Twenty Nine
“Girls are nice” — Francesca BoyleBailey waited for a gap in the oncoming evening rush hour traffic, then turned the car into the entranceway to the forensics lab.
There was no sign to indicate what the building was — there was nothing to be gained by advertising the location of the building that housed so much of the evidence used to convict the city's criminals. It was just a slab of featureless serrated concrete, pierced every few metres by frosted glass windows surrounded by plain aluminium joinery. It sat behind a parking area roughly a quarter full of unremarkable and faintly drab middle-class cars — mid-sized sedans, hatchbacks, and station-wagons in varying shades of white, blue or brown.
Bailey parked in a vacant spot near the building entrance, one of three that ha
