“That’s the one. He said you lived there, alone, for several years, but your sister moved in with you roughly a year and a half ago. Then, a year ago, you moved to Spain and your sister stayed in your apartment. That about right?”

“Yes.” Good old Mr. Pete. “Do you think this Kaylee Quan person had anything to do with Claudia’s death?” I almost whispered the last word, as if it were indecent to voice it in a building where the dead outnumbered the living.

“No, not at all. Quan got off a flight from Hong Kong and went right over to your sister’s place. When she found the—” Renfrew almost said the body, but corrected herself. “Found your sister, she had been dead for at least twelve hours.”

“Oh.” I was still suspicious of any friend of Claudia’s. The people she knew were like her, or far worse. “When will you get the report?”

“The ME’s office gets backed up this time of year.” Renfrew stared at her black suede loafers, then met my eyes. She seemed a little embarrassed. “Look, Miss Moore, you should know that suicides go to the bottom of the heap. In terms of investigations, I mean. It might be a few more days before we get…”

“Suicide?” My hands balled up into tight fists, my nails cutting into my palms. “Claudia wasn’t suicidal.”

“I’m sorry, I phrased that badly,” said Renfrew. “Unless there are signs of foul play, the case isn’t going to the top of the pile at the ME’s office. That’s going to be true of an accidental death, or a suicide. There was no forced entry at your sister’s apartment. There were a couple of minor bruises on her, but no ligature marks or signs of an attack. No screams, according to the neighbors.” Her voice was gentle. “I didn’t mean to imply that the cause of death had been decided. But I have to be honest with you. There are only so many hands to do the work.”

I folded my hands in my lap and nodded silently. Even if I didn’t want to admit it, I understood what Renfrew was saying. The police only gave a damn if someone committed a crime. It didn’t matter that it made a world of difference to me whether my sister died by an accidental overdose or chose to end her own life.

“Are you ready to do this now?” Renfrew gestured at the doorway to the left of the attendant’s desk. I followed her inside and down a long corridor. The doors all looked the same, but she opened one and gestured for me to step inside. The room was bright, with shaded bulbs dangling from the ceiling, and microscopes and other lab equipment on counters. There was a window but it was dark.