Rare Traits (The Rare Traits Trilogy Book I) Read online

Chapter 19 : July 2009

  On the same Monday morning that Ced was flying to Rome, Claudia was driving to London to keep an appointment with Professor Frank Young at Kings College. The professor had been Claudia’s supervisor for her doctoral studies when he was head of genetics in the Biochemistry Department at Manchester University. Since then he had taken up a more lucrative appointment in a private institute affiliated to Kings that enabled him to pursue his research interests into gene structures and functions without the distraction of teaching commitments.

  For Claudia, the previous week had seen the mystery of John Andrews’ DNA profile deepen further. Following her trip to see Sally and Ced, she had carried out further tests with new probes and obtained more baffling results. She was hoping her trip to London might help her learn more about this mysterious man.

  She’d called Sally at the beginning of the week to ask about Ced’s visit to Grasmere. Sally told her that having met Andrews, Ced agreed how strongly he resembled the face in the Piero fresco. She went on to explain Ced’s problems in not being able to distinguish Andrews’ work from first Moretti’s and now other long-dead artists.

  “This gets weirder and weirder, Sal,” said Claudia, once Sally had finished. “Whatever’s going on?”

  “I simply don’t know, Claw, but I’m increasingly coming round to your way of thinking that junk DNA isn’t junk at all. There’s got to be something different about this man and I’m sure the answer’s in the DNA.”

  “It must be,” replied Claudia. “I’ve got thirty-eight new alleles now. The frustrating thing is that another testing kit arrived last week that will enable us to run tests on ten more loci, but I’ve already used up all of Andrews’ sample.”

  “Mmmm,” mused Sally. “Couldn’t we get some more of Andrews’ DNA from somewhere? What about the portrait you bought?”

  “It’s a thought, Sal, but it will have been handled by several other people apart from us. Who knows how many customers have picked it up?”

  “Maybe we should go and raid his dustbins, snaffle his hairbrush. Hey, we could take a swab of the door handle of his car–”

  “That his wife also drives,” interjected Claudia.

  “OK, I could always rush into his gallery screaming ‘Darlink!’ at him very dramatically in my best Russian accent, kiss him passionately on the lips and then rush out again. You can be waiting outside to swab my lips for his saliva. And take the hair from my hands.”

  “Hair?”

  “I’ll grab a handful of his hair as I kiss him. He’ll be so overcome with passion for me that he won’t notice.”

  There was a pause on the line. Then Sally heard Claudia whisper ‘saliva’ very quietly.

  “Yes, Claw, I’ll make sure his saliva is all over my lips.”

  “Saliva!” Claudia said it louder now.

  “Keep saying it, Claw, and it’ll start to sound yucky.”

  “Of course! Sal, you’re a genius!”

  “Er, Claw, you’re not seriously thinking of trying this, are you?”

  “Don’t need to, Sal, I’ve got some of his saliva.”

  “Where? From what you told me about your meeting with Andrews, there wasn’t much kissing going on.”

  “No, of course there wasn’t, but there was licking.”

  “Licking? That’s an interesting approach to interrogation.”

  “Of the envelope, Sal!”

  “What envelope?”

  “He wrote me a description of the painting I bought. He put it in an envelope which he sealed by licking the flap. I saw him do it.”

  “And you’ve kept it?”

  “Of course I have. And it’s still sealed, which means it’s uncontaminated.”

  “That’s brilliant, Claw.”

  “I’ll get on with the profiling with the new kit in the morning.”

  “Actually, Claw, do you think it’s a good idea to commit all the sample to more loci profiling?”

  “Well, it’s important, and anyway, we’re not equipped to do anything else.”

  “I know that, Claw, but since this isn’t a CJ sample, you don’t have to worry about carrying out tests on it elsewhere.”

  “You mean testing for gene-related properties? What are you suggesting, Sal?”

  “Well, first you should estimate how much sample you have. If there’s enough, run it against your new kit; the results will certainly be grist to the mill if they continue to be as odd as the others. But make sure that there’s plenty left. What I was thinking was that you could ask your old supervisor, the potty Professor Young, to have a look at it. His field’s immune systems, isn’t it? Maybe he could give you an opinion on whether these odd alleles are likely to affect them in some way.”

  “Brilliant, Sal. These rare alleles have got to influence something. I think the prof would be up for it, especially if I sweet talk him a bit.”

  Two days later, she called her old mentor to explain her findings and to ask for his help.

