The Silent Girl

up …”
    “A third party stepped in. If you have any questions about the manner of death, just ask me, because I was here. I was here on the ground, and this guy was about to pump a bullet in my head. I thought I was dead. I thought …” She swallowed. “Then I heard a sound, this whoosh in the air. He just collapsed on top of me.” Staring down, Jane said softly: “And I’m still alive.”
    “Did you see who did this?”
    “Just a shadow. Silver hair.”
    “That’s all?”
    Jane hesitated. “A sword. I think he had a sword.”
    Maura looked down at the body and felt a puff of wind sweep down the alley. Wondered if the fatal blow had sounded like that same whisper of wind. She remembered the amputated wrist of Jane Doe, joints and tendons so cleanly divided. Her gaze sharpened on the gun in the dead man’s grasp. “This gun has a suppressor.”
    “Yeah. He’s dressed in black and carrying a hit man’s special. Just like Jane Doe, the woman on the rooftop.”
    “This is not any run-of-the-mill burglar.” Maura looked up. “Why was Ingersoll’s phone bugged?”
    “He never got the chance to tell me, but it was obvious he was worried and wanted to talk. Something about girls.
What happened to those girls
, he said.”
    “Which girls?”
    “I think it’s connected to the Red Phoenix. Did you know that two of the victims had their daughters go missing?”
    Maura heard voices and the slam of vehicle doors. She looked up the alley and saw the approaching flashlights of the CSU team. “Now I’m definitely going to read those files that Tam brought me.”
    “Why did he? I was surprised to hear he’d dropped that on you.”
    “He wanted an unbiased opinion. I don’t think he believes that the cook was a suicide.”
    “What do you think?”
    “I’ve been too busy to look at the files. Rat’s visiting this week,so I’m spending time with him.” Maura turned to leave. “I’ll do the autopsies first thing in the morning. If you want to be there.”
    “You’re going to do both of them?”
    That struck Maura as an odd question and she looked back. “Why wouldn’t I?”
    “Ingersoll was a cop. I’m just thinking it’s kind of a delicate time right now. With you and the Graff trial.”
    Maura heard the discomfort in Jane’s voice and knew the reason for it. “Am I no longer allowed to autopsy cops?”
    “I’m not saying that.”
    “Trust me, you don’t have to. I’m fully aware of what’s being said. I’m aware of it every time a cop looks at me, or refuses to look at me. They consider me the enemy.”
    “It’ll pass, Maura. It just takes time.”
    Until I testify against the next cop
. “I wouldn’t want to be politically incorrect,” said Maura. “I’ll ask Dr. Bristol to do the postmortem on Ingersoll.” She ducked under the crime scene tape and walked away, past the CSU team. Felt the knot in her neck gradually ease only after she’d left the alley a block behind her.
It’ll pass, Maura
, Jane had said, but would it? Cops had long memories. They recalled the details of cases that were decades old, and they held grudges, never forgetting who was with them or against them. I am always going to be placed in the second category, she thought. Twenty years from now, they’re still going to remember that I helped send a cop to jail.
    By the time she was back at Ingersoll’s residence, more official vehicles had arrived. She paused, dazzled by the flashing lights and the carnival atmosphere of confusion. Suddenly a woman’s sobs pierced the chatter of police radios.
    “Let me see him! I need to see my father!”
    “Ma’am, please. You can’t go in there,” a patrolman said, holding her back. “Someone will be out to talk to you as soon as they can.”
    “But he’s my
dad
. I have a right to know what happened to him!”
    “Father Brophy,” the cop called out. “Can you help this lady, please?”
    A tall man wearing a priest’s collar quietly made his way through the crowd. As the clergyman for Boston PD, Daniel Brophy was frequently called to scenes of tragedy, so Maura was not surprised to see him here, but the sight of him stunned her nonetheless. She watched with hungry eyes as Daniel led Ingersoll’s daughter away from the crime scene tape. Did he look thinner? Was his face haunted, his hair more gray?
Do you miss me the way I miss you?
    He guided the sobbing woman toward a patrol car, then suddenly he saw Maura and their gazes locked. For a moment