The Silent Girl

to tell us? Surprise, someone whacked off his head?” She tossed the gown in the contaminated linen bin. “You guys finish up here. I’m going to check with the crime lab, find out if Ingersoll’s cell phone turned up anything.”
    The anteroom door suddenly swung open, and Jane was startled to see her husband walk in. “What are you doing here?”
    Special Agent Gabriel Dean was no stranger to autopsy rooms. It had been a serial murder case that introduced Jane to her husband, and over the course of that investigation they had spent more than a few malodorous hours together, bending over corpses that had been found in various stages of decomposition. Gabriel was already wearing a gown and shoe covers, and his face was focused and grim as he pulled on gloves and approached the table.
    “This is the man from the alley?” he asked bluntly. “The one who almost killed you?”
    “Hello to you, too, sweetheart,” said Jane. She looked at Tam.“In case you’re wondering who this crasher is, this is my husband, Gabriel. And I have no idea why he’s here.”
    Gabriel’s attention remained fixed on the cadaver. “What do we know about him so far?”
    “We? Since when did you join the team?” asked Jane.
    “Since this man took a shot at you.”
    “Gabriel.” She sighed. “We can talk about it later.”
    “The time to talk about it is now.”
    She stared at her husband, trying to understand what was happening here. Trying to read his face, stony under the glare of morgue lights. “What is this all about?”
    “It’s about fingerprints.”
    “We’ve gotten nothing back on him from AFIS.”
    “I’m talking about Jane Doe’s fingerprints. The woman on the rooftop.”
    “We didn’t get any match on hers, either,” said Maura. “She’s not in the FBI database.”
    “I sent a black notice to Interpol,” he said. “Because it’s clear to me this is adding up to something bigger. A lot bigger. Think of how Jane Doe was dressed. The weapon she was carrying. The fact she had no ID and was driving a stolen vehicle.” He looked at the corpse. “Like this man.”
    “You’ve heard back from Interpol?” said Jane.
    He nodded. “An hour ago. She’s in their database. Not her name, but her fingerprints. They turned up on components of a car bomb that exploded in London two years ago. It killed the driver, an American businessman.”
    “Are we talking about
terrorism
?” asked Tam.
    “Interpol believes the bomb was a hit by organized crime. A paid assassination. Your woman on the rooftop was clearly a professional, and I’m guessing this man was, as well.” He looked at Jane. “A Kevlar vest isn’t going to save you, Jane. Not against people like this.”
    Jane gave a startled laugh. “Man, we really hit the jackpot, didn’t we?”
    “You have a daughter,” said Gabriel. “
We
have a daughter. Think about this.”
    “What’s there to think about?”
    “Whether Boston PD can handle this.”
    “Hold it right there. Can we take this into the next room, please?” She glanced at her colleagues. “Excuse me,” she muttered and pushed through the swinging door. It wasn’t until she and Gabriel were in the hallway and out of earshot that she blurted out: “What do you think you’re doing here?”
    “I’m trying to keep my wife alive.”
    “This is my turf, okay? I decide what happens here.”
    “Do you have any idea what you’re dealing with?”
    “I’m going to figure it out.”
    “In the meantime, you’re taking bullets and collecting dead bodies.”
    “Yeah. It’s turning into quite a collection.”
    “Including a cop. Ingersoll knew how to defend himself, and now he’s in a body bag.”
    “So you want me to drop out? Run home and hide under the bed?” She snorted. “That is so
not
going to happen.”
    “Who brings in professional killers, Jane? Anyone who’d hire a hit on an ex-cop is not afraid of Boston PD. He’s not afraid of you. This has got to be organized crime. The Russian mob. Or Chinese—”
    “Kevin Donohue,” she said.
    Gabriel paused. “Irish mafia?”
    “We’re already digging for dirt on him. One of his men named Joey Gilmore died in the Chinatown massacre. Gilmore’s mother believes it was really a paid hit on her son, ordered by Donohue. Ingersoll was the lead detective on that massacre.”
    “If it’s Donohue, he has a very long reach. Maybe into Boston PD itself.”
    She stared at her husband. “Can the Bureau back up that