  The professor was cautious.

  “You know, Claudia, what you have done and what you’re now asking of me is really quite unethical. There’s a huge amount of accountability in this game; the whole field is tottering under the weight of red tape that ties it up to the point of strangulation. I always have to get permission from donors to carry out my research work. And if I start a new line of investigation using their samples, I go back to them and explain what I’m doing so they know I’m not using their samples or their gene structures for anything underhand. DNA research is such a sensitive area that if we are found wanting in our procedures, it could be closed down. If that were to happen, it would be left in the hands of unscrupulous scientists from elsewhere in the world where governments aren’t very interested in the rights of the individual.”

  “So what you are really saying is that I should stop. Call a halt here.” Claudia was defensive.

  “No, I’m not saying that, Claudia. Something these fool administrators can’t legislate against is the spirit of innovation; but it is important that you understand where this could lead you. You are playing with fire here conducting tests on a sample taken without the donor’s permission.”

  “But it was freely given.”

  “Not for scientific research. The man licked the flap of an envelope he gave you. That doesn’t give you the right to try to clone him, for example.”

  The professor paused while he thought over the problem. He then continued.

  “OK, this is what I propose. My research interests are mainly in the field of immune systems. We’re looking at the differences some people have in certain genes that increase or decrease their chances of contracting a disease or an illness. It’s a huge area and there are researchers worldwide in the field. That said, there are certain standard tests that everyone carries out. I’m prepared to submit part of your sample to a simple test that will tell us if this man’s DNA confers upon him anything out of the ordinary regarding disease resistance. It’s a very basic test, but it’s a good starting point.”

  “And you think that this is the right avenue to go down?” asked Claudia.

  “It’s as good as any, Claudia. The immune system is of fundamental importance to our bodies. It’s very heavily affected by our genetic make-up and mutations to our genetic make-up that can occur during our lives. I think it’s a very good line to follow.

  “Now, if the results do indicate anything interesting, we have got to go back to this man to ask his permission to carry out more tests and request some more sample from him. We have to explain to him what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, why it’s important and how we’ve got to where we’ve got so far. That last point could prove a stumbling block because we’re coming at this from the wrong direction. Normally people are asked to volunteer samples having been apprised first of our research interests.”

  “Then we might as well stop now, Prof. I’ve already spoken to him and he simply wasn’t interested.”

  “That’s unfortunate, given his
number of rare alleles.”

  “There’s something else I haven’t explained about this man, Prof.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  Claudia described the similarities between Andrews’ face and the face in the Piero fresco, and then told him about the problems Ced had subsequently had with his program.

  “Ced’s convinced that man’s a master forger, possibly the best that’s ever existed. That he can replicate any style he wants.”

  The professor wasn’t convinced.

  “My first question would naturally be whether your Mr Fisher’s program is really as good as he thinks it is. He is really asking a lot if he expects a computer program to differentiate the subtleties of style between two artists, especially if one artist is trying to copy the style of the other.”

  “Oh, he’s good, Prof, really good. He’s got a brilliant mind when it comes to programming. When you combine that with his knowledge of art, he has written something the art world has been dreaming of ever since the first computers were built.”

  “OK, I’ll have to take your word on that, but there’s another point that nags at me. If this man is such a good forger, why would he allow his style to be so similar to others? You’d think he would have developed a style specifically for his own work that was distinct and separate from artists whose work he was copying so he could ensure that the finger of suspicion wouldn’t be pointed at him. And why would the work of certain artists turn out to be indistinguishable when they worked centuries apart? That part really doesn’t make any sense.”

  He paused to think the problem through further.

  “Off the top of my head, I’d say that Fisher’s program is flawed in some subtle but fundamental way that neither he nor anyone else he’s consulted has discovered. I say ‘subtle’ because it would appear that until he started looking at Andrews’ work, everything was hunky-dory. But Andrews’ work and the work of the other artists that it has led on to have turned out to be the exception that proves the rule, that is, tests the rule; and now the rule has been found wanting. My advice to Fisher would be to go back to revisit every single assumption he has made.”

  “He’s already done that, Prof. He’s no slouch when it comes to thoroughness.”

  “OK, let’s leave that little problem in the pending box, shall we? I’ll give it some further thought when I’m reflecting over a glass or two of single malt this evening. It doesn’t in any way change the results you have for this man Andrews’ DNA. I can see you next Monday afternoon, Claudia. Why don’t you get down here in time for lunch? I’ll treat you to the delights of this institute’s catering and, if you survive, we can run the test I described. After that, we’ll take a view, as they say. Oh yes, could you please bring all your results with you? I’d really like to see them for myself.”

