The Silent Girl

the world dropped away and she saw only Daniel. Felt the drumming of her own heart, as frantic as the wings of a dying bird.
    She was still staring as he walked away, cradling the sobbing woman against his shoulder.

J ANE STOOD BEFORE THE MORGUE’S LIGHT BOX, STUDYING THE dead man’s X-rays. His bony structures appeared normal in every way, except for one glaring detail: His cranium had been separated from his body, severed cleanly between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. Although Tam and Frost were already standing at the autopsy table, waiting for the postmortem to begin, Jane stayed rooted where she was, not yet ready to face what was lying beneath the drape. X-rays were abstract things, cartoon anatomy in black and white. They did not look or smell like flesh; they did not have a face. And so she lingered longer than she needed to, focused on the shadow of lungs and heart, the same heart that had sent blood spurting across her clothes last night. If not for my nameless savior, my X-rays would be hanging here, she thought. My body would be lying on the table.
    “Jane?” said Maura.
    “It’s hard to imagine a blade sharp enough to do this with one stroke,” Jane said, her gaze still fixed on the X-ray.
    “It’s a matter of anatomy,” said Maura. “The angle at which the blade hits the joint. In medieval times, a skilled executioner couldbehead a prisoner with one stroke. If he had to keep hacking away, that was a sure sign he was incompetent. Or drunk.”
    “Pleasant image to start off the morning,” said Tam.
    Maura whisked off the drape. “We haven’t undressed him yet. I assumed you all wanted to be here when we did.”
    No, I don’t want to be here, thought Jane. I don’t want to see this. But she forced herself to turn to the table. Although what lay there was no surprise, she still sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the severed head. She knew nothing yet about this man, neither his name nor his origins. The only clues they had so far came from the items removed from his pockets last night: an ammunition clip, a roll of cash, and keys to a stolen Ford van, which had been parked two blocks from Ingersoll’s residence. He carried no ID of any kind.
    Tam bent over the table, his expression unruffled as he took a closer look at the severed head. He didn’t flinch when Maura peeled off the victim’s stocking cap, revealing neatly clipped brown hair. The dead man’s face was unremarkable, with an utterly average nose, average mouth, average chin. A man you’d forget a moment after you’d passed him on the street.
    The hands had already been swabbed and his fingerprints collected last night upon arrival. Purple ink still stained the fingers. Maura and Yoshima worked together to remove the clothing, peeling off the sweatshirt and trousers, briefs and socks. The headless body was stocky and well muscled. A healed scar ran diagonally across the right knee—a souvenir of old surgery. Jane stared at the scar and thought: Now I know why I was able to run him down so easily last night.
    Under the magnifier, Maura examined the incised soft tissues, searching for irregularities and bruising. “I don’t see any serration marks,” she said. “The wound is uniform, without secondary cuts. This was a single slice.”
    “That’s what I told you,” said Jane. “It was a sword. One slash.”
    Maura glanced up. “No matter how reliable I consider a witness, I always need to confirm.” She refocused on the incision. “This cutwas delivered at an odd angle. Which hand was holding the sword, right or left?”
    Jane hesitated. “I didn’t see the actual slash. But as he was walking away, it was … it was in his right hand.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “Because this cut starts lower on the right, and angles upward as it exits the left side of the neck.”
    “So?”
    “This victim is about five foot ten, five eleven. If the killer attacked from behind, slashing right to left, he was probably shorter.” Maura looked at Jane. “Would you agree?”
    “I was lying on my back. At that angle, everyone looks tall, especially someone with a big honking sword.” She let out a breath, suddenly aware that Maura was looking at her with the analytical gaze that so irritated her. A look that invaded her privacy, made her feel like a specimen floating in formalin.
    Abruptly Jane turned from the table. “I don’t think I need to see any more of this. What’s this autopsy going