Chapter TwelveWhat else had Daniel been trying to tell her in the morgue? Clare mulled over this at her desk in the gloom of the dimly lit lab. She certainly didn't want to advertise that she was here. It was after eleven, the evening having passed in a whirlwind of jacket analysis overlain by Daniel's rugged face watching her across the floor of the Lucky Dog. Potential stains had been swabbed, stray hairs analyzed. Clare liked working in the dark. It was refreshingly cool, a comfort quite unlike the invasive heat of the Lucky Dog. It also meant that she had less chance of catching her own reflection in the glass. She didn't have to look in the mirror to see she was losing weight. Could it be cancer? Clare dismissed the notion as paranoia. Finding her parents' killer was too important to