  “Claudia, how delightful to see you.”

  Frank Young was a tall, avuncular man in his mid-fifties with a mass of unruly grey hair that he constantly ran his fingers through in a vain attempt to keep it in place. He had small, smiling eyes and a small, amused mouth, the two features kept well apart by a large, bulbous nose that showed strong evidence of its owner’s weakness for malt whisky.

  Although their lives had inevitably moved apart since Claudia’s post-graduate days, they had remained in contact. It was always a special pleasure for both of them to meet and catch up with each other’s lives.

  Lunch, which Young had been teasing her about, was excellent, and they found an hour and a half flew by in tales, reminiscences and laughter.

  Young looked at his watch. “Good heavens, Dr Reid, look at the time. Enough of this idle chatter; we have work to do!”

  He stood and strode off in the direction of his laboratories, the diminutive Claudia trotting along in his wake.

  Two hours later, a tiny portion of the precious sample from the envelope had been extracted, separated and run through Professor Young’s instruments to test for enhanced or reduced immunity to a number of diseases and conditions.

  The results were displayed on various computer monitors attached to the instruments. Young flitted from one screen to another like a honeybee darting among flowers for pollen.

  “There, Claudia, that’s the last of them. Now let’s press this key here … and a summary of the results should appear on the monitor next to where you’re standing. It’s your sample so I think you should interpret the result. What does it say? Anything interesting?”

  Claudia turned to study the data that had appeared on the screen and frowned. She said nothing.

  “Come on, Dr Reid, I know it’s been a while, but you must remember your basic immunology. Speak to me!”

  Claudia shook her head. Still staring at the screen, she said, “Sorry, Prof, it really has been a while. Could you remind me what you normally see when someone has some sort of enhanced immunity?”

  “Certainly, Claudia. What we see for the various conditions we’ve included in this broad-spectrum screen is that some people will have a greater or reduced immunity to one, or perhaps two, of the factors we’ve covered. Very occasionally three, but never more than that. So, how does your man measure up?”

  “Prof, you need to look at this. I don’t understand these results.”

  Amused that his ex-student was confused by what he regarded as a routine interpretation of data, the professor took two steps forward to look over Claudia’s shoulder.

  “Good heavens!”

  The prof’s amused smile was replaced with a puzzled frown. His eyes darted over the figures as he muttered to himself, running through a mental checklist and comparing data from the controls with the data from Andrews’ sample.

  He stood up straight, spun around and walked three circuits of the laboratory, his hands tented to his face as he considered the result. He returned to the screen and checked all the data again.

  He turned to Claudia. “This is quite remarkable, Claudia. Unprecedented. These results indicate this man doesn’t simply have an enhanced immunity to all ten factors in this test; he has immunity at a level I’ve never before seen.”

  He sat down heavily on a laboratory stool. “I’ll need to conduct some more tests, Claudia. There are five specifically that I’d like to do, but I think from your sample, there will only be enough material for three. I’ll think very carefully about which three.”

  Claudia said nothing; she could almost hear the cogs whirring in Young’s mind. Then she thought back to their phone conversation.

  “What about the ethical considerations, Prof? You said on the phone that if this test proved interesting, we’d have to contact Andrews for permission to continue.”

  A cloud of doubt passed briefly across the professor’s brow. Then he made a decision.

  “Bugger that, Claudia, I haven’t even begun to digest the implications of what this might mean, but I have to get more data. We could be looking at one of the most fundamental discoveries made about DNA since the elucidation of the double helix. We’ll worry about ethics later. We’re not hurting anybody by carrying out these tests, and it would be utterly irresponsible not to continue, just because some bunch of idiots in Brussels spend their lives worrying about privacy and the rights of the individual. This could be above all that, Claudia, way above it.”

  He paused for a moment and then he looked into her eyes, his own sparkling with delight.

  “Oh, Claudia!” he said as he took both her hands, surprising her with an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. “Diminutive, clever, tenacious, wonderful Claudia!” His smile filled the laboratory with its joy. “This is so exciting! But we must keep it between ourselves. Not a word to anyone, at least until I’ve conducted the other tests. Then we’ll worry about what we do next.”

  “Not a word, Prof,” grinned the elated Claudia.