The Silent Girl

turned.
    “Maura?”
    Once again, she looked at Jane. They stood face-to-face in that blinding sunshine, where it felt as if all of Boston PD could see them, hear them.
    “About the trial. I do understand where you’re coming from,” said Jane. “You know that.”
    “And you don’t approve.”
    “But I understand. Just as I hope you understand that it’s guys like Graff who have to deal with the real world. They’re the ones on the front lines. Justice isn’t as clean as a science experiment. Sometimes it’s pretty damn messy and the facts just make things messier.”
    “So I should have lied instead?”
    “Just don’t forget who the real bad guys are.”
    “That’s not in my job description,” said Maura. She left the rooftop and retreated into the stairwell, relieved to escape the sharp glare of the sun and the eyes of Boston PD personnel. But when she emerged on the ground floor, she came face-to-face once again with Detective Tam.
    “It’s pretty bloody up there, isn’t it?” he said.
    “Bloodier than most.”
    “So when’s the autopsy?”
    “I’ll do it tomorrow morning.”
    “May I observe?”
    “You’re welcome to be there, if you have the stomach for it.”
    “I watched a few while I was at the academy. Managed not to keel over.”
    She paused to regard him for a moment. Saw humorless dark eyes and sharply handsome features, but no hostility. On a morning when all of Boston PD seemed to regard her as the enemy, Detective Johnny Tam was the only cop who didn’t seem to stand in judgment of her.
    “Eight AM ,” she said. “I’ll see you there.”

M AURA DID NOT SLEEP WELL THAT NIGHT. AFTER A HEAVY MEAL of lasagna, washed down with three glasses of wine, she climbed into bed exhausted. She awakened a few hours later, painfully aware of the empty space beside her. Reaching out, she touched cold sheets and wondered, as she had on so many other nights over these past four months, if Daniel Brophy was also lying awake, also lonely. If he, too, was desperate to pick up the telephone and break this silence between them. Or did he sleep soundly, without regrets, relieved their affair had finally ended? While she might be her own woman again, freedom came with a price. An empty bed, sleepless nights, and the unanswerable question:
Am I better with him or without him?
    The next morning, she arrived at work groggy and nauseated from all the coffee she’d consumed to make herself alert. As she stood in the morgue anteroom donning mask and paper cap and shoe covers, she looked through the viewing window and saw that Jane was already standing by the table, waiting for her. Yesterday they had not parted on the most congenial of terms, and Maura still felt stung by Jane’s sarcastic retort:
You’re all about the facts, aren’t you?
Yes, facts mattered to her. They were immutable things that could not bedenied, even when they threatened a friendship. The trial of Officer Graff had driven a wedge between her and Jane, reminding Maura how unlikely their friendship had been from the start. As she tied on her gown, it was not the corpse she dreaded confronting, but Jane.
    With a deep breath, she pushed through the door.
    Her assistant, Yoshima, had already transferred the body bag onto the table. On a tray beside it was the severed hand, covered by a drape. Acutely aware that Yoshima was listening to their conversation, Maura gave Jane a businesslike nod and said, “Isn’t Frost joining us?”
    “He’s going to miss this one, but Johnny Tam’s on his way here. In fact, I think he can’t wait to watch you start slicing.”
    “Detective Tam seems eager to prove himself.”
    “I think he’s got his eye on joining homicide. From what I’ve seen so far, he may have what it takes.” She glanced up. “Speak of the devil.”
    Through the viewing window, Maura saw that Tam had arrived and was tying on a surgical gown. A moment later he entered, jet-black hair hidden beneath a paper cap. He approached the table, his gaze calm and impassive as he focused on the draped body.
    “Before we start, Tam,” said Jane, “I just want to point out to you that the barf sink is right over there.”
    He shrugged. “I won’t need it.”
    “You say that now.”
    “We’ll start with the easy part,” said Maura, and she uncovered the tray with the severed hand. It looked plastic. No wonder the Chinatown tour group had mistaken it for a Halloween prop with fake blood. It had already been swabbed and