Listen To Me (Rizzoli & Isles #13)(5)

Jane’s cell phone rang with the screech of violins. It was the movie theme from Psycho and it set her nerves on edge—appropriately so. Without looking at the caller’s name, she silenced the phone and walked back inside.

A nurse. Who the hell kills a nurse?

“Aren’t you going to answer her?” asked Maura as Jane returned to the dining room.

“No.”

“But it’s your mother calling.”

“That’s why I’m not going to answer it.” She saw Maura’s raised eyebrow. “This is the third time she’s called today. I already know what she’s gonna say. What kind of cop are you? Don’t you even care about a kidnapping?”

“Someone’s been kidnapped?”

“No. It’s just some girl from her neighborhood who took off. It’s not the first time she’s run away.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“I’ve already talked to Revere PD and the ball’s in their court. They don’t need me butting in.” Jane looked down again at the body. “I’ve got enough things on my mind.”

“Detective Rizzoli?” a voice called out.

Jane turned to see a patrolman standing in the front door. “Yeah?”

“The neighbor’s granddaughter just arrived. She’s ready to translate for you, if you want to come next door.”

Jane and Frost stepped outside, where the sunlight was so bright Jane paused for a moment, blinking against the glare as she took in the audience watching them. A dozen neighbors stood on the sidewalk, drawn by the spectacle of official vehicles parked on their street. As a CSU van pulled up behind the row of patrol cars, two gray-haired women shook their heads, their hands pressed to their mouths in dismay. This was not the circus atmosphere Jane so often encountered downtown, where crime scenes were entertainment. Sofia’s death had clearly shaken those who knew her, and they watched in mournful silence as Jane and Frost walked to the neighbor’s house.

The front door was opened by a young Asian woman dressed in pinstripe slacks and a pressed white blouse, oddly businesslike attire for a Saturday morning. “She’s still pretty upset, but she’s anxious to talk to you.”

“You’re her granddaughter?” asked Jane.

“Yes. Lena Leong. I’m the one who called 911. Grandma called me first, in a panic, and she asked me to call the police for her because she’s not comfortable speaking English. I would have gotten here sooner to translate, but I had to meet a client downtown.”

“On a Saturday morning?”

“Some of my clients can’t come in any other time. I’m an immigration attorney and I represent a lot of restaurant workers. Saturday morning’s the only time they’re free to see me. You do what you have to do.” Lena waved them inside. “She’s in the kitchen.”

Jane and Frost walked through the living room, where the plaid sofa looked pristine under plastic slipcovers. On the coffee table was a bowl of fruit carved from stone, jade-colored apples, and rose quartz grapes. Eternally gleaming produce that would never spoil.

“How old’s your grandmother?” Frost asked as they followed Lena to the kitchen.

“She’s seventy-nine.”

“And she doesn’t speak any English?”

“Oh, she understands way more than she lets on, but she’s too embarrassed to actually speak it.” Lena paused in the hallway and pointed to the photo on the wall. “That’s Grandma and my parents and me, when I was six years old. My parents live down in Plymouth and they keep asking Grandma to move in with them but she refuses. She’s lived in this house for forty-five years and she’s not about to give up her independence.” Lena shrugged. “She’s stubborn. What can you do?”

In the kitchen, they found Mrs. Leong sitting at the table with her head in her hands, her silver hair as unkempt as dandelion fluff. A cup of tea sat in front of her, the scent of jasmine wafting up with the steam.

“Nai nai?” Lena said.

Slowly Mrs. Leong looked up at her visitors, her eyes red from crying. She pointed to the other chairs and they all sat down, Lena taking the chair next to her grandmother.

“First, Lena, can you tell us what she said to you on the phone?” said Frost, pulling out his notebook.

“She said she and Sofia planned to get together this morning. But when Grandma went next door and rang the bell, no one answered. The door wasn’t locked, so she went inside. She saw the blood. And then she saw Sofia.”

“What time was this?”

Lena asked her grandmother, and Mrs. Leong responded with a long stream of Mandarin that was surely more than just the time of day.

“A little before eight a.m.,” Lena said. “They were going to make tamales together. Usually they do it in January, but that was too soon after Tony died, and Sofia was still pretty shaken up.”

“That would be Mr. Suarez?” asked Jane. “How did he die?”

“It was a hemorrhagic stroke. They operated on him, but he never woke up. Spent three weeks in a coma before he died.” Lena shook her head. “He was such a nice man, so sweet with my grandma. With everyone, really. You’d see him and Sofia holding hands whenever they walked around the block. Like newlyweds.”

Frost looked up from the notebook he’d been jotting in. “You said your grandmother and Sofia were going to make tamales this morning. How did they talk to each other?”