“I need for you to call the DNA lab and get Donna to do me a favor. She should have a lab request for the analysis of the fetal tissue from Susan’s case.”

Rose was silent. I could feel her getting upset.

“I’m sorry to bring this up,” I said gently.

She took a deep breath. “When did you request the analysis?”

“The request was actually made by Dr. Wright, since he did the post. He would have his copy of the lab request at the Norfolk office, along with the case.”

“You don’t want me to call Norfolk and have them make a copy for us?”

“No. This can’t wait, and I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve requested a copy. I want it to appear that our office inadvertently got a copy. That’s why I want you to deal directly with Donna. Ask her to pull the lab request immediately and I want you to pick it up in person.”

“Then what?”

“Then put it in the box up front where all the other copies of lab requests and reports are left for sorting.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

I hung up and retrieved a telephone directory, which I was flipping through when Lucy walked into the kitchen. She was barefoot and still wearing the sweat suit she had slept in. Groggily wishing me a good morning, she began rummaging in the refrigerator as I ran my finger down a column of names. There were maybe forty listings for the name Grimes, but no Helens. Of course, when Marino had referred to the guard as Helen the Hun, he was being snide. Maybe Helen wasn’t her real name at all. I noted that there were three listings with the initial H., two for the first name and one for a middle name.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asked, setting a glass of orange juice on the table and pulling out a chair.

“I’m trying to track down someone,” I said, reaching for the phone.

I had no luck with any of the Grimeses I called.

“Maybe she’s married,” Lucy suggested.

“I don’t think so.”

I called Directory Assistance and got the listing for the new penitentiary in Greensville.

“What makes you think she isn’t?”

“Intuition.”

I dialed. “I’m trying to reach Helen Grimes,” I said to the woman who answered.

“Are you referring to an inmate?”

“No. To one of your guards.”

“Hold, please.”

I was transferred.

“Watkins,” a male voice mumbled.

“Helen Grimes, please,” I said.

“Officer Helen Grimes.”

“Oh. She don’t work here anymore.”

“Could you please tell me where I could reach her, Mr. Watkins? It’s very important.”

“Hold on.”

The phone dunked against wood. In the background, Randy Travis was singing.

Minutes later, the man returned. “We’re not allowed to give out information like that, ma’am.”