Tess Gerritsen - The Silent Girl

“Bring back the memories?” Iris stiffened. “What kind of families are these, needing to be reminded ?” For the first time, agitation shook her voice, made her hands tremble. “I live with my memories. They never leave me, not even when I sleep.”

“Have you received any notes?”

“No. But then, no one needs to remind me . Of all the families, it seems I’m the only one who’s asked questions. Demanded answers.”

“If you aren’t sending them, do you know who might be?”

“Maybe it’s someone who believes the truth has been suppressed.”

“Like you.”

“But I’m not afraid to say it.”

“And in a very public way. We know you placed the ad in the Globe last month.”

“If your husband were murdered, and you knew the killer was never punished, would you do any less? No matter how many years went by?”

A moment passed, the two women staring at each other. Jane imagined herself waking up every morning in this shabby home, imagined living with unspeakable grief, obsessing over happiness lost. Searching for reasons, for any explanation for her ruined life. Sitting in this room, on this threadbare armchair, she felt despair settle on her shoulders, dragging her down, smothering all joy. This is not even my world, she thought. I can go home and kiss my husband. I can hug my daughter and tuck her into bed. But Iris will still be trapped here.

“It’s been nineteen years, Mrs. Fang,” said Jane. “I understand it’s not easy to move on. But the other families want to. Patrick Dion, Mark Mallory-they have no doubt that Wu Weimin was the killer. Maybe it’s time for you to accept what they accepted long ago.”

Iris’s chin lifted and her eyes were hard as flint. “I won’t accept anything less than the truth.”

“How do you know it’s not true? According to the police report, the evidence against Wu Weimin was overwhelming.”

“The police did not know him.”

“Can you be sure you did?”

“Yes, completely. And this is my final chance to make things right.”

Jane frowned at her. “What do you mean, your final chance?”

Iris drew a breath and lifted her head. The look she gave Jane was both dignified and calm. “I am sick.”

The room went silent. That simple statement had stunned them all. Iris sat perfectly composed, staring back at Jane as if daring her to offer any pity.

“I have a chronic form of leukemia,” said Iris. “The doctor tells me I could live another ten years. Or perhaps even twenty years. Some days I feel perfectly well. Other days, I’m so tired I can scarcely lift my head off the pillow. One day, this illness will probably kill me, but I’m not afraid. I merely refuse to die without knowing the truth. Without seeing justice done.” She paused, and the first note of fear slipped into her voice. “I feel time running through my fingers.”

Frost moved behind Iris and placed his hand on her shoulder. It was simply a gesture of sympathy, something anyone might do, but Jane was troubled by that touch, and by the stricken look she saw in his eyes.

“She can’t stay here alone tonight,” Frost said. “It’s not safe.”

Tam said, “I just got off the phone with Bella Li. Mrs. Fang can spend the night with her while CSU processes the scene.”

Frost said, “I’ll drive her there.”

“No,” Jane said. “Tam will take her. Mrs. Fang, why don’t you pack a bag?” She rose from the chair. “Detective Frost, can you step outside with me? We need to check the perimeter.”

“But-”

“Frost.”

He glanced back and forth between Iris and Jane, and finally followed Jane out the front door, into a night that was filmy with mist.

The instant the door swung shut, she said: “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I wish I could. Obviously someone’s trying to scare her. Trying to stop her from asking questions.”

“No, I’m talking about you . How you ended up taking her to dinner. Turning into her white knight.”

“I came to ask about what happened to her daughter. You know that.”

“How did an interview turn into dinner?”

“We were hungry. It just happened.”

“Accidents just happen. But going out to dinner with a subject you’re questioning? That’s something else entirely.”

“She’s not a suspect.”

“We don’t know that.”

“For God’s sake, Rizzoli, she’s a victim. She lost her husband in a shooting and now all she wants is justice.”

“We don’t know what she really wants. Frankly, I can’t figure out what you want, either.”

The glow of the yellow porch light, diffused by mist, framed his head like a spectral halo. Saint Barry, the Boy Scout, she thought. The cop you could always count on to do the right thing. Now he stood before her, avoiding her gaze, looking as guilty as a man could look.

“I feel sorry for her,” he said.

“Is that all you feel?”

“And I just wish…” He sighed. “It’s been nineteen years since her husband died, and she still loves him. She still carries a torch for him. Alice couldn’t even make it ten years before she walked out on me. I look at Iris and I think, Why the hell didn’t I marry someone like her?”

“The woman’s almost old enough to be your mother.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not talking about going out with her! And what does age have to do with anything? This is about loyalty. About loving someone your whole life, no matter what happens.” He turned away and said softly: “I’m never going to know what that’s like.”

The front door opened and they both turned as Tam escorted Iris out of the building. She gave a nod to Frost, a tired smile, then she climbed into Tam’s car. Even as the taillights faded into the mist, Frost was still staring after her.

“I have to admit,” said Jane thoughtfully, “she’s got me wondering now.”

He turned to her. “About what?”

“You’re right about one thing. She’s obviously rattled someone. Someone who’s angry enough or feels threatened enough to break into her house. To stab a knife in her pillow.”

“What if she’s right about the massacre? And the cook didn’t do it?”

Jane nodded. “I think it’s time to take a closer look at the Red Phoenix.”

HIDDEN BEHIND TALL HEDGES, PATRICK DION’S BROOKLINE PROPERTY was a private Eden of woods and lawn where footpaths meandered from intimate shade to sunlit flower beds. The wrought-iron gate at the entrance hung open, and as Jane and Frost drove through, they glimpsed the residence through a stand of ghostly white birches. It was a massive Colonial set on a knoll, commanding a view of Dion’s expansive estate.

“What the heck is a venture capitalist, anyway?” said Frost as they passed a tennis court tucked into a shady grove. “I hear that term used all the time.”

“I think they use money to make money,” Jane said.

“But how do you get the money to start with?”

“From friends who have it.”

“I gotta get me some new friends.”

She pulled to a stop in the driveway, where two cars were parked, and stared up at the mansion. “But think about it. You have all this money, this nice house. Then your wife leaves you for another man. And your daughter gets snatched off the street. Me, I’d rather be poor.” She looked at him. “Okay, now we’ve got to do some damage control in there. From what Mr. Dion said, Tam didn’t exactly charm them.”

Frost shook his head. “We gotta get that boy to cool his jets. He goes at everything full-throttle. It’s like he’s stuck on overdrive.”