Tess Gerritsen - The Silent Girl

“I’ll do it,” said Frost.

“It’s gonna be really dark in here, so stay by the lamp or you’ll be fumbling for the switch.” Ed glanced around the room. “Where do you folks want to start?”

“This section,” said Jane, pointing to the area near the cash register.

Ed moved into position, then glanced at Frost. “Lights.”

The room went black, and the darkness seemed to magnify the sound of Maura’s breathing in the respirator. Only faintly did she hear the hiss of the spray bottle as Ed released a mist of luminol. A geometric pattern of blue-green suddenly glowed on the floor as the luminol reacted with traces of old hemoglobin. Wherever blood drips or splatters or flows, it leaves behind echoes of its presence. Nineteen years ago, blood had seeped into this linoleum, lodging so stubbornly in cracks and crevices that it could not be eradicated, even with the most thorough mopping.

“Light.”

Frost flipped the switch and they all stood blinking in the glare. The blue-green glow had vanished; in its place was the same patch of floor they had seen earlier.

Tam looked up from his laptop, on which he’d loaded the Red Phoenix crime scene photos. “Corresponds with what I see here,” he said. “No surprises. That’s right where Joey Gilmore’s body was found.”

They moved the camera and tripod to the nook behind the counter, and everyone took their positions. Again the lights went out; again they heard the hiss of the spray bottle and more of the floor began to luminesce in checkerboard lines. Here was where James Fang died. The wall lit up as well, glowing spatters where traces of the waiter’s blood had splashed, like the fading echoes of a scream.

In this building, there were still more screams to be heard.

They moved on to the corner where the Mallorys had perished. Two bodies meant twice as many splatters, and here were the loudest shrieks of all, a horror show of splashes and smears that flared in the darkness and slowly faded.

Frost turned on the lights and they all stood silent for a moment as they stared down at the tired patch of floor that had glowed so brightly only a moment earlier. Nothing had surprised them so far, but what they’d seen was nonetheless unsettling.

“Let’s move on to the kitchen,” said Jane.

They stepped through the doorway. It seemed colder in the next room, so cold that a chill rippled across Maura’s skin. She looked around at a refrigerator, an ancient ventilation hood and stove. The floor was concrete in here, designed for easy swabbing in an area where grease and sauces would splatter. And blood, too . She stood shivering by the cellar door while the team transferred their equipment from the next room, bringing in their cameras and chemicals. With the room now brightly lit, Ed and his partner frowned at their surroundings.

“Got some rusty-looking kitchen equipment over there,” said Ed. “That’s going to react with the luminol and light up.”

“It’s the floor we need to focus on,” said Maura. “Right here is where the cook was found.”

“So we’ll find more blood. Big surprise,” said Ed, his note of sarcasm unmistakable.

“Look, if you think this is a waste of time, just give me the bottle and I’ll do it,” Maura snapped.

In the sudden silence, the two criminalists looked at each other. Ed said, “Do you want to tell us what you’re looking for, Dr. Isles? So this might actually make sense?”

“I’ll tell you when I see it. Let’s start with that doorway leading into the dining room.”

Ed nodded to Frost. “Lights off.”

The sudden blackness was so complete in the kitchen that Maura felt herself sway, disoriented by the lack of any visual cues, any sense of who or what surrounded her. In this darkness, anyone could be standing beside her and she would not know he was there. The spray bottle hissed, and as glowing streaks of blue-green magically spread on the floor, she felt another chill whisper across her skin, as if a phantom had just brushed past her. Yes, there are indeed ghosts in this room, she thought, the ghosts of spilled blood that still cling to this floor. She heard another hiss of luminol, and more glowing patches materialized.

“I see footprints here,” said Ed. “Maybe a woman’s size five, six.”

“Those are in the crime scene photos, too,” Tam said. “The cook’s wife was the first person to enter. She lived in the apartment right upstairs. When she heard the gunshot, she walked in through the alley door and found her husband. Tracked his blood into the dining room, where she found the other victims.”

“Well, that’s what it looks like here. Shoe impressions move in the direction of the dining room.”

“The cook was right where I’m standing now,” said Maura. “We should focus here.”

“Cool your jets, Doc,” the criminalist said, and Maura could hear his irritation. “We’ll get to that spot.”

“I’ve got this section recorded.”

“Okay, moving on.”

Maura heard more spray, and new footprints appeared, a luminous record of the wife’s movements that night. They followed the prints backward, until suddenly a bright pool bloomed. Here was where Wu Weimin’s blood had collected, spilling from the wound on his temple. Maura had read the autopsy report, had seen the close-up photo of what was just a small punch through skin and skull, belying the devastation to the brain. Yet for a few moments, his heart had continued pumping, and blood had poured out to form a congealing halo. Here was where his wife had crouched beside him, leaving her shoe print. His body would still have been warm .

“Lights.”

Maura blinked at the floor where she now saw only bare concrete. But as Ed refilled the bottle with luminol, she could still see that pool, and the evidence of the wife’s presence.

“We’ll finish up over there,” said Ed, pointing toward the kitchen exit leading to the alley. “Did the wife leave the same way she came in?”

“No,” said Tam. “According to Ingersoll’s report, she ran out the front exit, down Knapp Street. Headed toward Beach Street to call for help.”

“So there shouldn’t be any blood at this end.”

Tam peered at his laptop. “I don’t see any in this crime scene photo.”

Maura saw Ed glance at his wristwatch, a reminder that it was growing late. What they had captured so far on video was exactly what they’d expected to find. She thought of what these two men would probably say to each other later, comments that would no doubt circulate among the rest of Boston PD. Dr. Isles sent us on a wild goose chase .

Was this a mistake? she wondered. Have I wasted everyone’s evening, all because I listened to the doubts of a sixteen-year-old boy? But Maura, too, had shared Rat’s doubts. After he’d returned to school, leaving her alone in a house that seemed sadly silent and empty, she had spent many hours combing through all the reports and photos from the Red Phoenix files. The baffling details that the boy had so quickly spotted became more and more troubling to her as well.

“Let’s wrap this up and go home,” said Jane, sounding both weary and a little disgusted.

The lights went out again, and Maura stood with hands clenched, glad that her face was hidden in the darkness. She heard the spray bottle once again deliver its mist of luminol.

Suddenly Ed blurted: “Hey, are you seeing this?”

“Lights!” Jane called out, and Frost turned on the lamp.

In the glare, they all stood silent for a moment, staring at bare concrete.

“That didn’t show up in any of the crime scene photos,” said Tam.

Ed was frowning. “Let me replay this video,” he said. As they crowded around the camera, he rewound and hit Play. Glowing in the darkness were three blue-green patches that moved in a line toward the alley exit. Two were smeared and misshapen, but the third was unmistakably a tiny footprint.