Tess Gerritsen - The Silent Girl

“Even if we could find it now, it wouldn’t change the conclusions. The bodies have been long buried or cremated, and the crime scene’s been cleaned up. To reopen a case, you need new forensic evidence. After this many years, there’d be nothing left.”

“But there’s something wrong about all this, isn’t there? You think so, too.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s assume the cook didn’t kill himself. Let’s assume someone else, a person unknown, walked in and started shooting. Why didn’t the cook just run?”

“Maybe he couldn’t get out.”

“There’s another exit from the kitchen. The report said it opens into an alley.”

“Maybe the door was locked from the outside.”

She pulled up the crime scene images on her laptop. This was completely inappropriate viewing for the boy, but he had raised good questions, and nothing he’d seen or heard so far appeared to have rattled him. “Here,” she said, pointing to the kitchen exit. “It looks like it’s ajar. So there’s no reason he couldn’t have fled. If he heard gunshots in the dining room, anyone with common sense would have run out that kitchen door.”

“What about that door?” He pointed to the cellar door, blocked by the cook’s body. “Maybe he was going to hide down there.”

“The cellar’s a dead end. It makes no sense to head that way. Look at all the evidence, Rat. He’s found holding the gun. There’s gunshot residue on his hand, which means he was in contact with the weapon when it was fired.” She paused, suddenly thinking about the extra bullet casing. The gun was fired twice in the kitchen, but only one blast was heard. And the Glock had a threaded barrel, so it could be fitted with a silencer. She tried to imagine an alternate sequence of events. An unknown killer executes Wu Weimin. Removes the silencer and places the weapon in the dead man’s hand. Fires one last time to plant gunshot residue on the victim’s skin. It would explain why only one blast was heard and why there were two bullet casings in the kitchen. But there was one detail she couldn’t explain with that scenario: why Wu Weimin, given the chance to flee out the back exit, had chosen to remain in the kitchen.

She focused on the cellar door. On the cook’s body, lying in front of it. Blocking it. Suddenly she thought: Maybe he couldn’t flee.

Because he had a very good reason to stay .

LUMINOUS PROBABLY GOING TO MAKE THIS WHOLE PLACE LIGHT up,” said Jane. “According to the realtor, all they did after the event was wash down the walls and mop the floors. The linoleum was never replaced. So I’m not sure what this exercise is going to prove.”

“We won’t know until we look, will we?” said Maura.

They stood outside the old Red Phoenix restaurant, waiting for the crime scene unit to arrive. Total darkness was needed to properly examine the interior, and dusk was just now deepening toward night, bringing with it a damp chill that made Maura wish she had brought more than just her raincoat. At the far end of Knapp a lamp glowed, but this end of the street was deep in shadow, and the building, with its barred windows, its gated door, looked like a prison sealing in its ghosts.

Jane peered through the restaurant window and gave a visible shudder. “We’ve already been in there, you know. It’s a creepy place, and it’s probably crawling with roaches. Just bare walls and empty rooms. There’s really nothing left to look at.”

“The blood will still be there,” said Maura. Soap and scrubbing erased only the visible evidence; the chemical ghost of blood remained on floors and walls. Luminol could reveal old smears and footprints that may have been missed during the original investigation.

The glare of headlights made her turn and squint as a vehicle rounded the corner and slowly rolled to a stop. Frost and Tam stepped out.

“You got the key?” Jane called out.

Frost pulled it from his pocket. “I had to sign our lives away before Mr. Kwan would hand it over.”

“What’s the big deal? There’s nothing to steal in there.”

“He said if we damage anything, we’ll hurt the resale value.”

Jane snorted. “I could improve its resale value with a stick of dynamite.”

Frost unlocked the door and felt around for the light switch. Nothing happened. “Bulb must’ve finally burned out,” he said.

In the darkness beyond the threshold, something moved, startled by the sudden invasion. Maura turned on her flashlight and saw half a dozen roaches skitter away from the beam and vanish beneath the cash register counter.

“Ewww,” said Frost. “I bet there’s, like, a thousand of them swarming around under there.”

“Thanks a lot,” muttered Jane. “Now I’ll never get that picture out of my head.”

Their four flashlight beams sliced back and forth, crisscrossing in the darkness. As Jane had described, the room was bare walls and floor, but when Maura looked around the room images from the crime scene photos superimposed themselves. She saw Joey Gilmore sprawled near the counter. Saw James Fang crumpled behind the counter. She crossed to the corner where the Mallorys had died and pictured the corpses as they had fallen. Arthur slumped facedown onto the table. Dina stretched out on the floor.

“Hello?” a voice called from the alley. “Detective Rizzoli?”

“We’re in here,” said Jane.

A new pair of dueling flashlight beams joined theirs as two men from the crime scene unit entered the room. “It’s definitely dark enough in here,” one of the men said. “And there’s no furniture to move, so that’ll make things quick.” He squatted and examined the floor. “This is the same linoleum?”

“That’s what we’re told,” said Tam.

“Looks it, too. Stamped linoleum, lots of dings and cracks. Should light up really well.” He grunted as he stood up, his belly as big as an eight-month pregnancy.

His much thinner associate, who towered over him, said: “What are you hoping to find in here?”

“We’re not sure,” said Jane.

“Must have a reason you’re looking again after nineteen years.”

In the silence, Maura felt her face flush and wondered if the full responsibility for this outing was going to fall on her shoulders. Then Jane said, “We have reason to believe it wasn’t a murder-suicide.”

“So we’re looking for unexplained footprints? Evidence of an intruder, what?”

“That would be a start.”

His stouter colleague sighed. “Okay, we’ll give you soup to nuts. You want it, you got it.”

“I’ll help you unload the van,” said Tam.

The men carried in lighting equipment and video gear, electrical cords and chemicals. Although all the lightbulbs in the restaurant had burned out, the power outlets were still live, and when they plugged in the cord to illuminate the dining area, the glare of the lamps was as harsh as sunlight. While one of the criminalists videotaped the room, his partner unpacked boxes of chemicals from a cooler. Only now, in the light, did Maura recognize both men from the rooftop crime scene.

Slowly, the videographer panned the room with the camera and straightened. “Okay, Ed? You ready to start?”

“Soon as everyone gets on their gear,” Ed answered. “Masks are in that box over there. We should have enough for everyone.”

Tam handed Maura a pair of goggles and a respirator, which she pulled over her face to protect against the luminol fumes. Only after everyone was masked did Ed-at least she now knew the tall man’s name-begin mixing chemicals. He swirled the solution in a jar, then decanted it into a spray bottle. “Someone want to be in charge of the lights?”