"A must-read for fans of Cornwell and Grafton" Booklist “Taut suspense, a brave and likable heroine, a clever plot, and a slam-bang ending add up to a high-water mark for this popular series” Booklist on Close to the Bone Forensic scientist Theresa MacLean stumbles across a murder rather too close for comfort when she returns to the Medical Examiner’s office following a late-night call to find one deskman missing and the other beaten to death. Written in blood above the dead man’s head is a single word: ‘Confess’. It’s the first time a homicide has taken place actually within the ME’s office. Medical Examiner Stone works on how to spin the news while Theresa works the scene. When a second victim is discovered, Theresa uncovers a link to the death of another co-worker, records secretary Diane Allman, who was murdered in her own home ten years before. As she painstakingly pieces the clues together, Theresa realizes that she has become an integral part of a ruthless killer’s murderous agenda. And if she is to survive, she must find out what really happened to Diane all those years ago. “By releasing surprises little by little, Black manages to fit both a whodunit and a police-chase thriller into a single bagged-and-tagged package.” ― Kirkus Reviews "Black’s intricately plotted seventh Theresa MacLean mystery". ― Publishers Weekly “Taut suspense, a brave and likable heroine, a clever plot, and a slam-bang ending add up to a high-water mark for this popular series” ― Booklist Starred Review Lisa Black is a forensic scientist and crime scene investigator for a south Florida police department. Prior to that, she worked in the trace evidence lab for the coroner’s office in Cleveland, Ohio. She is the New York Times-bestselling author of six previous Theresa MacLean thrillers. Close to the Bone By Lisa Black Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2014 Lisa Black All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7278-8402-2 CHAPTER 1 The blood didn't worry her, not at first. A few drops of blood at a morgue are like a coffee stain or an errant paper clip in a sea of cubicles. The dead are often not tidy, and any person overly concerned with biohazards quickly chooses another line of work. Theresa MacLean was not overly concerned with biohazards, so she ignored the red smear on the ancient tiled wall as she crossed to the elevator, just as she ignored the lone occupant of the receiving dock, a large figure lying lifeless beneath a white sheet on a rolling steel gurney. Theresa carried no less than ten small paper bags, clutched in both hands, containing bits of windshield glass and amber brake lights from a hit-and-run, for which Dispatch had ripped her from her warm bed in the wee hours of the morning. The clock now gained on three a.m., placing her in that awful limbo in which she had to decide whether 'tis nobler to go home and try to eke out, by the time she finally got between the sheets, perhaps another hour of sleep before the morning began, or to just give up and stay at work. Even after a dozen years in forensic work this particular debate never failed to stymie her and, getting a firmer grip on the bags, she spared one finger to punch the 'Up' button with a touch more force than strictly necessary. The corpse under the sheet left her to it. The dead are courteous that way. Then she noticed the rest of the blood. A tiny smear on the floor in front of the elevator, underneath the hand-like print on the wall. Another near the door to the front area, which contained the deskmen's office, Property, and Reception. Theresa glanced up the long hallway of the back half of the building, to the autopsy suite and teaching amphitheater. Nothing. The rooms were dark, as would be expected in these early hours. Cleveland's death rate remained robust, but the county budget had never allowed for a night shift. There should have been no one present in the three-story building except two deskmen with their feet up, watching television and venturing out to the dock only when the bodysnatchers brought in an after-hours victim. The deskmen would transfer the deceased to a gurney, accept the paperwork, wheel the body into cold storage and return to the small flat-screen. Now Theresa realized that she did not hear the television. No gunshots or canned laughter. Nothing. Walking away from the elevator now, she managed to pull open the door without dropping the ten small bags and move into the front hallway. Property was closed, of course, and only a nightlight glowed out in the lobby, next to the reception desk. The Property officer worked banker's hours but would be available for callback if a corpse rolled in with a few bricks of gold or a briefcase of cash. Anything smaller went into a drop box. Through large glass windows Theresa could see into the deskmen's office; it looked messy, but then it always did. She stepped into the doorway of this, the only brightly lit room in the entire building, and promptl