I did not sleep that night. Instead, I went back to Daniel's apartment, using the keys that Marsh had confiscated and then, after a long argument, grudgingly let me borrow. The scene was still sealed, but she had given me two hours alone.
I stood in the empty loft and tried to think like Daniel. He had lived here under a false name. He had hidden photographs behind the drywall. He had kept a meticulous record of another woman's movements. And then he had vanished, leaving behind a body that was almost, but not quite, his own.
Why would someone try to make me think he was dead?
The answer came to me slowly, like a photograph developing in the dark. Daniel had been watching Elena Vasquez. He had been recording her movements, her meetings, her life. He had been building a case. And if some
