Blood on the Sun (CSI: NY) by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online Page A

isopropanol. Next, under the electron microscope, she cut the DNA using restriction enzymes. This produced small DNA fragments. Jane then “loaded” the cut DNA onto an agarose gel that look like clear Jell-O. She mixed the gel and poured it into what looked like a rectangular baking dish. She moved on to the next sample. Each sample would have to sit for at least three hours before it could be used for the test.
    When she had the completed gels for all the DNA samples, she would electrophorese the gel by running an electric current through it to separate the fragments according to their size. The fragments would be stained with ethidium bromide.
    When this was done, she would be able to view separate fragments and compare the pattern to any DNA found at the crime scene. The separated fragments form the bar code pattern with which the public is familiar. She would end by taking photographs of the bar codes.
    The work had to be done carefully. There were too many steps during which a mistake could be made. She assumed that Mac would want to submit the code to the FBI to search for and include in their CODIS (Combined DNA Index System).
    Jane had a massive headache. When she could, she would take a few aspirin. The pain was familiar. It went with the job. Her eyes burned. Her mouth was dry. She kept on working.

    Don Flack drank a cup of strong, heavily sweetened hot tea and listened to Hyam Glick, brother of the murdered man. They were sitting in the kitchen of Asher Glick’s house, four blocks from the synagogue in which he was murdered.
    More than a thousand observant Jews lived in the neighborhood, for many reasons. There was a sense of community, a wish to be near relatives, but most important, from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday, the Sabbath, they were forbidden to work or drive in cars. They were also required to attend services on both Friday night and Saturday morning. Far from ideal houses, many in the neighborhood were in need of major repair, but because of their location near the synagogue, when they went on the market, they sold for outrageous prices.
    The Glick house seemed to Flack to need no work. The floors were even. The walls were clean, white and unscratched, the furniture unscuffed, the ceiling showing no signs of water damage or sagging.
    Women were consoling Yosele and taking care of the children. Other men and women were preparing to sit shivah, covering mirrors, lining up chairs. Still others were out finding cakes, cookies and candy to set out on tables for those who would be coming to pay their respects and say the prayer for the dead.
    “The minyan,” Glick said with a sigh. “What can I tell you? I can imagine none of us doing a thing like this. Aaronson, Mendel, Tuchman and Siegman are over eighty. I can’t see any of them overpowering my brother or having the strength to drive nails into his…”
    Glick stopped, sighed and let out a sob. “My brother was a strong man,” he said. “He worked with his hands, his back, moving, lifting furniture. He…”
    Flack worked on his tea amid the bustle in the house and waited until Glick pulled himself together.
    “Black has Parkinson’s,” Glick finally said. “Tabachnik and Bloom are young enough, no more than fifty, and reasonably healthy as far as I know.”
    “Are they regulars at the minyan?” asked Flack. He knew Glick had already shared this information with Aiden and Stella, but he wanted to hear it for himself.
    “As I told your collegues, all of those present were regulars, except for Mendel and Bloom.”
    “Your brother particularly close to any of these men?”
    “To all of them. Asher was the solid rock of the congregation.”
    “What do these men do for a living?” asked Flack.
    “All retired but me, Asher, Mendel and Bloom. Mendel works in Schlosman’s Kosher Bakery. He’s a baker. His challah is acknowledged as the best in the city.”
    “Bloom?”
    “I know little of him. He’s new. I think he’s in the