The Coroner Was Wrong

She drove to the parking structure on Halloway at four in the morning because she could not not do it. Level three, the voice had said. The corner. There was nothing in the corner of level three except a maintenance door, painted the same grey as the wall, with a padlock that looked far newer than the building around it. Renata photographed the lock. She photographed the door. She told herself she was being insane and she photographed it anyway, and when she got home she pulled Daniel's case file, the one she was absolutely not supposed to have, and read the coroner's report for the forty-first time. Cause of death. Time of death. And there, at the bottom, an identifying detail that had always bothered her and that she had never let herself look at directly.