The Silent Girl by Tess Gerritsen Page A

guy’s a martial arts student?” said Frost.
    “He has both talent and passion. I do not waste my effort on just anyone.” The smile was gone from Iris’s face as she regarded her visitorswith cool appraisal. Her gaze fixed on Jane, as if she understood in which visitor the authority lay. “Why have the police come to my studio?”
    “We’re from the homicide unit, Boston PD,” said Jane. “We need to ask you a few questions about something that happened in Chinatown last night.”
    “I assume this is about the dead woman on the roof?”
    “Then you already know about it.”
    “Everyone is talking about it. This is a small neighborhood, and like any Chinese village, it has its gossips and its busybodies. They say her throat was cut, and her hand was thrown off the rooftop. And they say she had a gun.”
    Whoever
they
were, they knew too damn much, thought Jane.
    “Are these stories true?” asked Iris.
    “We can’t really talk about it,” said Jane.
    “But that is why you’re here, isn’t it? To talk about it?” Iris said placidly.
    They regarded each other for a moment, and Jane suddenly realized: I am not the only one seeking out information. “We have a photo we’d like to show you,” she said.
    “Is there a reason you’re asking me?” Iris asked.
    “We’re talking to a number of people in the neighborhood.”
    “But this is the first I’ve heard about any photo. And I think I
would
have heard about it.”
    “First, we need to show you a picture. Then we’ll talk about why.” Jane looked at Frost.
    “I’m sorry you have to see this, ma’am,” he said. “This might be a little upsetting for you. Maybe you’d like to sit down first?”
    His quietly respectful tone seemed to melt some of the ice from the woman’s eyes, and she nodded. “I am feeling weary today. Perhaps I will sit down, thank you.”
    Frost quickly scooted a chair closer, and Iris sank down with a sigh of relief that told them how much she welcomed his gesture. Only then did Frost reveal the digital image that Maura had emailedfrom the morgue. Although the victim’s wound was discreetly covered by a drape, the facial pallor, the slack jaw and half-open eyes, left no doubt that this was a photo of a dead woman.
    In silence, Iris stared at the image for a solid minute, her expression unchanging.
    “Ma’am?” said Frost. “Do you recognize her?”
    “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Iris said, and looked up. “But I don’t know her.”
    “You’re sure you’ve never seen her?”
    “I have lived in Chinatown for thirty-five years, ever since my husband and I emigrated from Taiwan. If this woman came from my neighborhood, I would know.” She looked at Jane. “Is this all you came to ask me?”
    Jane didn’t immediately answer, because she’d noticed the fire escape, which snaked right past the window. From this room, she thought, you could access the roof. Which meant you’d have access to all the rooftops on this block, including the building where the victim died. She turned to Iris. “How many employees work here?”
    “I am the primary instructor.”
    “What about that young woman who just showed us in?” Jane glanced at the name in her notebook. “Bella Li.”
    “Bella has been with me for almost a year. She teaches some of the classes, and collects tuition from her own students.”
    “You mentioned your husband. Does Mr. Fang also work here?”
    The woman blinked a few times and looked away. “My husband is dead,” she said softly. “James has been gone for nineteen years.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Fang,” Frost said quietly, and it was apparent that he actually meant it.
    A moment passed, silent except for the noisy clack of wooden practice swords in the next room, where the class was sparring.
    “I am the sole owner of this school,” said Iris. “So if you have questions, I am the one to ask.” She straightened. Her composure had returned, and her gaze settled on Jane, as