The Silent Girl

congealed lake of blood. On what was lying in that lake.
    “I guess we found the rest of her,” said Frost.

C HINATOWN SAT IN THE VERY HEART OF BOSTON, TUCKED UP against the financial district to the north and the green lawn of the Common to the west. But as Maura walked under the
paifang
gate, with its four carved lions, she felt as if she were entering a different city, a different world. She’d last visited Chinatown on a Saturday morning in October, when there had been groups of elderly men sitting beneath the gate, sipping tea and playing checkers as they gossiped in Chinese. On that cold day she’d met Daniel here for a dim sum breakfast. It was one of the last meals they would ever eat together, and the memory of that day now pierced like a dagger to the heart. Although this was a bright spring dawn, and the same checkers-playing men sat chattering in the morning chill, melancholy darkened everything she saw, turning sunshine to gloom.
    She walked past restaurants where seafood tanks teemed with silvery fish, past dusty import shops crammed with rosewood furniture and jade bracelets and fake ivory carvings, into a thickening crowd of bystanders. She spotted a uniformed Boston PD cop towering over the mostly Asian crowd and worked her way toward him.
    “Excuse me. I’m the ME,” she announced.
    The cold look he gave her left no doubt that the police officer knew exactly who she was. Dr. Maura Isles, who’d betrayed the brotherhood of those tasked to serve and protect. Whose testimony might send one of their own to prison. He didn’t say a word, just stared at her, as if he had no idea what she expected of him.
    She returned the stare, just as coldly. “Where is the deceased?” she asked.
    “You’d have to ask Detective Rizzoli.”
    He was not going to make this easy for her. “And where is she?”
    Before he could answer, she heard someone call out: “Dr. Isles?” A young Asian man in a suit and tie crossed the street toward her. “They’re waiting for you up on the roof.”
    “Which way up?”
    “Come with me. I’ll walk you up the stairs.”
    “Are you new to homicide? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
    “Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Detective Johnny Tam, with District A-1. Rizzoli needed someone from the neighborhood to translate, and since I’m the generic Chinese guy, I got pulled onto her team.”
    “Your first time working with homicide?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Always been a dream of mine. I only made detective two months ago, so I’m really psyched.” Briskly ordering onlookers aside, he cleared a path for her through the crowd and opened a door to a building that smelled of garlic and incense.
    “I notice you speak Mandarin. Do you speak Cantonese, too?” she said.
    “You can hear the difference?”
    “I used to live in San Francisco. A number of my colleagues were Chinese.”
    “I wish I could speak Cantonese, but it’s like Greek to me,” he said as they climbed up the stairwell. “I’m afraid my Mandarin’s not very useful around here. Most of these old-timers speak Cantonese or the Toisan dialect. Half the time, I need an interpreter myself.”
    “So you aren’t from Boston.”
    “Born and raised in New York City. My parents came over from Fujian province.”
    They reached the rooftop door and stepped outside, into the glare of the early-morning sun. Squinting against the brightness, Maura saw crime scene unit personnel combing the rooftop and heard someone call out: “Found another bullet casing over here.”
    “What is that, five?”
    “Mark it and bag it.”
    Suddenly the voices went silent and Maura realized they’d noticed her arrival and were all looking at her. The traitor had arrived.
    “Hey, Doc,” called out Jane, crossing toward her, the wind scrambling her dark hair. “I see Tam finally found you.”
    “What’s this about bullet casings?” asked Maura. “On the phone, you said it was an amputation.”
    “It is. But we found a Heckler and Koch automatic down in the alley below. Looks like someone fired off a few rounds up here. At least five.”
    “Were there reports of gunshots? Do we have an approximate time?”
    “Gun had a suppressor, so no one heard a thing.” Jane turned. “Victim’s over here.”
    Maura pulled on shoe covers and gloves and followed Jane to the shrouded body lying near the roof’s edge. Bending down, she lifted the plastic sheet and stared, unable to speak for a moment.
    “Yeah. It kind of