Tess Gerritsen - The Silent Girl

In the rearview mirror, Jane could see Tam’s car right behind theirs. She wondered what he would think of this conversation, whether he’d be offended by this talk of the exotic and mysterious Chinese. The light changed to green.

As she drove through the intersection she said, “I wouldn’t mention this to Tam.”

Frost shook his head. “It’d probably piss him off. It’s not like I’m racist, you know? I did date a Chinese girl.”

“And that would definitely piss him off.”

“I’m just trying to understand, to open my mind to what we’re not seeing.”

“What I’m not seeing is how this all fits together. A dead woman on the roof. An old murder-suicide. And now Ingersoll, muttering about a van watching his house. And something about girls.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you over the phone? Who does he think is listening in?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Whenever someone starts talking about their phone being bugged, those psycho warning bells go off for me. Did he sound paranoid?”

“He sounded worried. And he mentioned her . He said he’d promised to keep her out of it.”

“Iris Fang?”

“I don’t know.”

Frost looked ahead at the road. “Old cop like him, he’s probably gonna be armed. We better take this nice and slow. Don’t spook him.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jane pulled up in front of Ingersoll’s residence, and Tam parked right behind them. They all got out of their cars, doors thudding shut simultaneously. Inside the triple-decker town house, the lights were on, but when Frost rang the doorbell no one answered. He rang again and rapped on the window.

“I’ll call him,” said Jane, tapping in Ingersoll’s number on her cell phone. They could hear his phone ringing somewhere inside the residence. Four rings, and then the answering machine picked up with the terse recording. Not here now. Leave a message .

“Can’t see anything in there,” said Tam, trying to peer through the curtained front windows.

Jane hung up and said to Frost, “You keep trying the bell. Tam, let’s go around to the back. Maybe he can’t hear us.”

As she and Tam headed around the side of the building, she could hear Frost still banging on the front door. The narrow path between buildings was unlit and overgrown with shrubbery. She smelled wet leaves, felt her shoes sink into sodden grass. Through a window, she glimpsed the blue glow of Ingersoll’s TV set and she paused, looking into a living room where images flickered on the screen. On the coffee table was a cell phone and a half-eaten sandwich.

“This window isn’t latched,” said Tam. “I can climb in. You want me to?”

They looked at each other in the shadows, both of them considering the consequences of entering a house without permission or a warrant.

“He did invite us,” she said. “Maybe he’s just sitting in the john where he can’t hear us.”

Tam slid open the window. In seconds he was up and over the sill, slithering into the house without a sound. How the hell did he do that? she wondered, eyeing the chest-high sill. The man really would make a superb cat burglar.

“Detective Ingersoll?” Tam called out as he walked into the next room. “It’s Boston PD. Are you here?”

Jane considered huffing and flailing her way through the window as well, then decided that by the time she could finally scale that sill, Tam would have the front door unlocked.

“Rizzoli, he’s in here! He’s down!”

Tam’s shout swept away all indecision. She grasped the sill and was about to launch herself through the window headfirst when she heard bushes rustle and footsteps thudded in the darkness.

Back of the house. Suspect in flight .

She took off in pursuit and reached the rear of the building just in time to see a dark figure scramble over the fence and drop to the other side.

“Frost! I need backup!” she screamed, sprinting to the fence. Sheer adrenaline sent her up and over it, splinters lancing her palms. She landed on the other side, and the impact of her shoes hitting the pavement pounded straight up her shins.

Her quarry was in view. A man .

She heard someone scrabble over the fence behind her but didn’t glance back to see if it was Frost or Tam. She stayed focused on the figure ahead. She was gaining on him, close enough to see that he was all in black. Definitely dressed for crime. But not fast enough to outrun this girl cop .

Her backup’s footsteps fell behind, but she didn’t slow down, didn’t give her quarry any chance to slip away. Already she was within a few dozen yards of him.

“Police!” she yelled. “Freeze!”

He darted right, slipping between buildings.

That pissed her off. Fueled by outrage, she sprinted around the corner and found herself in an alley. It was dark here, too dark. Her footsteps echoed back as she pounded ahead, half a dozen paces, then slowed. Stopped.

Where is he? Where did he go?

Weapon drawn, heart hammering, she scanned the shadows. Saw trash cans, heard broken glass clatter away.

The bullet slammed into her back, right between her shoulder blades. The impact sent her flying and she sprawled on her belly, her palms scraping across pavement. Her weapon flew out of her hands. The Kevlar vest had saved her, but the force of the bullet stole the breath from her lungs and she lay stunned, her gun somewhere out of reach.

Footsteps slowly approached, and she struggled to her knees, fumbled around for her weapon.

The footsteps came to a halt right behind her.

She twisted around to see the man’s silhouette towering above her. Shadows hid his face, but enough light spilled into the alley from a distant streetlamp that she saw him raise his arm. Saw the faint gleam of the gun he was pointing at her head. It would be a quick and efficient end, without killer and victim ever glimpsing each other’s eyes. Gabriel, she thought. Regina. I never got the chance to tell you how much I love you both.

She heard Death whisper in the night, felt it hiss like the wind past her ear. Something splashed her face and she blinked. When she opened her eyes again, the silhouette looming over her was already toppling forward. It landed across her legs like a felled tree. Trapped under the man’s weight, she felt liquid warmth soaking into her clothes. Recognized all too well that coppery smell.

Something breathed in the darkness, something that now loomed where the gunman had stood only seconds before. She saw no face, just a black oval and a halo of silvery hair. It said not a word but as it turned away, something flashed in its hand, a bright arc of reflected light that was there and gone again. She heard what she thought was the wind as shadow swooped across shadow. Then she was alone, still pinned against the hard pavement by a man who spilled his last blood onto her clothes.

“Rizzoli? Rizzoli! ”

She struggled to free herself from the deadweight trapping her legs. “I’m here! Frost!”

The beam of a flashlight flickered in the distance. Moved closer, sweeping back and froth across the alley.

With a grunt of effort, Jane finally managed to shove the body away. Shuddering at the touch of dead flesh, she scrabbled backward. “Frost,” she said.

The light landed squarely in her eyes, and she raised a hand against its glare.

“Jesus,” Frost cried. “Are you-”

“I’m okay. I’m fine!” She took a deep breath and felt the lingering ache of the bullet’s impact in her Kevlar vest. “At least, I think so.”

“All this blood…”

“Not mine. It’s his.”

Frost aimed his flashlight at the body, and she sucked in a shocked breath that made her ribs hurt. The body was lying chest-down, and the decapitated head had rolled a few feet away. The eyes stared up at them, the mouth open as though in a last gasp of surprise. Jane gaped at the cleanly severed neck and was suddenly aware of her soaked trousers, the fabric clinging to her legs. The night began to spin and she stumbled away and sagged against a building where she dropped her head, desperately fighting the need to throw up.