Returning the receiver to its wall-mounted cradle, she went back to the workstation.
Studying the skeleton, she finally settled on a splintered fragment from the left foot’s fractured metatarsal. With a pair of tweezers, Charlotte carefully broke away a small piece and sealed it in a plastic vial.
To determine its age, and thus the age of the skeleton, this sample would need to be incinerated. Then, the carbon gases could be collected, scrubbed, and compressed, in order to quantify any remaining carbon 14— the radioactive isotope in all organisms that, upon death, begins halving in quantity exactly every 5,730 years. Though the process seemed simple to her, she had learned that the complex array of equipment required for this test—known as an Accelerator Mass Spectrometer—demanded substantial investment and maintenance. Most museums and archaeological groups opted to outsource to independent specialist AMS labs like Ciardini’s.
From the drawer, she retrieved the wood splinter she had taken during the initial pathological analysis.
Placing the two specimens in a padded envelope, she prepared a second envelope with a Vatican City shipping label. Seeing the label’s embossed papal crest, she smiled inwardly feeling like an extra—or maybe a player— in a detective story. It all seemed a million miles from her daily routine back home. When she was analyzing samples at BMS, at the very least she knew their age and where they came from.
To thoroughly re-create the skeleton’s physical profile, Charlotte would also need to sample the skeleton’s deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. Contained within the core of all human cells, the ribbon-like nucleotide acids held the coding that determined every human physical attribute. She’d read studies suggesting that in the absence of harsh conditions and contamination, DNA could remain viable in ancient organisms. Scientists had studied it in Egyptian mummies almost 5,000 years old. Judging from the skeleton’s remarkable condition, she was confident that its DNA would not have degraded beyond the point of being able to study it.
Like carbon studies, genetic examinations required sophisticated equipment. And without doubt, Charlotte knew the fastest and most reliable facility for such testing was at BioMapping Solutions, under Evan Aldrich’s watchful eye. BMS had patented new systems and software to efficiently analyze the human genome using improved laser scanning techniques, and she’d been an integral contributor to the system’s technological development.
Glancing at her watch, she picked up the phone and dialed Phoenix. A quarter to five. Even with the eight-hour difference, she knew Evan was an inveterate early bird.
After three rings the phone was wrestled from its cradle. “Aldrich.”
That was the way he always answered: to the point. Another thing she loved about him. “Hey there. It’s the Rome field office calling in.”
Hearing her voice, he immediately sounded cheerful. “How are operations at Christianity Central?”
“Good. How are things back home?” She touched one of her earrings, remembering he had given them to her for her last birthday—emerald, her birthstone. He had told her they matched her eyes.
“Same old. So what’s shaking at the Vatican? Figuring out how to make the pope live forever?”
“It’s amazing. I’ve been analyzing ancient skeletal remains. Standard forensic stuff so far, but fascinating. I wish you could see this.”
“Back in the trenches then. Hope it’s worth our time.”
“Too early to tell. But it is extraordinary work. Anyway how often do you get a call from the Vatican?”
“True.” He paused. “I’m assuming you didn’t call just to chat.”
After her abrupt—make that icy—departure last Sunday, she knew he was referring to relationship issues. Evan had slept at her house the previous evening. A night of passion that led to an early morning discussion about “taking things to the next level.” Still not having told him about her cancer, she’d been quick to dodge the issue, much to his frustration. The limo had arrived in the thick of it all and she hadn’t left on the best of terms. Fixing things between them was important, but now was not the time. Luckily, Evan was still pretty good at separating work and pleasure.
“The specimen’s bones are in incredibly good shape and I was hoping to impress the locals with some DNA-mapping magic,” she explained. “I want to reconstruct the physical profile. Think BMS might be interested?” There was a brief pause that she knew was most likely disappointment.
After a long moment, he said, “Sounds like it would be good PR.”
“Is the new gene scanner ready?”
“We’re already in the beta testing stage. That’s why I’m in so early— I’ve been poring over the data.”
“And?”
“It’s very promising. Get me your sample and I’ll run it through. It’ll be a good test.”
“I’ve got a whole skeleton here. What piece would you like?”
“Play it safe—something small like a tarsal. When can I expect it?”
“I’ll see if they’ll let me send it for overnight delivery. Hopefully I can get it to you by tomorrow.”
“It will be processed immediately. In fact, I’ll handle it personally.”
“Thanks, Evan.”
“Say hi to the pope for me. And Charlotte...”
Here it comes, she thought. “Yeah?”
“Just want to let you know it isn’t just my best scientist I miss around here.”
She smiled. “I miss you, too. Bye.”
Charlotte returned to the workstation, trying like hell to fight off a sudden surge of regret welling up inside her. She should have told him why she couldn’t be with him in that way—the way he wanted. Drawing a calming breath, she resigned herself to the fact that when she returned to Phoenix, she would tell him everything. Then they would need to figure out how to move forward. Lord knows she didn’t want to scare him away.
Back to work.
Bagging the metatarsal, she stuffed the sample into a DHL box. As she wrote BMS’s address on the shipping label, she tried to suppress a sudden bout of homesickness, realizing how far apart she was from Evan.
As she completed the form, Dr. Bersei joined her. He put his hands on his hips. “Far as I can tell, the patina wasn’t tampered with. It’s the real thing. You?”
“I had a nice conversation with Signore Ciardini,” she said, managing a smile. “Very charming man. He’ll have the results for us tomorrow.”
“What’s that package you’re working on?”
“Another sample I hope will provide a genetic profile for our man.” She held it up. “I’m sending it to Phoenix for analysis.”
“DNA?”
“Mm.”
Bersei glanced at his watch—just past five. “We got a lot done today. I’ve got to get home for dinner. My oldest daughter is stopping by tonight.”
“What’s Carmela making?”
“Chicken saltimbocca.” He raised his eyes and began stripping off his mask and gloves, then lab coat.
She laughed out loud and it felt good. “Good luck with that.”