Snakes & Ladders by Sean Slater Read Free Book Online Page A

norm. Standing tall in the centre of the foyer was a hand-etched sculpture of a pair of chromosomes, made from transparent glass. Behind that was a thick granite countertop, on which stood several black leather folders, which looked more like fancy menus at a five-star restaurant than catalogues for DNA testing.
    Felicia walked ahead and picked one up.
    ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘They do everything here from paternity tests to mitochondrial DNA.’ Her eyes turned to the price list and her brow lifted. ‘For this kind of dough, they should at least offer us a martini while we wait.’
    Striker grinned. ‘Martini? Hell, they should offer us lines.’
    He’d barely finished speaking when the front-desk clerk returned. He walked, almost stork-like, in huge awkward strides with his head bobbing forward with each step; Striker half expected the man to preen himself. His face was thin, and it looked disarmingly young behind the glasses he wore. When he spoke, his voice was high. Fluttery.
    ‘Good evening. Welcome to GeneTrace. How can I help you?’
    Striker approached the counter and badged the young man – an action which seemed to leave no impression on the young clerk – then dropped the brown paper bag with the glove in it and the brown paper bag with the glass shard in it on the granite countertop and met the man’s stare.
    ‘Vancouver Police,’ he said. ‘We need DNA on this glove. And anything you can do with this glass shard – there’s a leather strip on it we think is from the glove. We’ll need it matched.’
    ‘That’s not a problem.’
    ‘We need it done fast .’
    ‘That is also not a problem.’ He spoke with an air of arrogance.
    Without another word, the clerk pulled a form and a pen from beneath the counter and handed it to them. When Striker accepted the form and began filling out the necessary details – type of test required; suspected location of DNA on the item procured; and all the necessary contact numbers – the clerk cleared his throat.
    ‘And do you have a suspect comparison sample?’ he asked.
    Striker shook his head. ‘We want the results run through the DNA Databank. See if there’s any Known Offender hits.’ He met the man’s stare. ‘And we want the results in less than forty-eight hours.’
    The clerk frowned. ‘I said fast was not a problem, not light speed.’
    ‘This is important.’
    ‘I’m sure it is,’ the man said, and that arrogance was back. ‘Unfortunately, the lab is extremely backed up right now – we’ve been tasked with assisting the Pickton investigation. So even with a rush, it’s going to take some time.’
    ‘Like I said, we need them fast.’
    The clerk’s face took on a distant, detached look, as if this was a line of questioning he was all too used to. When he spoke again, his speech sounded prepared and overused. ‘This is DNA we’re talking about, Detectives, not fingerprints. The culture has to be grown.’
    Striker put on his best smile. ‘So it’s not like CSI ?’
    The clerk’s face tightened for a moment, then lost the frown. A grin spread his lips and he let out a small laugh.
    ‘Expect four days,’ he said. ‘Three at the minimum. But leave the sample with me and I’ll see what I can work out with the lab people. Forty-eight hours seems quite unlikely at this point in time, but you never know.’
    Striker cast Felicia a glance. After she nodded, Striker turned back to face the clerk. ‘Thanks. We really appreciate your assistance with this.’ He shook the clerk’s hand, then handed him a business card and wrote his personal cell number on it. ‘Call me the moment you know. Night or day.’
    ‘Of course.’
    The clerk rubbed his nose and read through the DNA form, making sure all the boxes were properly filled out and checked. When he reached the bottom of the page, he looked up and met Striker’s stare.
    ‘And what authorization number should I use?’ he asked.
    Striker didn’t hesitate. ‘Eleven thirteen.’
    He saw