Drawing Conclusions (25 page)

“Mom,” I screamed as I shook her shoulders. “Where did Dad go?”

She lifted her head like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her eyes were glassy and loose. They rolled as if the tendons holding her eyes in place were inches too long for their sockets. “A baby,” she said in a voice that was almost inaudible, “another baby, Teddy told me.” I held her head up with my hands leaning into catch her words. “Find it, CeCe. Bring the baby home.” And then her body sunk into itself as her breathing slowed and she sank into a deep slumber.

“Frank,” I cried. “It's not over.”

thirty-nine

Igor remained true to
his word. His gruff voice and thick accent lent an air of drama to the court proceedings, which held spectators spellbound as they heard his damaging portrayal of Peter Dacks as the mastermind behind a scheme of blackmail and death. An up-and-coming assistant district attorney had managed to secure grainy photos of Igor's dead wife, Dacks's sister. The shots, enlarged and mounted on a pair of easels, made a lasting impression on the jury. The photos built Igor's credibility and created sympathy for Becky. Who could resist the story of a young, healthy mother seeking a quick fix to her family's chronic money problems? Wouldn't we all have signed on to what seemed like a legitimate drug trial, especially one organized and endorsed by a family member?

Each time the lawyer motioned to the photos, Becky's eyes would stream freely as some jury members shook their heads in dismay. Enhancing the drama, the lawyer sprinkled his presentation with names of faraway places that seemed to lack a sufficient number of vowels. Even Igor and Becky's hometown had an air of intrigue as the lawyer produced witnesses who described rounds of disastrous medical testing on trusting residents. The lawyer made a point of regularly employing Peter Dacks's real name, Piotr Dackow. Each time the young lawyer crunched through the hard syllables, Dacks sounded guiltier.

Igor's testimony was a crucial piece of the case. To prove Peter Dacks had hired Igor and Becky to kill Teddy and threaten me, the ADA needed to craft a compelling story, casting Dacks as a manipulative sociopath with the singular goal of dominating the scientific world. By presenting Igor and Becky as victims of Dacks's larger plot, the negative emotion of the courtroom shifted away from the father and daughter toward Dacks. A believable story emerged. After moving his widowed brother-in-law and motherless niece to the United States, Peter Dacks revealed to Igor that Dr. William Prentice was solely responsible for his wife's death. He led Igor and Becky to believe that Dr. William Prentice was also hindering his ability to build a profitable scientific research company, the results of which would leave the family wealthy beyond imagining. By promising to expedite their immigration papers, Igor and Becky were easily transformed into Dacks's puppets. He would constantly remind them that Dr. William Prentice was responsible for the death of their loved one, making it easy to coax them into questionable behavior.

On the witness stand, Becky held firm to her innocence. The lawyer posed the same basic question in a variety of formats, and each time she denied any knowledge of Dacks's ulterior motive.

“You assert that you had no idea the cookies contained a potentially lethal ingredient for Dr. Theodore Prentice,” the lawyer prompted.

“I did not know,” Becky stated.

“Did your uncle at any time lead you to believe that the cookies could cause symptoms of choking?”

“No, he did not.”

“Where did you purchase the cookies?”

“I did not purchase the cookies,” Becky said, knowing full well her next statement was the case closer. “My uncle gave me the cookies and suggested I bring some to Teddy.”

The gasp from the crowd was audible.

Igor's attacks on DeRosa and me were omitted from the trial, since they were considered incidental to the case against Dacks. Unless DeRosa or I pressed charges, technically nothing had occurred in the attic; DeRosa had never filed a report or called in for backup. He and I had discussed it at length as we cleaned up the aftermath of DeRosa's nighttime mêlée with Igor in the attic. I was none too happy with the results.

“CeCe, it happens all the time in police work. You trade a small-time criminal for a shot at the kingpin. Our target is Dacks. Think of it as a trade. We swap two lesser players, Igor and Becky, for the big hitter, Peter Dacks.”

“Why do men compare everything to sports?” I'd said with exasperation. “So a man breaks into my house with intent to kill and we let him walk?” I picked through the upended paint cans, avoiding a pool of spilled turpentine on the attic floor.

