Michelle squinted at the time on her device, adding an hour and weighing whether it was still too early to touch base with Jonah to brief him on her progress. She rubbed her eyes. Though she slept well after a productive evening working on the story, she woke up early, thinking about what she’d found, and had been working since. She also reminded herself to message Arlo for dinner. Feeling particularly confident he seemed like an early riser, she messaged him. He responded immediately, then there he was, on a video call.

“Hi Jonah!”

“What’s up princess? How’s your brother doing?”

“Really well. The school seems perfect for him. I’m glad I did this.”

“Fantastic. Got something on my murder?”

“Maybe. It’s got some interesting potential. The victim is pretty routine, except for this fossil that was in the papers. Lonely guy, wife left him, kids moved away. Some minor scrapes, one about dragging a frozen steer through town with his tractor.”

“Ain’t that some local color. So how’d he get himself killed?”

“Shot three times in his kitchen.”

“Nice. I know you were careful at that crime scene, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Big fight?”

“That’s the thing. The place looked almost completely undisturbed except for this one area in the kitchen, which was cleaned up.”

“By who?”

“Don’t know, but it looked weird.”

“Trust your gut. What else?”

“He lives sort of near this big federal research lab. He had a beef with them about property lines a while back, but I don’t see any connection there.”

“Any angle with the political stuff? Or is it just about the fossil, someone trying to rip him off?”

“This part of Idaho wasn’t really involved in the separatist stuff and the Compact States fight, though they went along when the split occurred. Same with the Article 7 issue. There’s a reservation not too far away, Shoshone and Bannocks, but they aren’t a party to the case about the Article 7 protections. But no obvious connections to our guy.”

“Alright, keep digging. You’ll find something.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

In all her probing, Michelle noticed very few mentions of the local McJames institute facility, save one about the Dance Festival from last year. The low profile was both reassuring and intriguing; focused on the work for sure, but almost zero local recognition? No fund raising, no significant local community outreach, except for the dancing? Something about it tickled her investigator’s intuition.

She packed up and grabbed a quick breakfast at the Daisy, where she exchanged pleasantries with Peach, who kindly inquired about Adam.

Next up, the drive down to Pocatello to meet with the anthropology professor. After seeing what was already public during her preparatory research, she needed to move fast and get as many answers about the cast and the fragment in her purse before her interference with the crime scene was discovered.

She pulled onto I-15 and headed south, using the drive time for more research.

The autopilot navigated to ISU without difficulty and parked outside the science building. She climbed the stairs to the third floor to the Anthropology Department.

Dr. Jason Coakley sported a shock of carelessly combed thick grey hair, a youthfully unlined face, except for crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and perfect white teeth framed by a predatory smile as he approached, hand extended. Michelle felt as if confronting some kind of unusual reptile that was interesting to look at, but only from a distance or behind thick glass.

“This is a pleasant surprise. Ms. Shank?”

Michelle feigned a smile and nodded. “Thanks for making the time for me, Dr. Coakley.”

His pleasure was genuine. But as his eyes walked all over her, it became clear that he was accustomed to a level of female attention that encouraged such brazen visual groping.

He’s going to hit on me, Michelle realized with dismay. He actually thinks something might happen, right now, this morning, in this office. She heaved a resigned sigh. Why can’t these sources be simple?

Michelle took charge. “As I mentioned in my message, I have a specimen I’d like your opinion about.” She withdrew the cast from her purse and handed it over.

“I don’t know what it is,” Coakley said. He walked around to his desk and sat, fondling the plaster cast carefully, intrigued. He removed his glasses and peered closely at the contours of the jaw, the shapes of the teeth. “It’s obviously not human, but almost certainly hominid.” He looked up. “Do you understand the difference?” She shook her head. “Hominids include all the species descended from the early superfamily Hominoidea, at least as we currently classify them. Changes all the time,” he added with a wink. “Anyway, depending on how far back you go, various lines split off, leading to the great apes, and also all the other human ancestors we are more closely related to. These canines aren’t anything you see in any of the Homo species we’ve identified, but the overall contours aren’t like the great apes, either. It’s very interesting. Where did you find it?”

Michelle deployed her carefully rehearsed cover story, a calculated blend of truth and fiction.

“A friend of mine near Rexburg got it from the man who was in the papers recently. He found it up there somewhere.”

“The murdered man? This is a cast of the fossil he was talking about?” Coakley asked with raised eyebrows.

