Free The Day Before by Liana Brooks

is not a clone.”
    Marrins sighed and collapsed into one of the rickety aluminum chairs meant for visitors. The chair creaked under his weight. “No hits on the public database?”
    â€œNo, sir. MacKenzie is accessing the public-­census database, and I sent a request to the regional headquarters for permission to check the private database. I can’t access that information at my pay grade.”
    â€œAnd they bounced it back to me.” Marrins shook his head. “I’ve checked. This Jane doesn’t match anyone. Trust an old man’s instincts on this: she’s a clone. I’ve seen a hundred cases just like this.”
    â€œBut there were no Verville traces.”
    He waved her into silence. “Lab error. Atlanta will rerun the test and find the traces.”
    â€œAnd we have already started that test, so we should have confirmation soon. But, sir, we have the ring—­”
    â€œA ring that fell off her hand.” Marrins exhaled noisily. “I saw your note, Rose. It’s nothing.” He sat up a bit straighter. A bit.
    Hard to sit straight when you’re so round. . .
    Sam looked at Marrins guiltily, unsure if she’d said it aloud. But the senior agent continued, saying “I need you to refocus on the lab case. Altin is turning up nothing, and I need suspects. Start working the phones, call the tech ­people who have the cameras. Do the background checks I asked you for. I want to know what they saw. I’m tired of loose ends all over the place.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Sam mumbled, as Marrins rose and lumbered back out the door.
    A ring. A body. Nothing more. No suspects. No witnesses. Not even a name on the corpse.
    Her phone rang, and she picked it up with a weary sigh. “Agent Rose speaking, how can I help you, sir or ma’am?”
    â€œI’ve . . . I’ve got a problem,” Agent MacKenzie stuttered over the line.
    â€œYes, you do,” Sam agreed. She heard Marrins’s door slam down the hall.
    â€œAre you at your computer?” MacKenzie asked.
    Ice crawled up her spine, and she had to glance over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t staring in her second-­floor window. “What do you need?”
    â€œI’m”—­there was a click on the other end—­“sending a file. I need help.”
    A black-­and-­white picture of circles appeared on her screen. “What is this, MacKenzie?”
    â€œBone fragments. Patterns on bone.”
    She zoomed out of the picture to see the whole of Jane’s skeleton. “The bone looks like it’s rippled. Can bone ripple?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said.
    Sam snarled in exasperation. “MacKenzie, you’re the one with a medical background. I took two years of basic biology in uni. They didn’t cover melted bones. What caused this?”
    â€œI . . . I think it’s what killed Jane. The murder weapon.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “Like the shatter around the entry point of a bullet? Or are you saying she had a genetic defect that left her like this, and she died of natural causes after being tortured?”
    â€œLike the bullet,” he said. “I . . . I think I’ve seen it before,” he added in a whisper.
    â€œWay too much hesitation, MacKenzie.”
    â€œI’ve seen this before,” he said, still quiet but firm.
    Sam tapped her finger on her desk. “Are you sober?” There was a splutter of protest from the other end of the line. “I’ve got to know if you’re reliable. Are you sober? Right now?”
    â€œI’m trying. The pills . . . I need them. I need them to sleep.”
    â€œWell, then, you’re no help to me—­I’m being ordered to wrap this up now.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to call this a Class Five for now, which means we can always follow up on it