“Close,” he said as he
pushed the mop across the ancient floorboards. “We're letting Igor walk but with conditions. These conditions—namely, providing testimony accusing Dacks of
orchestrating Teddy's death—will increase the chance that Dacks will go to jail for the rest of his life.”

I tossed a garbage bag of debris in the corner and approached one of the half-finished portraits of my mystery man, who DeRosa and I both now knew was him. I dipped a paintbrush in a bowl of black paint and swiped a ridiculous mustache on the portrait. Then I painted a pair of horns on his head and added an air bubble. I filled the bubble with the words,
the devil made me do it
, much to his amusement.

The most sensitive part of the case was how to spin my father's role. which hinged, in part, on actually locating him. In a twist I could barely stomach, it appeared that my father was quite possibly not guilty of anything criminal, making it difficult to have him detained when he was ultimately discovered at JFK boarding an international flight to Brazil. We left my mother in a nearly comatose state under the care of Norma, who dailed 911 as we rushed out of the house. With FBI Agent Swell handling the legwork, DeRosa was able to direct a quick sweep of the area airports. We drove to the airport with the police siren screaming on the roof of the car. As DeRosa explained it to me, we were lucky if we'd be able to hold my father for more than a few minutes. There was no evidence that he had actually tried to steal two infant boys. DeRosa guessed that my father would say that he'd agreed to adopt only one baby through what he believed was a legitimate adoption agency. It was also entirely plausible that my father had agreed to accompany the other baby to the United States en route to the child's adoptive parents. Who wouldn't trust a doctor to supervise an infant on a transatlantic flight?

As far as the deadly drug trials conducted more than twenty years ago, the FDA maintained no regulatory oversight of offshore drug testing, hence its popularity among pharmaceutical companies. My father was a pioneer in offshore trials, but he was clearly not the only doctor to take advantage of the low-cost venue. Today, it was common practice. Drug trial patients are made aware, through the small print, of potential side effects, but the FDA requires no explanation of testing results. In fact, a drug that tests poorly and is ultimately shelved never passes over the desk of an FDA agent. Only drugs seeking their approval based on positive testing results go through the rigor of the FDA process. This loophole, the size of a celestial crater, seemed horribly biased against an uneducated population. Yet it was this crack in the system that Dr. William Prentice had so successfully exploited.

Forcing lines of cars to the shoulder, we'd sped to the airport in under thirty minutes, a miracle by New York standards. Frank double-parked the cruiser in front of the terminal entrance and tossed the keys to a uniformed cop. My father had been pulled from the line of embarking passengers by the Port Authority police and transported to an administrative office, where DeRosa and I found him ranting on about his civil rights.

“I had no idea Dacks would kill Teddy,” my father said as we entered the room. “You will never prove it.”

“You're right. We'll never prove that you put your son in a position that ultimately cost him his life. We'll never prove that you chose to ignore warnings from your son that something was amiss concerning the unregulated transfer of DNA. Moreover, we will never prove that you called Dacks's bluff, providing him with the motivation to kill your son and threaten your daughter.”

My father took a step backward, as if twelve inches of distance would soften the blow.

DeRosa took three long strides forward and stood face to face with him. “We can prove, however, with one hundred percent confidence, that you are not the biological father of Teddy or CeCe.”

My father stumbled to regain balance, having had no idea we'd uncovered this familial detail, which he'd kept secret for twenty-eight years. DeRosa's words carried the power of a shotgun, and I watched as my father gripped his chest.

But Frank DeRosa was immune to drama, and he continued without allowing my father to catch his breath. “We can also prove that Teddy and I are twins. These facts, however, should not surprise you,” he said as my father searched vainly behind himself for a chair.

The seasoned detective kept the pressure on, pulling up a chair of his own next to my father, who had finally located a seat to rest his broken ego.

“I don't care if your next job is hawking useless vitamins on QVC while you try to repair a reputation that I'm going to shred into pieces so infinitesimal you couldn't glue them back together with a ten-gallon jug of glue.” DeRosa was speaking through gritted teeth. “You're going to appear in court and give testimony that ensures a life sentence for Peter Dacks or I'll find evidence to make you guilty of something. You are also going to answer any questions CeCe has concerning her life growing up with a self-centered bastard as a father figure.”

