The Silent Girl Read Online Free PDF

bag. She and Frost looked at each other.
    “You wanna do the honors?” he asked.
    She reached in, tugged on the bag, and immediately knew that it didn’t contain a corpse. It wasn’t heavy enough. Grimacing at the smell, she untied the bag and looked inside. Saw shrimp and crab shells.
    They both backed away, and the dumpster lid swung shut with a thunderous clang.
    “No one at home?” the cop asked.
    “Not in there.” Jane looked down at the severed hand. “So where’s the rest of her?”
    “Maybe someone’s scattering parts all over town,” said Frost.
    The cop laughed. “Or maybe one of these Chinese restaurants cooked her up and served her in a nice stew.”
    Jane looked at Frost. “Good thing you ordered the clams.”
    “We did a walk-around already,” the patrolman said. “Didn’t find anything.”
    “Still, I think we’ll take a stroll around the block ourselves,” said Jane.
    Together, she and Frost moved slowly along Knapp Street, their flashlights cutting through the shadows. They saw shards from broken bottles, scraps of paper, cigarette butts. No body parts. The buildings rising on either side had dark windows, but she wondered if eyes were watching from those unlit rooms above, tracking their progress down the silent passage. They would have to make this same inspection again by daylight, but she did not want to miss any time-sensitive clues. So she and Frost inched their way up the alley to another strand of police tape blocking off access from Harrison Avenue. Here were sidewalks and streetlights and traffic. Yet Jane and Frost continued their painstaking circle around the block, from Harrison to Beach Street, gazes sweeping the ground. By the time they’d finished their circuit and were back at the dumpster, the crime scene unit had arrived.
    “Guess you didn’t find the rest of her, either,” the cop said to Jane and Frost.
    Jane watched as the weapon and severed hand were bagged, wondering why a killer would dump a body part in such an exposed place where someone was sure to spot it. Was it a rush job? Was it meant to be found, a message of some kind? Then her gaze lifted to a fire escape that snaked up the four-story building facing the alley.
    “We need to check the roof,” she said.
    The bottom rung of the ladder was rusted, and they couldn’t pull it down; they’d have to reach the roof the conventional way, up a stairwell. They left the alley and returned to Beach Street, where they could access the front entrances to that block of buildings. Businesses occupied the first levels: a Chinese restaurant, a bakery, and an Asian grocery store—all closed at that hour. Above the businesses were apartments. Peering up, Jane saw that the windows on the upper floors were all dark.
    “We’re going to have to wake someone to let us in,” said Frost.
    Jane approached a group of ancient Chinese men, who’d gatheredon the sidewalk to watch the excitement. “Do any of you know the tenants in this building?” she asked. “We need to get inside.”
    They stared at her blankly.
    “This building,” she said again, pointing. “We need to go upstairs.”
    “You know, talking louder doesn’t help,” said Frost. “I don’t think they understand English.”
    Jane sighed.
That’s Chinatown for you
. “We need an interpreter.”
    “District A-1’s got a new detective. I think he’s Chinese.”
    “It’ll take too long to wait for him.” She climbed to the front entrance, scanned the tenant names, and pressed a button at random. Despite repeated buzzes, no one answered. She tried another button, and this time, a voice finally crackled over the intercom.
    “Wei?”
a woman said.
    “It’s the police,” said Jane. “Can you let us into the building, please?”
    “Wei?”
    “Please open the door!”
    A few minutes passed, then a child’s voice answered: “My grandma wants to know who you are.”
    “Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston PD,” said Jane. “We need to go up on the