“What’s it got to do with me?”
I decided to jump over all the buildup.
“Mr. Gaspar, sounds like you’re eating so I’ll get to the point.”
“Taco María, ever been here?”
“Yeah, about twenty minutes ago.”
“Really?”
“Really. And now I have a two-o’clock interview with William Orton. If you were me, what would you ask him?”
There was a long silence before Gaspar responded.
“I would ask him how many lives he’s ruined. You know about Orton?”
“I know about the case involving your client.”
“How?”
“Sources. What can you tell me about it?”
“Nothing. It was settled and everybody signed NDAs.”
Nondisclosure agreements, the bane of a reporter’s life.
“I thought no lawsuit was filed,” I said.
“There wasn’t, because we reached a settlement.”
“And you can’t share the details of it.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Is there anyplace where this settlement would be recorded?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me your client’s name?”
“Not without her permission. But she can’t talk to you either.”
“I know that, but can you ask her?”
“I can but I know the answer will be no. You’ll be at this number?”
“Yes, it’s my cell. Look, I’m not looking to put her name out there publicly. It would just help me to know it. I’m interviewing Orton today. It makes it hard to go at him on this if I don’t even know the victim’s name.”
“I understand and I will ask her.”
“Thank you. Going back to my first question. You said you would ask how many lives he has ruined. You think there were more than just your client?”
“Put it this way, the case I handled was not an aberration. And that’s off the record. I can’t talk about the case or him at all.”
“Well, if we’re off the record, what did you think about the DNA report? Detective Ruiz said he was pretty shocked by that.”
“You talked to Ruiz, huh? Yeah, it was a big fucking shock.”
“How’d Orton get around it?”
“When you find out, let me know.”
“Did you try to find out?”
“Of course, but I got nowhere.”
“Was tampering involved?”
“Who knows?”
“Can someone change their DNA?”
Gaspar started laughing.
“That’s a good one.”
“I didn’t mean it as a joke.”
“Well, put it this way, if Orton invented a way to change his DNA, he’d be the richest asshole in California, because a lot of people would pay big bucks for that. You could start with the Golden State Killer and work your way down from there.”
“Last question,” I said. “Does the NDA you and your client signed cover the records of your investigation, or could I look at what you’ve got in your files?”
He laughed again.
“Nice try.”
“What I thought. Mr. Gaspar, I would appreciate it anyway if you would give my name and number to your client. She can talk to me in confidence. I will promise her that.”
“I’ll tell her. But I will also advise her that she risks breaking the agreement if she does.”
“I understand.”
I disconnected and sat in my car thinking. So far my trip down to Orange County had produced nothing that pushed the needle or made any connection between the four deaths that I was ostensibly investigating and William Orton or Orange Nano.
My phone buzzed and it was Emily.
“I just got off the 405. Where are you?”
I gave her directions to where I was parked and she said she’d be there in five minutes. I got a text before she arrived. It was from the 714 area code — Orange County.
Jessica Kelley
I assumed that the name had come from Gaspar and he had used a burner phone that could not be traced back to him. This told me a number of things. First, that he was concerned enough about Orton to break the NDA, but to do it in a way that gave him protection. It also said he was the kind of lawyer who used burner phones, and that could be useful down the line.
I texted a thank-you and added that I would be in touch. No reply came. I added the number to my contact list, assigning it the name Deep Throat. I was a reporter because of Woodward and Bernstein, the Washington Post duo who took down a president with the help of a confidential source they had given that nickname.
I saw Emily’s car pull to the curb in front of me. It was a small Jaguar SUV and it was nicer than my Jeep. I got out with my backpack and got into the passenger seat of her car. I checked my phone and saw we still had time to kill.
“So,” I said. “Tell me about the feds.”
“I talked to a guy I had worked with on other stories,” Emily said. “He’s with Federal Trade Commission enforcement, which used to have oversight of the DNA industry until it got too big and the FTC turned it over to the FDA.”
“Which basically does nothing.”
“Exactly. But my guy can still dip into the licensing records and the database.”
“And?”
“And basically these DNA labs have to be licensed, but as you know there is no oversight or enforcement after that. However, the FDA does have to accept complaints, and my guy told me there was a flag on Orton.”
“Is that on the record?”
“On the record but not for attribution.”
“Where did the flag come from?”
“He could not get that, but my guess is that it was from UCI and what happened there.”
That seemed most likely to me.
“All right,” I said. “Anything else?”
“One other thing,” Emily said. “Orange Nano’s license has an amendment allowing it to share anonymized data with other licensed research facilities. So the data it gets from GT23 can pass through the lab and Orange Nano and go somewhere else.”
“Is any approval required of such transactions?”
“Not at this time. It’s apparently going to be part of the rules and regs the FDA is taking its sweet time with.”
“We need to find out who they give DNA to,” I said. “We can ask Orton when we see him, but I kind of doubt that will go anywhere.”
“We’ll see soon enough. What about Jason Hwang, disgruntled ex-employee of the mothership? Maybe he knows something and will share.”
“Maybe. But he would be a transaction removed. He sent DNA to Orange Nano. He would have no control and probably no knowledge of where it went afterward. What about your FTC guy?”
“I’ll try him, but the FTC washed its hands of the DNA industry when the FDA took over. Whatever he can get will be at least two years old or more.”
“Well, it’s worth a shot.”
“I’ll call him later. What did you get from the cop on the UCI case?” she asked.
“I talked to him in court and then I called the lawyer who represented the UCI victim.”
“Jane Doe.”
“Actually, it’s Jessica Kelley.”
“Who gave you that?”
“I think Gaspar, the lawyer.”
I explained the text I had gotten.
“Good stuff,” Emily said. “If she’s still around we can find her.”
“She signed an NDA, so that may be a dead end. But having the name will help us with Orton, if the case comes up.”
“Oh, I think it’s going to come up. Are we ready?”
“We are.”
21
Orange Nano was in a clean industrial park off MacArthur and not far from UCI. It was a single-level precast concrete building with no windows and no sign out front identifying it. The front door led to a small reception area where we found Edna Fortunato, the woman I had been told by Rexford PR would get us to William Orton.