Michelle nodded, letting him take the lead. Coakley narrowed his eyes, then turned back to the cast. He traced the indentations on the inner surface of the impression, held it up to the light and changed the angle, scrutinizing the shadows created by the subtle imperfections, reexamined the teeth. A sly smile slowly spread across his face.

“Well, it’s not a transitional species, which I believe the farmer was saying. ‘A new missing link!’ is what I think I read. Hogwash. I’m no expert in mandibular morphology, but this object clearly doesn’t fall between any two species I’m aware of. Look how broad that ramus is. Obviously not human, but those premolars aren’t like any other primate I’m familiar with. The general impression is gorilla, but not quite. It’s a mishmash of features from all over the spectrum, which leads me to only one possible conclusion: it’s a fake. A hoax. I think your friend up in Rexburg is trying for an early retirement by taking advantage of a gullible public. You’re familiar with the Piltdown Man?” He handed the cast back to Michelle. She shook her head in response to the question.

Coakley continued. “During the enthusiasm for evolution and paleontology in the early 1900’s, a man named Charles Dawson presented some bone fragments as evidence of “missing link”. They were as suspicious looking as this, and experts eventually proved them frauds, a combination of human and ape bone fragments. This has a similar feel.”

“So it’s not a transitional species?”

Coakley smiled.

“Not if it’s a fake. It’s not even a good attempt at a fake. A transitional species connects a later species with an earlier one, sharing features of both. But that’s misleading. It gives the impression that evolution is a linear process, that one species follows another in a neat, orderly chain of succession, another early error. What my work shows is that it’s typical for multiple closely related species to coexist, compete, interbreed, and coevolve. Of course, we’ve known this since Pääbo’s work decades ago, but now I’ve demonstrated the same happened in our recent evolutionary past. Neanderthals, Homo sapiens, the denisovans, floriensis, all co-existed and intermingled to various extents in different times and places. We’ve documented gene flow between some, and I suspect we’ll see more as additional specimens come to light. What fascinates me is the idea that two co-existing species could influence the evolution of each other even while they compete. Predator-prey coevolution is well documented. Why not with sister species during the process of speciation? How does that feedback work?” Coakley pushed away from his desk and put his hands behind his head.

“But that’s not this. This object doesn’t fit anywhere I can see, so it must be a fake. Which leads me to wonder, why are you really here, Miss Shank?” His suggestive tone was unmistakable. Michelle prepared for dealing with his advances more decisively.

“Well, I was just doing a favor for a friend. I think they’ll be happy with this information either way. No point in spending a lot of time on it if it’s a fake, like you say. I really appreciate your help.” Michelle stood up, prompting Coakley to also stand and glide around the desk.

“Of course, you can be assured I’ll keep our conversation confidential. Our little secret. I’m sure they don’t need any more complications to what must be a tragic situation.” He winked again with that same smile. Michelle nodded and edged toward the door. Coakley positioned himself between Michelle and the exit and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me show you what I’m working on right now.” He steered her toward a large screen on the near wall, one hand on her upper arm, and with the other he tapped the screen and typed in a login. A large illustration unfolded on the screen, a bushy diagram with codes at each branch point and at the ends of the branches.

“Each one of those codes represents a gene sequence, and these clusters are families of genes. Using genealogies, medical records, and samples we collect, we build these trees, then we use mathematical models to map how the genes move through populations in real time, and how they change. In some cases, we can make guesses as to the environmental influences driving that movement. We’re trying to correlate specific environmental drivers with rates of gene diffusion. It’s very complex, but we’re making progress. Are you familiar with the ideas around epigenetics and gene diffusion?” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and a caress. Michelle jerked her arm away. “A well-studied example is the gene for lactase, the enzyme that breaks down the sugars in milk. We’ve pretty solidly documented how it arose separately in different populations around the planet at different times, usually in conjunction with the domestication of milking animals and the rapid rise of animal husbandry. Which was driving what? Did the gene enable animal husbandry, or the other way around? That’s the kind of thing we’re looking at.”

Michelle used the lull in his speech to step away from him. He appeared lost in thought.

“I’m particularly intrigued by even more recent genes. For example, the recently identified genes underlying the various dyslexias, they appear to be very recent developments. The neurophysiology of reading is still not well understood, but we already have specific genes related to it that are moving through the population. Yet, reading and writing are very, very recently developed skills for the human brain. There are thousands of spoken languages on the planet, but fewer than 10% are written, and maybe a 100 or so have any body of literature associated with them, and yet we now have specific genes associated with reading, and they propagate very quickly. All of that in the last few thousand years. How does that happen?”

