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“Using what we know about pattern matching and DNA while combining the profiles of the previous victims,” I say to her in the most stripped-down, no-nonsense voice I can manage in spite of my excitement, “I found an algorithm that may have identified one of the women who is about to get taken by the billionaires.”
I open a window on my computer and drag it over to the large display monitor so she can see it clearly. It looks like a cloud of stars as I rotate it around in 3D. It is all white dots except for a half a dozen clusters of red dots, all loosely grouped together.
“What are we looking at?” Debbie asks.
“This is genetic data from the X chromosomes recovered from the bodies of the three women we know about. Their DNA doesn’t seem to have anything special in common. But I found an algorithm to plot covariances in their junk DNA that don’t encode to any known protein and are extremely rare in the general population.”
Debbie sighs. “I have no idea what that means. What are these red dots?”
“Those are patterns that the three dead women had, that don’t exist anywhere else in our test data. And look, do you see how the dots are clustered together? These three women have exactly the same patttern.”
“Huh. What does that DNA exactly do?”
“I have no idea, but if you give me a sample of another person’s DNA that has this pattern, this program will definitely detect it. It’s completely deterministic.”
Her eyes widen, but her face stays emotionless. “AlleleYou has no idea you’ve cracked them, right?”
AlleleYou is one of those “spit in a tube and find out about great-great Grandpa Harold from Ireland” companies. You pay them money, they give you data about you and your ancestry.
Except that’s not all they do.
“Of course not.”
“A seven billion a year company and you find your way in.”
“Hey!” Newman pipes up. “It wasn’t a solo effort.”
“Your sex life is a solo effort,” I mutter, but he hears me and throws a crumpled potato chip bag at my head.
I dodge. It misses.
“Take it live,” Debbie snaps.
“You sure?” I ask, regretting the words instantly.
“I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t sure, Cam.”
“It could tip them off.”
“Yes. But at this point we have to trust our security protocols.” She glares meaningfully at Newman, then walks over to the coffee machine, pours herself half a cup of black coffee, and takes an instantaneous sip. I wonder if her mouth is lined with lead. Her heart certainly is. The woman can tolerate damn near anything. That’s why she’s on this case.
“Here’s the problem, Debbie,” Newman says with an exaggerated sigh. “The women we’re searching for aren’t going to be in the commercial DNA databases. The only way we’ve even found any patterns is because they have cousins and siblings occasionally who are in there. It’s never parents, and it’s never them. We’re making guesses based on inferences.”
“That’s better than nothing,” Debbie grouses. “And if Cam’s system correctly predicted the detected victims, then it’s time for this to go live.” I get side eye from her. Even Newman doesn't know that part of my job is to go off the rails and crack medical genetic databases.
And that there are secret agencies that have sequenced DNA samples of people who never gave consent. Part of my job is using that data without getting caught.
It's one thing to get consumers to spit in a tube, pay a company money, and get reports on whether they have the asparagus pee gene or the “cilantro tastes like soap” gene, and the medical records where people get whole exome sequencing done to look for genetic disease.
It’s quite a different matter to collect body hair samples from hotel rooms, locker rooms, and public restrooms, then sequence people’s DNA without their knowledge.
If we can combine the two, we can find these women a hell of a lot faster.
Also, the people we're up against have already done it, so we're playing catchup.
“What if we get the wrong people?” Newman challenges.
“Then we tweak. Why are you so skeptical?” she asks Newman.
