The Day Before Read Free

freelancing as a chop-­shop doc?”
    â€œIt’s evidence,” he whispered. “Police have a . . . a case.” MacKenzie slumped back, leaning his shoulder on the wall. His vacant gaze wandered to the ceiling. After a minute, he said, “I need to go back.” He wiped a hand across his mask and blinked at Sam as if he had forgotten she was standing there. “I’m sorry. Can . . . can this wait?”
    She stared. She knew there were bad agents in the bureau—­her training officer at the academy had loved toting out the old “crazy agent” stories—­but she’d never expected to see one. Have to love District 3. . .
    She grimaced, and went on, “Look, I just need the Jane Doe report. Tell me where the test results are, and I can get your signature before you go home.”
    He looked at her, hazel eyes swimming in his pale face. “Test results?”
    â€œStandard procedure for a case like this: you find the body, you run all the general blood tests, and you check the little box on page three that says clone marker found. Then we call the case closed and all move on with our lives.” She gave him an encouraging nod.
    â€œIt . . .” He swallowed, “it wasn’t—­” He shook his head, eyes down. He was doing a very good impression of a drunk about to lose his dinner. “She was dismembered. Abused.”
    â€œAnd I find that sickening, but a clone isn’t a person. If it has a clone marker, the killer might need professional therapy, but it won’t be funded by the prison system.”
    â€œShe . . . she . . .” MacKenzie shook his head.
    â€œShe what?”
    â€œNo test results!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the drafty corridors.
    Sam rocked back on her heels. Marrins should be the one dealing with this, but if she ran to him, he’d use it as an excuse to end her career. If she couldn’t handle one crazed coworker, what kind of agent was she? Sam forced herself to smile politely . . . and not punch MacKenzie right in the face. Wouldn’t mother be proud? “Agent MacKenzie, it takes less than a minute to run a basic gene scan for the clone marker. Don’t we have interns to do that sort of thing?”
    The medical examiner took a deep breath. His fist started tapping the wall behind him in an uneven rhythm. “The specimen is o-­over twenty. Too old for the rapid clone test. I need to check for Verville traces.” He squeezed his eyes tight and lifted his head so he was at least facing Sam, even if he wasn’t looking at her. “She might be a person. Someone . . . Someone might love her.”
    â€œRight.” Sam dumped a body’s worth of doubt into the word. They listened to the sigh of the air conditioner. “I for one would love for someone to run those tests on her,” she finally said.
    He managed a feeble, defiant glare.
    â€œHave you ever tried sorting through all of the missing persons reports in the Commonwealth when all you have is the description ‘female, dark hair, age fifteen-­plus’?” Sam asked. “It’s not fun. While you’re in there playing police intern, I’m trying to sort through over three thousand possible Janes. Until you do your job, I’m spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. I need those test results. Or fingerprints at least. Can we get someone down here to fingerprint her? I understand weekend delays, but Senior Agent Marrins expects timely results.”
    MacKenzie’s jaw locked, jutting out.
    Apparently, invoking a higher power didn’t have the desired result.
    Sam tapped the folder on her thigh and raised his pout with a full-­on glare.
    Hazel eyes narrowed. “I need time. Three days. Maybe four.”
    â€œThree days?” She shook her head. “Why can’t you do it today?” He shivered and held up a shaking