Das entfernte Problem

Dad passed down the problem like a reluctant inheritance. Along with my dark green eyes, frail build, and insomnia, I was left with what he named the ‘entfernte Problem’—which awkwardly translated from German meant the distant problem; because even then, nineteen years ago, he knew he would never live to see it solved, that it was innately and irrevocably distant from his attainment. His father, my grandfather, had died during the Vietnam war, so my grandmother packed up her children—at the time my dad, age two; Aunt Lydia, age four; and Uncle Walter, age five—and moved home to her sister in New York. They’d been in America fewer than five years at that point and already their family had splintered.

He met my mom during the mid 70s and married within the year, neither one even old enough to drink. The war was still ongoing, and you clung to what you could. My older brother, Ralph, came a couple of years later and I a few after that. Then in the winter of ‘81, my Aunt Lydia went missing. No sign of a struggle in her apartment, no known enemies or dangerous exes, no recently absurd or suspicious behavior. Nothing definite the police could pinpoint—not that they tried very hard; she was almost thirty and unmarried, which apparently left the NYPD unmotivated. She’d only opened her own bank account a few years prior. Times were different, my mom would say, in a thin, exhausted voice.

It haunted dad. He and Aunt Lydia were the closest in the family and rarely went two days without talking, and now there was this gaping space left where she was supposed to be. And in that space he had let the bitterness cultivate, the ineffable frustration of having been split in two. After numerous appeals to the police for help, he turned to the bottle as his most effective solace. I always considered the alcoholism what did him in two years back—a sickly liver that decided it was too weary and simply stopped—but Ralph disagreed; he said it was a broken heart.

I’d hardly known Aunt Lydia, and I certainly didn’t remember her beyond recognizing her face in photographs. Still, I grew up on tales of her from my parents and Uncle Walter. A part of me felt like I knew her, after all. And now, nineteen years after her disappearance, her memory somehow helped keep the memory of my dad alive, despite the fact that he’d been around so much longer. In the end, I supposed, the dad I remembered was broken and numbed.

“Flo, get the phone, would you?”

Scowling, I picked up the receiver and mustered up the most polite voice I could: “Hello? Florence Cooper speaking.”

“Hi there, Flo.” It was Detective Reem, who had helped our family with Aunt Lydia’s case since the mid 80s once we’d sworn off the police. When we had needed to interact with them, she was the mediator; in 1988, though, the police declared Aunt Lydia legally dead, so there was little mediation happening anymore. In fact, we hadn’t heard from Detective Reem herself in a few years.

Still, her calm voice soothed me; I always grew jittery talking on the phone and loathed the thought of it in lieu of face-to-face discussion. Ralph teased me over my perhaps irrational aversion to technology—a taunt which included forcing me to answer any and all calls lest he let the phone ring and ring until voicemail hit.

“Hi Detective Reem. It’s been a while. Has there been a breakthrough?”

“Not directly,” she said, collected as ever, though her words made my palms sweat. “Flo, have you heard of CODIS?”

“No,” I stammered out.

“It’s a database for storing DNA; it’s been used mostly to catch criminals by their prints or other DNA samples left behind. There’s been an update, though, and they added a database solely for missing persons.”

“Is Aunt Lydia on there?” My voice trembled.

“Well, no one can know for sure unless a relative’s DNA sample is also entered into the system. See, there may be samples from unknown sources that can become identified once relatives offer their DNA in the case that it matches. I know we’ve discussed DNA testing before, but it’s been challenging without a body. This new database can jump over that step, though, and it’s national, so even if Lydia had been outside of New York…”

I swallowed. “Okay. Um, what would we have to do?”

Her voice took on a gentle tone. “We can talk about this more in person if you’d prefer. I’ll be at my office until one and after three.”

“We’ll be there before noon,” I assured and thanked her quickly before hanging up. “Ralph!”

“Christ Almighty, what? It’s not that bad.”

I was already hunting down my purse. “Get your keys—we’re heading to Detective Reem’s office.”

He leaped from the couch. “Has Aunt Lydia—”

“No, but we might have the resources.”

“I’ll start the car; leave a note for mom.”

My hands were shaking as I settled into the passenger’s seat. Ralph had never been someone you could turn to in emotional distress, but his hand squeezing my shoulder was appreciated. We drove in a tense silence that seemed to usurp reality; it was as though if either of us moved or spoke the wrong way, everything would snap out of existence and we’d be back to sitting in our living room watching dull infomercials and no closer to finding out the truth about Aunt Lydia than before.

Detective Reem buzzed us in and we trudged up the four flights of stairs to her office—the elevator had broken in ‘97 and would never be fixed, it seemed. Stuck in a limbo like Aunt Lydia.