DeRosa turned to me and then nodded.

“Dad, what's my real birthday?” I asked. I could see by his head scratching that it was not a date easily retrieved, since my actual birthday had never been celebrated.

“It's the last week of September,” he said. “I believe it is the twenty-seventh. You should ask your mother to be certain.”

“I would love to, but Mom had another breakdown. She mentioned something disturbing as she faded.” I hesitated, hoping my father would voluntarily fill in the blanks, but he remained silent. “Mom said there was another baby. Is it possible that I was a twin, like Frank and Teddy, and you separated us?”

Based on my father's actions with Teddy and Frank, it seemed entirely (though horrifically) possible that my mother had given birth to two babies, and that I too had been separated from my own twin. I clasped my hands tightly not wanting to hear the answer.

“You're not a twin,” my father replied. “To my knowledge, you do not have any siblings.”

I sighed and released my hands, rubbing them on the side of my jeans. “So what is Mom talking about? Don't tell me Teddy and Frank were triplets?” I turned to DeRosa with a worried expression, wondering just how much more he could take.

“No, that was not the case,” my father said. Then I watched as he took on a pained expression so aggravated in its intensity that it appeared to cause him physical discomfort. His facial muscles pulled downward, elongating his face like a mirror in a fun house. He rubbed his chin, drawing his hands down the length of jaw. When he spoke, the volume was low and hoarse. “Theodore and Franklin would have lingered in a rundown orphanage abroad. They would have been underfed and unloved. There's a strong possibility that without proper socialization, they would have never developed to their potential. Bringing them to the United States was a wonderful gift and despite their separation, it saved them.”

“But you purposely placed me at a disadvantage,” DeRosa said.

“I did, but you prevailed, and I retain no guilt for my action. I kept regular tabs on you, and it was apparent within a few years that you would do well despite your surroundings. You'll have to trust me when I say that if I saw a potential for irreparable damage, I would have ended the experiment and removed you from the home.”

“So it was an experiment?” DeRosa asked.

“Yes, although I do not expect someone outside the medical field to truly understand the importance of the study.”

I rolled my eyes. Despite all that had happened, my father still struggled to fully accept the ethical implications of his actions. He insisted on playing God with people's lives by staging environments, determining family units, and parceling out potentially dangerous drugs. There was more, however, and I could see by his strangled expression that he was weighing how to present his next admission.

“Dad, is there another baby?”

“There was … potential for another baby,” he replied.

“Go on,” DeRosa said.

My father straightened his back and found his voice as he slipped comfortably back into professional mode. He started to speak and I knew we were about to hear a lecture. I prepared myself for an explanation requiring a dictionary as my father began his academic ramble.

“The study of epigenetics is meant to occur over generations,” he stated. “I was unable to study Frank's and Teddy's parents, or grandparents, for that matter. This prevented me from investigating the environmental impact of previous generations in order to make inferences on the byproduct, being the boys.”

My father cleared his throat, and DeRosa called to an officer outside for a cup of water. After a long sip he continued.

“In a long-term experiment, the researcher's age is limiting. I couldn't project forward, and I couldn't control for things like love. I had no idea when Teddy or Frank would meet the right person and produce offspring within a time frame suitable for actual study. I took it upon myself to accelerate the study by securing fertilized ova.”

“I'm lost,” I said, propping myself against the wall. “And I'm exhausted. Just say what you have to say.”

“Constance, soon after your first ovulation, you had a minor office procedure. You may remember it.”

I had a flashback so sharp it forced my eyes closed. I did indeed have a memory of a medical procedure when I was in middle school. I remember being embarrassed by my nakedness under a hospital gown, especially because the doctor in question was my father. He gave me a mild sedative and I remember staying home from school the next day.

“Okay,” I folded my arms across my chest.

“I extracted an egg from you,” he said, his eyes focused on the floor tiles. “Your mother was furious.”

“Dad,” I screamed, “you violated me!” I started toward him, fists swinging. DeRosa caught my arm in mid punch as I screeched, “What happened to my egg?”