“Damn,” Jay said as the building came into view. “Ever been here before?” “No.” He craned his neck to get a view through the gnarled oak trees. “Looks expensive.” “Private money. Some oil heiress donated her millions after her daughter was killed by a convicted sex offender. They specialize in DNA here.” A buzzard swooped over the road and landed in a thicket of junipers. “I thought it was mainly a body farm.” Jay looked at him. “That, too. They study human decomp, but the real money’s in DNA. All the private testing they do subsidizes the pro bono work, which is mostly running rape kits and cold-case evidence.” They swung into the parking lot, which was fuller than he would have expected for a Sunday evening. Reed noticed the battered white Focus in the front row. So Laney had spent her whole day working, just as he had.
