The Silent Girl

“In the school yearbook, she seemed to have a healthy list of activities,” Jane said. “Music, for instance.”

Mrs. Forsyth nodded. “She was a decent violist, but her heart never seemed to be in it. Only in her junior year did she finally manage to pass the auditions for the Boston summer orchestra workshop. But it helped that she played the viola. They’re always in demand.”

“How many of your students attend that workshop?”

“At least a few every year. It’s the best in New England, taught by members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Very selective.” Mrs. Forsyth paused. “I know who you’re going to ask about next. That Chinese girl who disappeared, right?”

Jane nodded. “You read my mind. Her name was Laura Fang.”

“I understand she was a talented girl. That’s what I heard after she vanished. A number of my students attended the workshop with her.”

“But not Charlotte?”

“No. Charlotte didn’t pass the audition until the year after Laura disappeared, so they wouldn’t have met each other. Another question you were about to ask, I’m sure.”

“You remember all these details, even after nineteen years?”

“Because I just went over it again with that detective.”

“Which detective?”

“I can’t remember his name. It was a few weeks ago. I’d have to check my appointment book.”

“I’d appreciate it if you looked up his name right now, ma’am.”

A look of irritation flickered in the woman’s eyes, as if this was more effort than she cared to make. But she crossed to her desk and rummaged through a drawer until she came up with a daily planner. Flipping back through the pages, she gave a nod. “Here. He called me April second to schedule an appointment. I thought he looked a bit old to be a detective, but I guess experience counts for something.”

A bit old. And asking about missing girls. “Was his name Detective Ingersoll?” Jane asked.

Mrs. Forsyth glanced up. “So you do know him.”

“Haven’t you heard the news? Detective Ingersoll is dead. He was shot to death last week.”

The appointment book tumbled from Mrs. Forsyth’s hands and slapped onto her desk. “My God. No, I didn’t know.”

“Why was he here, Mrs. Forsyth? Why was he asking about Charlotte?”

“I assumed it was her father pushing for it, still hoping for answers. I mentioned it to Mark Mallory at the alumni dinner a few weeks ago, but he didn’t know anything about it.”

“Did you ask Mr. Dion?”

She flushed. “The Bolton Academy avoids any contact whatsoever with Mr. Dion. To avoid dredging up… bad feelings.”

“Tell me exactly what Detective Ingersoll said to you.”

The woman sank into the chair behind her desk. Suddenly she looked smaller and less formidable, stunned by this intrusion of the brutal outside world into her sheltered universe of books and orchestral scores. “I’m sorry, give me a moment to think about it…” She swallowed. “He didn’t actually ask very much about Charlotte. It was more about the other girl.”

“Laura Fang.”

“And others.”

“Others?”

“He had a list. A long list with maybe two dozen names. He asked if I recognized any of them. If any had attended Bolton. I told him no.”

“Do you remember any of the names on that list?”

“No. As I said, I didn’t know any of them. He told me they were all girls who’d gone missing like Laura.” Mrs. Forsyth straightened and looked up at Jane. “Girls who’ve never been found.”

TWENTY-SIX

THESE ARE DETECTIVE INGERSOLL’S CELL AND LANDLINE PHONE records for the past thirty days,” said Tam, spreading out the pages on the conference table so Jane and Frost could see them. “It’s a list of every call he made and received over the past month. At first glance, nothing jumps out at you. It’s mostly mundane stuff. Calls to his daughter, his dentist, his cable company, his credit card company. A call to the fishing camp where he stayed in Maine. And multiple calls to the pizza parlor down his street.”

“Geez. He sure ate a lot of pizza,” observed Frost.

“You’ll also notice that he called family members of the Red Phoenix victims. Those particular calls were made on March thirtieth and April first. Right around the anniversary of the massacre.”

“I spoke to both Mrs. Gilmore and Mark Mallory,” said Frost. “They confirmed that Ingersoll called them, to find out if they received the usual anonymous mailing that he did. The one they’ve all been getting every year.”

“But then there are a few calls on the list that don’t make sense to me,” said Tam. “The ones that seem completely random.” He tapped his finger on one of the phone numbers. “This one, for instance. April sixth, Lowell. My Best Friend Dog Groomers.” Tam looked up at his colleagues. “As far as we know, Ingersoll never owned a dog.”

“Maybe he was dating the groomer,” said Jane.

“I called the number,” Tam said. “They’d never heard of him, and he wasn’t on their doggy client list. I thought maybe he’d called a wrong number.” He pointed to another entry. “Then there’s this call, April eighth, to Worcester. It’s the number for the Shady Lady Lingerie store.”

Jane grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to know the details on that one.”

“When I spoke to the store,” said Tam, “no one recognized the name Ingersoll. So I assumed it was just another wrong number.”

“A reasonable assumption.”

“But incorrect. He did mean to call that number.”

“Please tell me he was buying sexy underwear for a girlfriend and not for himself,” said Jane.

“Sexy underwear was not involved. His phone call wasn’t meant for the Shady Lady at all, but for the party who used to have that number.”

Jane frowned. “How did you figure that out?”

“After your visit to the Bolton Academy, I pulled up the state database of missing girls, just as you asked. I put together a list of every girl who’s vanished in Massachusetts over the past twenty-five years.”

“You went that far back?” said Frost.

“Charlotte vanished nineteen years ago. Laura Fang twenty-one years ago. I arbitrarily chose twenty-five as the cutoff, to give myself a good margin, and I’m glad I did.” Tam pulled a page from a bulging folder and slid it across the table to Jane. Midway down the page was a phone number circled in red ink. “This is the number Ingersoll called, the one now assigned to Shady Lady. Twenty-two years ago, that same number was listed under the name Mr. Gregory Boles in Worcester. Twelve years ago, the number was reassigned to another party. And then four years ago, it became the number for Shady Lady Lingerie. Phone numbers turn over all the time, and with more and more people giving up landlines, the turnover’s even more frequent. I think that’s the party Detective Ingersoll was actually trying to reach. Gregory Boles. But Boles moved out of state twelve years ago.”

“Who is Gregory Boles?” asked Frost.

Scanning down the page of phone numbers, Jane suddenly felt a thrill of comprehension. “These are the contact numbers from the missing children’s database.” She looked up.

Tam nodded. “Gregory Boles is the father of a missing girl. I was planning to review all the cases that are currently open in the state. Every female under eighteen who’s vanished during the past twenty five-years.” He pointed to the bulging folder he’d brought in. “But I realized it was a monumental task, sifting through them all,