicious. Any medical examiner could determine COD, or cause of death. Janis? He sat up and put his hand on her arm. There’s something about this flight, isn’t there?

With a deep sigh, Janis slowly nodded, gave him a quick, uncertain look, then shifted her position to break eye contact. The plane was en route to JFK from Toronto. She turned back to him, and spoke softly. David, it could be Wesley’s flight.

Dear God! This was one of the more ugly notions that had streamed across his subconscious, but giving in to speculation would only add to his stress. And it might not be. Or, he could have missed it.

Janis rubbed the back of her neck. The strain showed. "I’ve been reminding myself that there are survivors. The medics at the scene are still doing search and rescue. They want me at the command center by seven this morning."

When this brief, yet emotionally charged conversation ended, Janis put the phone back on the nightstand, and exhaled. The two got out of bed and moved into the kitchen. David made coffee while his wife made calls. Speaking very little to each other, the silent understanding between them said volumes. They were trying to remain optimistic. Their friend and colleague, Wesley Fox, was very much alive and well until proven otherwise.

TWO

It had taken most of the remaining hours before daylight, but Janis made arrangements for covering her duties at the hospital, and for childcare. Their daughter would stay at the hospital daycare, and when David was on call, she would be with Jason and Katie Burd. Jason was the newest physician in David and Wesley’s group. Katie was a kindergarten teacher, and had been happy to have Alice for the anniversary night. Of course she would help with Alice Rose, she said, while they all prayed for Wesley’s safe return. No one had heard from him yet, and with each passing hour, the probability that he was on the downed flight grew.

Janis tried to focus on the clinical aspects of the job ahead as she packed her bag and pulled out her traveling forensics kit and credentials, but the fact that the crash was now a major story on all of the 24-hour cable news channels made this difficult. Several times she had to consult the packing list she kept for overnight trips, and nearly forgot her portable weight set. The design called for filling them with water to the desired level on arrival, and draining them flat for packing. With the amount of stress she would face in the days ahead, the weights would help to maintain her sanity.

As Janis was loading the trunk of her car at dawn, David told her that the most recent call was from Deb Fox. Has she heard from Wesley? She waited a moment, then pressed him. Please, tell me that her husband was not on the plane, or that he called to say that he’s in the hospital. She saw the answer in David’s expression before he spoke a word.

"Deb wanted to know if he had called me. His pause was significant. She didn’t know if he made the flight, either. As of yesterday, his plans were not definite." She made no reply. What could she say? Instead, she stepped toward him and sank into his embrace, trying to draw strength for the task ahead. The weekend had been so wonderful. Why did it have to end so dismally?

On her way to the crash site, Janis reviewed what she knew. The plane was a Boeing 767 with a full load of 145 passengers, plus a five-member flight crew. It was one of the few non-stops, popular with both business and tourist passengers. She wondered how many were dead, knowing much depended on the condition of the aircraft. Had it disintegrated on impact, or had the fuselage remained intact? Had the plane burst into flame? Had it hit with such intensity that it made a crater in the ground? Recalling what she had heard about the horrific scene at Shanksville on 9/11, she shuddered. She was grateful that the forensic specialists would be the ones who had to examine the wreckage. She had no desire to pick limbs or gray matter out of trees. While even many of the doctors at Green Valley Memorial shunned the sights and smells of the morgue, she knew that as a hospital pathologist, she was usually shielded from much worse.

On the all-news radio channel, the reporter had no update as to casualties. The NTSB had recovered both the flight recorder and black box, which had been taken off site for analysis. Investigators from the FBI, FAA and Homeland Security were on the scene, focusing on the cause of the crash.

She didn’t want to think about what Deb Fox was going through, waiting to hear news of her husband. Less than two years ago, she knew Wesley and David only by sight, as members of the hospital staff, and could not recall having spoken with either of them, except over the telephone in regards to pathology reports. Now, she didn’t want to imagine life without David. They had both survived loss and rejection, but to lose him. That was a thought that she immediately wiped from her mind. It was hard enough to think of David’s partner, her friend, being dead. No, she wasn’t going there, either. She would wait for the facts and offer a prayer.

As Janis exited the highway and approached the crash site, she saw the police barricade and drove over. Once she presented her credentials and the officer verified that she was on the list of personnel called up for the investigation, she was allowed to pass and given directions to a local fire hall, the base of operations for the crash investigation.

A tall, burly fellow in his forties wearing a paramedic uniform introduced himself as Greg Hempfield, the county EMS coordinator. I appreciate your coming so quickly, Dr. Saunders. Let me help you get your gear in and I’ll take you over to meet Dr. Sharma. He’s the leader of the medical team.

Thanks. We met before, at a pathology conference. He’s a good man to have, she added. Hempfield nodded. I have a favor to ask. Hempfield motioned for her to go ahead. My husband’s partner, Dr. Wesley Fox, was scheduled to return from Toronto yesterday. Could you check the manifest and see if he was on the flight?

The coordinator was clearly surprised. Of course, doctor. And if he was, I’ll do my best to locate him.

I know you have a lot to do here, but it would ease my mind to know, one way or the other.

Don’t mention it. You’re here to do a job, and sorting out who’s where is mine.

She smiled slightly, despite the grim nature of the task ahead, and nodded. And while I think of it, we’re going to be working together. Please call me Janis.

He grinned and put out his hand. Only if you call me Greg. Pleasantries concluded, he gave her a quick tour of the facilities and informed her that central command had been set up in one of the trailers outside. It’s a mobile unit, mostly banks of phones, so that our volunteers can handle the calls for information. They reached the area set up for the post-mortem exams. That trailer is a temporary morgue, and it has multiple refrigeration units. One of the others is a field lab, and that one, I believe, is where you’ll be doing the autopsies. Must be, because there’s Dr. Sharma. Hempfield motioned him over. Janis offered greetings, and the paramedic returned to his duties.

Dr. Rakeesh Sharma was a quiet, personable man in his late forties. Ah, it is my tall colleague from Green Valley. At perhaps five feet seven, he was a good three or four inches shorter than Janis. How can it be almost three years? And I hear you are married now, with a daughter. He drew a deep breath. I am only sorry we meet again for such as this. She nodded as he motioned her into the makeshift exam area. At last count, the teams have found 17 bodies. They bring them to the refrigeration trailer, then my staff moves them in here a few at a time to be examined. He paused. "It was thought to be much worse, but it took some time for