“I’ve dressed deer. I know what dead things look like.”
Yes, you do, she thought. In Wyoming, he had watched a man bleed to death. She wondered whether he sometimes startled awake at night, as she did, haunted by the memories of what had happened to them both in the mountains. He seemed so calm and controlled as he set his schoolbooks on the dresser, as he took his toothbrush into the bathroom, all his emotions shuttered up tight.
In the kitchen, her cell phone was ringing.
“Can I go outside and see the yard?” he asked.
“Go ahead. Let me get this call.”
She walked into the kitchen and pulled the cell phone out of her purse. “Dr. Isles,” she answered.
“This is Detective Tam. I’m really sorry to be calling you on the weekend.”
“Not a problem, Detective. How can I help you?”
“I wondered if I could ask your opinion on an old homicide. It happened nineteen years ago, a shooting in a Chinatown restaurant. There were five victims. At the time, they called it a murder-suicide.”
“Why are you pursuing something that happened nineteen years ago?”
“It could be connected to our Jane Doe on the rooftop. It may be the reason she came to Chinatown. It seems she was seeking out people who knew about that restaurant shooting.”
“What do you want me to do, exactly?”
“Review the autopsy reports on those five people, particularly the shooter’s. Tell us if you agree with the conclusions. The pathologist who performed them is no longer with the ME’s office, so I can’t ask him.”
From the kitchen window, she saw Rat and the dog were outside and circling the yard, as though hunting for a way out, an escape into the wider world. He was a boy meant for the wilderness.
“I’m busy this week,” she said. “You might try asking Dr. Bristol instead.”
“But I was really hoping…”
“Yes?”
“I’d rather have your opinion, Dr. Isles. I know you always tell it like it is, no matter what. I trust your judgment.”
That startled her, because it was not an opinion shared among Boston PD’s rank and file these days. She thought of the stares and cold silence she’d endured from police officers during the past week. Thought of all the different ways they had made her feel like the enemy.
“I’ll be home this evening,” she said. “You can drop off the files anytime.”
IT WAS AFTER NINE PM when Bear began barking at the front door. Maura opened it to find Detective Tam standing on her porch. He and the dog warily regarded each other for a moment, but after a few exploratory sniffs, Bear signaled his approval by trotting back into the house, allowing the visitor to enter. Tam moved with the same coiled energy that she’d noticed when they’d met in Chinatown, and he paused in her foyer, head alertly swiveling toward the sound of the running shower. He didn’t ask the question, but she could read it in his eyes.
“I have a houseguest staying with me this week,” she said.
“I’m sorry about intruding on your weekend.” He handed her a bundle of photocopied pages. “That’s all five autopsy reports, plus the Boston PD report filed by Detectives Ingersoll and Staines.”
“Wow. It looks like you put a lot of effort into this.”
“This is my first homicide case. Freshman effort, you know?” He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket. “They wouldn’t let me take any originals out of the ME’s office, so I scanned the photos and X-rays for you. I realize it’s an overwhelming amount of work, and I’m sorry about dumping this on you.” As he pressed the flash drive into her hand, he looked straight at her, as though to emphasize how important this was to him, and that he was placing all his confidence in her.
Flushing at his touch, she looked down at the flash drive. “Before you leave, let me make sure these files load up on my computer,” she said. They went into her office and as she booted up her laptop, Tam eyed the dog, who had followed them and now sat at Tam’s feet, watching this new visitor.
“What kind of dog is this?” Tam asked.
“I have no idea. Probably shepherd, plus some wolf or husky. He belongs to my houseguest.”
“You’re a very nice hostess, letting your guest bring a dog.”
“I owe my life to that dog. As far as I’m concerned, he can stay anywhere he wants.” She inserted the flash drive, and after a moment a series of thumbnail photos appeared on the monitor. She clicked on the first, revealing a grisly view of a woman’s nude body on the autopsy table. “Looks like this loads up fine. I can’t promise when I’ll review them, but I can tell you it won’t be until next week.”
“I really appreciate this, Dr. Isles.”
She straightened and looked at him. “Drs. Bristol and Costas are both very good pathologists. You can trust their judgment as well. Is there a reason you didn’t go to them?”
He paused, turning toward the sound of the shower shutting off. Bear’s ears pricked up, and he trotted out of the office.
“Detective?” she asked.
He said, reluctantly: “I’m guessing you know what’s being said about you. Because of the Wayne Graff trial and all.”
Her mouth tightened. “I’m sure that none of it is flattering.”
“It may be a thin blue line, but that line holds firm. It doesn’t take kindly to criticism.”
“Even when it’s the truth,” she said bitterly.
“That’s why I came to you. Because I know you do tell the truth.” His eyes met hers, direct and unflinching. The day they’d met in Chinatown, she had thought him unreadable, a man who might or might not like her. That same detached expression was now on his face, but it was merely a mask that she had not yet learned to penetrate. There was more to this man than she knew, and she wondered if he ever allowed anyone a glimpse behind that mask.
“What are you hoping I’ll find in these reports?” she asked.
“Contradictions, maybe. Things that don’t add up or don’t make sense.”
“Why do you think there’d be any?”
“Practically from the moment that Staines and Ingersoll walked onto the scene, it was called a murder-suicide. I read their report and they didn’t explore alternative theories. It was too easy to sign it off as a crazy Chinese immigrant shooting up a restaurant. And then himself.”
“Do you think it wasn’t a murder-suicide?”
“I don’t know. But nineteen years later, it’s giving off some strange echoes. Our Jane Doe on the roof had two addresses in her handheld GPS. One was Detective Ingersoll’s residence. The other was for Iris Fang, the widow of one of the massacre victims. This dead woman was obviously interested in the Red Phoenix case. We don’t know why.”
They heard the dog whine, and Maura turned to see Rat standing in the doorway, his hair still damp from the shower. He was staring at the autopsy photo on her computer screen. Quickly she minimized the program, and the disturbing image shrank from sight.
“Julian, this is Detective Tam,” she said. “And this is my houseguest, Julian Perkins. He’s been going to school up in Maine, and he’s down here for spring break.”
“So you’re the owner of the scary dog,” Tam said.
The boy kept staring at the monitor, as if he could still see the image displayed there. “Who was she?” he asked softly.
“It’s just a case we’re talking about,” said Maura. “We’re almost through here. Why don’t you go watch TV?”
Tam waited until they heard the television turn on in the living room, and he said: “I’m sorry he got a look at that. It’s not something you want a kid to see.”
“I’ll review the files when I have the time. It may not be for a while. There’s no hurry, I assume?”
“It would be nice to make some progress on Jane Doe.”
“The Red Phoenix happened nineteen years ago,” she said and turned off her laptop. “I’m sure this can wait a little longer.”
