Page 31 of The Last Close Call

Jack sampled his beer and set the glass down. “So, how’d you get into this work?”

Rowan smiled. Was he really interested or was this more flattery?

“What? Why is that funny?”

“Nothing,” she said, deciding to go along with it. “I guess you could say I have my mom to thank.”

“Is she a genealogist?”

“She’s a court reporter.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“I majored in biology in college,” she said. “My goal was to work in a research lab, help find a cure for cancer and genetic disorders.”

“Lofty goal.”

“I was an idealist.” That was before she got involved with police work.

“Past tense?”

It was, but she didn’t want to talk about that, either.

“That kind of work requires grad school,” she said, “so I took a job as a lab assistant and started applying to programs. That’s when I got sidetracked. I was working in the state crime lab in their DNA section.”

He nodded. “They’re always slammed over there.”

“Always.” She took another sip. “Anyway, when I signed on, they were just ramping up their genetic genealogy work. I had a knack for it right off the bat, and pretty soon, I was inundated with cases. See, the DNA analysis is only part of it. A lot of scientists are good at that. But there’s also the traditional genealogy piece, and that’s where some people get bogged down.”

“Not you?”

She shrugged. “I really like the research. You know, public records searches. Death records, marriage records, that kind of thing. My mom worked in a courthouse for years, and I grew up comfortable in that setting. Combing through public records and requesting access to stuff came naturally to me. Plus now, there’s so much you can track down online.”

“If you know where to go.”

“Yeah, but I mean—that’s the fun part. Knowing where to look and then finding that one key kernel of information than unlocks a mystery.” She watched him, gauging his reaction. Some people’s eyes glazed over at the mention of public records searches, but Rowan thought it was fascinating.

“You sound passionate about it,” Jack said.

“I am.”

“So, why’d you stop? Some people go their whole lives without doing something they’re passionate about.”

The server arrived with their food, giving Rowan a chance to get her thoughts together. The plate she put in front of Rowan was piled high with chicken wings.

“There’s no way I can eat all this,” she said when the server was gone. “These portions are crazy.”

“You were saying? About why you stopped?” He picked up his sandwich, undeterred by her pathetic attempt to change the subject.

“I didn’t, really.” She dunked a wing in ranch dressing. “I still do what I did—using DNA to trace things—just not for police investigations.”

The wings were hot and sticky, and she dabbed her mouth with a napkin as Jack watched her.

“Police work didn’t hold your interest?” he asked.

“It wasn’t that.” She sipped her beer, stalling for time. “If anything, I had the opposite problem. I was immersed. I was working evenings and weekends and holidays. I was always in the lab, and everything started to feel out of whack.”

“Burnout.”

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