Even though she'd been in bed the whole time, the night had felt as if it had lasted forever. Now Claire was perched at the kitchen table, grasping a cup of coffee in jittering hands.
"Claire..." It was her father, standing in the doorway behind her. "It's been hard on all of us, but you've been off work for two weeks. Your boss called."
Slowly she took another sip of coffee. Her father went on. "The police are doing the best they can to track down the person that did this. The only thing we can do is to just get on with our lives. It's..." he paused, filling the room with an awkward silence, "it's what she'd want."
Claire paused, the mug still at her lips, letting the coffee ooze down her throat. "The police are doing the best they can..."
She set the mug down on the table. But maybe I can do better.
Leaving the mug half-empty, she stood and marched past her father, heading towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
She didn't even look back. "Work." She closed the door behind her and set off down the street.
As she walked, she thought, old episodes of cop shows scrolling through her mind. In this scenario, the first people you look to are the people the victim knew. And she was killed on the way home from school. So the first place to look outside the family would be the people who knew her at school.
So she set off in the direction of Jonathan High, frowning as she tried in vain to remember the names of her sisters' friends.