“Thanks again for your time,” she said, moving toward the door. Coakley stepped forward and took her arm again, now more firmly. Michelle reached into her purse and put her hand on Sparky, though she didn’t want to have to explain how she came to be with the unconscious professor if it came to that.

“My pleasure, really. I’m sure they want to know everything about it given the circumstances of the discovery. I hope you’re not in a big hurry to get back up north. It’s a little early, but perhaps we could have some coffee? I’d like to show you around our labs. You seem to have a good grasp of my research, and I try to never miss an opportunity to share the company of intelligent young women.” His hand slid to her back, and he briefly rubbed. Michelle pressed the power button and prepared to unload the full voltage into his abdomen. She jumped at the sound of a voice from the doorway.

“The lab is all locked up, Dr. Coakley. Would you like me to open it?”

Coakley’s hand dropped as if stung, and he and Michelle turned as one to the door. A young woman with a flop of magenta hair stood in the doorway, raccoon eyed with heavy mascara, the other side of her head shaved. Immediately, Michelle noted the lack of other ornamentation: no piercings or tattoos, a carefully cultivated look that said, I’m different, but not like all the other differents. Michelle withdrew her hand from her purse.

“Isadora. Hello. We were just going to find you.” There was an awkward pause as the girl’s eyes raked over Michelle and Coakley, immediately grasping the situation.

“Here I am,” she replied with hands open in front of her presenting herself, one eyebrow arched, eyes more frigid than her smile.

“Yes, well, can you show Ms. Shank around? Ms. Shank, Isadora is my very capable graduate assistant, a brilliant geneticist in her own right. I just remembered, I have a faculty meeting across campus I have to get to. Perhaps another time for that coffee? It was a pleasure meeting you.” Coakley nodded and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, then stepped past Isadora. As Isadora turned to let Coakley pass, Michelle noted a v-shaped scar on the shaved portion of her scalp, another prominent message saying ‘I don’t care what you think about my flaws’.

When she turned back to Michelle, she wore a sly smile.

“Don’t worry. I can see you weren’t expecting that from him. He’s pretty harmless once you know how to handle him.”

And you seem to know exactly how to do that, Michelle thought to herself. The woman walked forward, handed extended.

“Izzy Auriemma. He’s the only person other than my mother who calls me Isadora.” Relieved, Michelle took her hand.

“Michelle Shank. Great timing. He was about to have a very bad day.”

Izzy smiled and cocked an eyebrow. Michelle pulled out Sparky and held it away from her to discharge the loaded voltage, then turned it off. The loud zap made Izzy jump.

She put her hands to her mouth to cover a laugh. “Oh. My. God. That would have been SO funny.” She gave Michelle an admiring nod, then tipped her head toward the hallway. “C’mon, let me show you what we do.” They walked together down the hall, stopping at a heavy door. She waved a card dangling from a lanyard around her neck in front of a reader, and the door lock clicked. She pulled it open and waved Michelle in.

“This is where we do all our analysis work. Workstations there, protein fractionation, a couple of columns, xray imager….”

“X-rays?” Michelle asked.

Izzy nodded. “Yeah, it’s like a mini-CT scanner. For looking inside specimens, to get more detailed structures. Sequencers are in the clean room next door.”

“So what do you do with all this?”

“Gather data. We either pull genetic material out of specimens with a known origin, like date, place, family relationships, or we use them to try and place unknown specimens in existing databases. The data then is placed in genealogies, and the numbers guys look for patterns and gene flow.”

“You do that from fossils?”

“That and more recent specimens: hair, skin scrapings, tissue, samples from objects, but sometimes it’s hard to get a good sample. We’re pretty good at it though, depending on how old it is. Completely mineralized fossils, it’s pretty much impossible, though we do have some tricks.” She winked.

“Coakley’s an anthropologist. Do you only work on human samples?”

“This is a shared lab. I get samples from everyone in Life Sciences. I’ve even done a little paternity work on the side.” She gave a conspiratorial smile. “Anyway, the paleontology people give me stuff, too. There’s one guy who’s done some real cool work with mastodon genomics. I do a lot of his samples.”

Michelle looked at her, hesitating, then reached into her purse.

“Could you analyze this?” She held out the fragment from the kitchen, nestled in the clear plastic bag. Izzy put on clean gloves then took it from her and inspected it, holding it up close.

“You’ve handled this?” Izzy glanced at Michelle’s bare hands.

Michelle nodded. “Is that a problem?”

Izzy shrugged. “Not particularly. You’ve contaminated it with your DNA, but I can control for that if you give me a swab. Is it okay if I cut into it? If I take my sample from the interior, I can avoid most of the surface contamination, get a cleaner signal.”

