The Silent Girl

you’re here, isn’t it? To talk about it?” Iris said placidly.
    They regarded each other for a moment, and Jane suddenly realized: I am not the only one seeking out information. “We have a photo we’d like to show you,” she said.
    “Is there a reason you’re asking me?” Iris asked.
    “We’re talking to a number of people in the neighborhood.”
    “But this is the first I’ve heard about any photo. And I think I
would
have heard about it.”
    “First, we need to show you a picture. Then we’ll talk about why.” Jane looked at Frost.
    “I’m sorry you have to see this, ma’am,” he said. “This might be a little upsetting for you. Maybe you’d like to sit down first?”
    His quietly respectful tone seemed to melt some of the ice from the woman’s eyes, and she nodded. “I am feeling weary today. Perhaps I will sit down, thank you.”
    Frost quickly scooted a chair closer, and Iris sank down with a sigh of relief that told them how much she welcomed his gesture. Only then did Frost reveal the digital image that Maura had emailedfrom the morgue. Although the victim’s wound was discreetly covered by a drape, the facial pallor, the slack jaw and half-open eyes, left no doubt that this was a photo of a dead woman.
    In silence, Iris stared at the image for a solid minute, her expression unchanging.
    “Ma’am?” said Frost. “Do you recognize her?”
    “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Iris said, and looked up. “But I don’t know her.”
    “You’re sure you’ve never seen her?”
    “I have lived in Chinatown for thirty-five years, ever since my husband and I emigrated from Taiwan. If this woman came from my neighborhood, I would know.” She looked at Jane. “Is this all you came to ask me?”
    Jane didn’t immediately answer, because she’d noticed the fire escape, which snaked right past the window. From this room, she thought, you could access the roof. Which meant you’d have access to all the rooftops on this block, including the building where the victim died. She turned to Iris. “How many employees work here?”
    “I am the primary instructor.”
    “What about that young woman who just showed us in?” Jane glanced at the name in her notebook. “Bella Li.”
    “Bella has been with me for almost a year. She teaches some of the classes, and collects tuition from her own students.”
    “You mentioned your husband. Does Mr. Fang also work here?”
    The woman blinked a few times and looked away. “My husband is dead,” she said softly. “James has been gone for nineteen years.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Fang,” Frost said quietly, and it was apparent that he actually meant it.
    A moment passed, silent except for the noisy clack of wooden practice swords in the next room, where the class was sparring.
    “I am the sole owner of this school,” said Iris. “So if you have questions, I am the one to ask.” She straightened. Her composure had returned, and her gaze settled on Jane, as if she understood whowas most likely to challenge her. “Why did you think I might know this dead woman?”
    They could not avoid the question any longer. Jane said, “We found the victim’s car this morning, parked in a Chinatown garage. It had a GPS unit in it, and one of the addresses in the memory was yours.”
    Iris frowned. “Here? My studio?”
    “This was the victim’s destination. Do you know why?”
    “No.” The answer was immediate.
    “May I ask where you were Wednesday night, Mrs. Fang?”
    Iris paused, eyes narrowing as she stared at Jane. “I taught an evening class. Then I walked home.”
    “What time did you leave here?”
    “Around ten. I was home by ten fifteen. It is only a short walk, to Tai Tung Village. I live on Hudson Street, just at the edge of Chinatown.”
    “Did anyone walk with you?”
    “I was alone.”
    “And do you live alone?”
    “I have no family, Detective. My husband is gone, and my daughter …” She paused. “Yes, I live alone,” she said, and her chin lifted, as though to ward off any pity her answer might inspire. But there was a flash of brightness in her eyes, tears that, with a few blinks, were quickly banished. Invincible though she tried to appear, this was a woman still wounded by loss.
    In the next room, the class had ended, and they could hear shoes thudding down the stairs. Iris looked up at the clock on the wall and said, “My next student will be arriving soon. Are we finished?”
    “Not quite,” said