“Glad you could make it,” she said. “I’ll pull up the page on my computer here and you can glance it over while I explain it a bit better.”

Ralph stood over the computer like a fly, poking and prodding around the site. His introduction to technology had been one of glee and instant expertise. I, on the other hand, had cried the first time I interacted with anything more complicated than a microwave. Granted, I was three, but it set an accurate precedent for the future.

“So to try to find her,” I started.

“We’d need to put up relative’s DNA,” she said, watching Ralph with a fond smile. She’d told me once, in private, that he reminded her of her younger brother. I’d said I felt sorry for her. “Multiple samples are always better, even, and from the person’s parents or children.”

“She had no children,” I pointed out. “And grandma passed away a year and a half ago. What about a sibling? Uncle Walter?”

“Sibling is good,” she said. “We share 50% of our DNA with our siblings. And you think your Uncle would be receptive to the request?”

“Yeah, he’ll do anything to improve our odds.” Both his parents and siblings gone. He had married and had three kids, but they were only just entering their teen years. They’d never known Aunt Lydia and knew of Dad as the drunken uncle to avoid at family reunions. We had never been close.

“What about me and Flo?” Ralph said, finally breaking away from the computer and joining the conversation. “You said the more the merrier, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Not what she said, but whatever.”

“Seeing as we can’t put your dad’s information into the system, it wouldn’t be as effective to have you two, but it would boost the chances a bit. Is that something either of you would be interested in undertaking?”

“Of course,” Ralph said immediately. “And Flo would obviously agree.”

“Flo?”

I scratched at my cheek, feeling it burn with embarrassment. I wanted to, of course, but… “Um…what would it mean? Like, would the system just have my information forever?”

“It would stay in the system, yes,” said Detective Reem. “But it would only be used in the context of looking for familial missing persons, and only with your consent. Should the case be solved or you request it, they would remove your profile. Everything is kept anonymous; your name or identifying information wouldn’t be there.”

Dropping my gaze to my shoes, I said, “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course,” she said. “Take your time.”

“You’re so paranoid,” Ralph scoffed. “Florie Florie, same old story. Thinks all tech is predatory.”

“Shut up!” How I loathed that chant, one that was birthed good-naturedly by Uncle Walter when he saw my expression to his gift of a CD player. But Ralph had latched onto it and sullied it, turned it into an accusation and insult. He was rare to use it, saving it for the times when I irked him the most. “And grow up, God. You’re twenty-three—act like it for once!”

Accustomed to our spats, Detective Reem busied herself with jotting something down on her notepad.

“I thought you wanted to solve this case,” Ralph shot back.

“I do! But it’s not like my DNA’s even the most important—it’s Uncle Walter’s that’s the closest.”

“Whatever,” Ralph said, sullen from my logic. Childishly, I stuck my tongue out at him. Small victories.

“This is the website and the contact info,” said Detective Reem, handing the note to me. “I’ll be happy to help you navigate through the bureaucratic part, of course. Just give me a call once you’ve talked to Walter and decided on a course of action.”

I nodded. “Thank you for the information, Detective Reem, really. You’ve been the only bearable part of this whole ordeal.”

Smiling, she turned to Ralph and said, “Give us a minute?”

He waved her off thoughtlessly; he probably figured there was going to be a flood of emotion as soon as he stepped through the door. Instead, Detective Reem dropped the smile and leaned against her desk.

“Flo,” she said gently. “I know how you feel about technology, and I don’t think you’re wrong to be critical of it. It’s always safer to gauge the pros and cons of something. I do earnestly believe this database could solve the case, but I also believe even if you specifically abstain from sending in your DNA, there’s still a high chance of success. I would never want to push you into something you didn’t feel comfortable with. Give it some thought, okay? I’m only a call away if you want to discuss it more.”

“Thank you,” I said, withholding the tears that wanted to come. Detective Reem herself had been akin to an Aunt. I wanted her so badly to like me, and had been worried she’d be disappointed by my hesitation. But she squeezed my hand and offered support as she guided me out to where my brother stood.

-

Three weeks later, Uncle Walter and Ralph sent in their DNA samples with frenetic energy and hope. A month passed with no update. The subject was danced around, for which I was grateful. What’s two months when you’ve waited nearly two decades? When I did agree, a week and a half later, Ralph held my hand during the process.

By September, we had a matching profile; remains of a woman between the ages of 25 and 35, White, estimated 5’3-5’6, found in 1982 in Massachusetts. Dark blonde hair and my dark green eyes. There was no explanation, no details as to what had happened during the period so long ago. Even then, she was distant, so distant, from us. But she was at peace.