“Sure, whatever you need to do.”

“Give me a day or two. Here, swab inside your cheek with this, for my reference. Y’know, the contamination.”

Michelle brought the swab to her open mouth, then stopped.

Izzy touched her arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t sequence it, and I’ll delete your data once I run the sample. It’s just to clean up the data. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

***

Michelle ate a late lunch on campus, reading her notes as she chewed, considering her next move. Already there were aspects of this that didn’t make sense. It was time to get inside the investigation, see what they knew, what they shared, and what they concealed. The possibility of a dirty cop angle always hung out there. Seeing what the cops knew and what they withheld sometimes revealed other players, lurking several layers further back. But she’d have to go through the Sherriff. Michelle made the call.

“Hi, Sheriff, this is Michelle Shank. We met the other morning at the Daisy Diner? With my brother?”

“Oh sure, how are you? How’s your brother doing at the school?”

“Fine, fine. He seems to really be fitting in nicely. I really appreciate your help that morning.”

“Oh, no thanks required. I’m glad we were there when he walked by.”

“Yes, so am I. Listen, I’m hoping you can help me again.” Michelle paused. “My editor asked me to write something up about a local murder, a man named Cyrus Link?”

There was a long silence. “Oh, so that’s why you’re here?” the Sheriff finally responded, sarcastically.

“No, really, it’s a coincidence. I wasn’t misleading you at the Diner. I really am here for my brother. It’s just that while I’m here, my boss wanted to put me to work. I only need to file a brief story about the murder, get some details, that’s all. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

“Uh-huh. Well, what can I do for you?”

“Can I talk to whoever is leading the investigation?”

“Sure, but I don’t think he’s available. Let me see who’s around. Yeah, he’ll have to get back to you. But I can give you the basic facts.”

“Okay, that’s great, but I’d really also like to talk to whoever is involved in the case.”

“Uh, sure, but you know, I’ve got to ask you to show me your credentials before we get too much further. You know, protocols. I just want to make sure I’m fully compliant with the law.”

“Sure, here they come.” She transmitted the standard encrypted files proving she was licensed and entitled to privileged access. She knew the Sheriff knew as well and waited for him to digest the information. Another silence ensued, but now Michelle felt more comfortable as she sensed the shift in the balance of power. This was now getting more onto her turf.

“Well, Ms. Shank, I’m impressed. That’s quite a portfolio for someone your age,” he responded. Michelle made no reply.

The Sheriff detailed the essential elements of the discovery, who was involved, but repeated the assertion that no one was available at the moment. Michelle accepted the standard evasions with equanimity.

As soon as they got off the phone, she set to work tracking down her first target, the first person on the scene, a Deputy Ben Davis.

With her access privileges, in a short while she had all his personal data and learned about his run-in with the mouthy teens and subsequent disciplinary action. She read through the details, formulating a strategy, then messaged his private number.

Hi Ben! I’m Michelle Shank, a professional licensed journalist working on the Cyrus Shank case. Sherriff Spaulding said you were leading the investigation and that I should speak with you. Are you available to meet?

She could see he was reading the message. There was a pause, then he started typing.

Are you local?

Yes! I’m in Rexburg right now but I could meet you wherever convenient. Are you doing anything for dinner?

You spoke with the Sherriff?

Yes! He said you were the guy to talk to. I’d like to get your insights into what might have happened with Mr. Link. Without compromising your investigation, of course. Just what can be made public at this point.

Let me check with the Sherriff and I’ll get back to you.

Great! Here’s a picture of me so you’ll know who I am when we get together. Looking forward to it!

Michelle sent along one of her professional glamour shots, all made up with an appropriately ambiguous come-hither look, the kind a young single man like Ben Davis would interpret as an invitation. She packed up and headed back to Rexburg.

***

Spaulding pulled his computer closer. He punched in what he knew about Michelle Shank and located her published work out of Chicago. He scanned the articles, noting her ability to uncover malfeasance and her antagonism of tech oligarchs, the obvious evidence of her tenacity and skill. The screw up with the warrant could quickly become a bigger headache. He pinged a few of his own databases and saw she was clean, with an impressively sparse data footprint. Her employer clearly invested resources in minimizing her profile, to preserve her anonymity and personal safety as much as possible. Her reluctance to activate the GPS on her phone and car now made more sense. But the brother? His lack of a tracking chip, especially with his disability, piqued his curiosity. Was there something more to the Shank family?

Chapters 33 and 34