Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  “But why get married? Then you’ll have all the legal crap with your estate. It could be a nightmare.”

  He nodded his head. “That can all be worked out in my will.” He hesitated, ready to confess something that was difficult for him to put into words. “It’s the nighttime thing that bothers me. We were raised with the idea that didn’t happen unless there was a marriage certificate signed by the priest.”

  “You just said you weren’t getting married, and now you’re talking about a marriage certificate.” It took Maria a few seconds to understand this was Gus-speak for sex. He didn’t feel right about having sex with her because they weren’t married. Understanding the effort it must have taken, she didn’t press him.

  “Yes, I agree our strict upbringing had more than a few consequences,” Maria said gently.

  Gus understood what she was getting at. His sexual repression was too difficult to talk about with a stranger, so he never considered therapy, even when he discovered his wife had been unfaithful with his brother Nick. After the story was brought out in the open, it freed Gus from so many of the things that tormented him: loyalty to his dead wife, worry about Jill’s well-being. Estelle’s interest in him happened at the same time, and he was able to reach out to her. In spite of being a prude, he was doing quite well in the bedroom department, much to Dido’s chagrin.

  “Well, our upbringing aside, I think we’re doing okay, old man.” Maria smiled at him. “Everyone blames their parents for their problems. Our kids will do the same thing to us.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right,” Gus said.

  Andy came out of the kitchen with a bloody butcher apron on. “You two ready for the delight of a lifetime?”

  “What?” Maria asked. She was anxious to get on the road for home.

  “Freshly butchered lamb chops, grilled rare to perfection.”

  “Oh boy, bring ’em on,” Gus said, and Maria agreed. She’d leave after lunch. It was one of the benefits of having a family-owned grocery store, she thought. Better take advantage before Estelle puts the kibosh on it.

  9

  Albert waited while Jill’s discharge was processed. They expedited it for her sake as an officer of the law. In spite of a large, unsightly pressure dressing on her lower lip, she was slowly turning black and blue from chin to forehead, a face-plant on hardened snow responsible. Albert looked at her and winced.

  “What?” she asked, with attitude.

  “You look like you hurt,” he replied softly.

  “I’ll live. Let’s get out of here. For all we know, Parker’s henchmen are scouring the isle for his weapon.” They didn’t talk again until they were back on the McArthur Bridge.

  “How did I miss him?” she said. It was unlike her to miss a detail as large as a vintage Cadillac.

  “There are a lot of hiding places here,” Albert said. “He’s a tall man. If he threw a log at you, it could’ve been from a distance of a couple of feet, and you were standing in an enclosed area of woods. You can’t tell how long it took you to flip around from your back. It might have seemed like seconds, but by the looks of your face, it was probably longer than that.”

  Jill looked out the window, wondering how they were going to work the case of Cynthia Caldwell, no longer thinking about her own experience.

  “Where do we start with Caldwell?”

  “You tell me,” Albert said.

  “We have to look at her life,” Jill replied. “There doesn’t seem to be anything else. It’s too bad the bullet that killed her is buried under a foot of snow. What’s the temperature supposed to go up to this weekend?”

  “I don’t think high enough to melt the snow on Belle Isle, but stranger things have happened,” Albert said. “Maxine said they’re looking in a ten-foot swath behind the victim.”

  “Let’s say Parker shot her. He still has a weapon, for simplicity’s sake, the same one that killed his daughter. It’s a 45. Caldwell’s slightly built, about one-fifteen. So we look five feet behind her?”

  “Okay, that sounds right.” They arrived at the scene, more gruesome in broad daylight. Albert didn’t know where to look, at his partner’s black and blue face or the blood-soaked snow. They ducked under the yellow tape and walked a wide path around until they came to the mark the human body left in the snow. The torso was visible, with the arms down at her sides. There was some blood above where the wound approximately was, but not much. Crime scene technicians had returned in the daylight and were working further from the blood area.

  “You said five feet,” Albert said. “Let’s measure that from about here.” He pointed to an area where Cynthia Caldwell’s heart would be. Pulling a measuring device out of his pocket, he gave Jill the end. She walked five feet from where Albert was standing.

  “Let it go,” he said. She looked down where she was standing and released the tape measure. Scanning the area, Jill turned her back to Albert and looked slightly further than five feet. Squatting down, she dug a pen out of her pocket and stuck it in a spray of small black holes she’d spotted, easily missed in the night, floodlights or not.

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” Albert said, incredulous, as Jill turned to smile at him, the cotton batting bobbing on her face. She pulled woolen gloves off, put vinyl ones on and dug in the snow with her pen, picking fabric and metal fragments out along with pieces of flesh.

  “A needle in a haystack.”

  “Or a bullet in the snow,” Albert said. “Jesus, Jill, awesomeness.”

  “When’s the autopsy? This looks like fragmented jacketed hollow-point, but it would be nice to know for sure.”

  Albert got on the phone to call the morgue, discovering that the family was on their way to Detroit and the autopsy would wait until they’d viewed the body. Jill squatted duck-like, picking through the snow until she had a baggie of evidence, horrible flesh and bone, and bloodied white wool coat fabric. She found what could have been pieces of Caldwell’s bra: pink nylon strands. It made Jill sick; she visualized the lavender plant in her kitchen window instead, purple fronds and heady scent replacing reality.

  “Do you want my help?” Albert asked, guessing Jill was having a moment all cops had, and thankful a suspect wasn’t available to take out her anger upon.

  She shook her head as she tried, with a busted rib, to help technicians shovel bloody snow into buckets.

  While Jill and Albert were busy on Belle Isle, Mark was sitting in a tank heading back to the precinct. The call turned out to be a false alarm, a busted-up dump of a house in which a homeless man lived alone with his dog. Mark and a comrade each pulled ten-dollar gift cards to 7-Eleven out of their vest pockets; 7-Eleven was one of the few convenience stores left in the neighborhood. The man was appreciative; he’d have cigarettes and dog food. In an average day, a cop could dispense two or three of these cards, bought out of their own wallet. It was something no one heard about, more fun for the media to share the negative about the Detroit Police.

  All day long, Mark had to pull himself from dream state to reality. His dream state was one in which he sat across the small table in Gus’s store talking to Jill. She was so beautiful, all cheekbones and aquiline nose, her shiny hair pulled back with a barrette that couldn’t contain it, so free strands were always floating around her face. Her skin was so clear; it wasn’t really olive, but she had an exotic look that he loved.

  He was able to make her laugh, too, and that thrilled him. She was stodgy, he’d been told; a loner, prudish, unliked by other women on the force. But he could see why she’d be misunderstood or, more likely, envied. She was shy, a no-nonsense workaholic, but self-assured. The devotion she felt for her father and respect for her heritage was clear. If he was really interested in pursuing a relationship with her, he’d better be prepared to embrace whatever she cherished.

  “What the hell are you thinking?” he said, frowning. I’ve known her for two days. At his locker, changing out of combat gear, he would stay busy and keep his head together. He could feel
his decision to stay single slipping…he’d avoided getting involved and wanted to keep it that way, thinking he was too rigid in his ways for any serious relationship or marriage. Marriage? What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Who said anything about marriage?

  Thoughts of Jill caused a physical response; his palms started to sweat, next his face. He tried everything to combat it: deep breathing, meditation, overeating. When Jill walked down the steps the previous Friday, he knew he was in trouble the moment he laid eyes on her. Not able to concentrate or to get her out of his mind, he’d exercise. He put on a pair of sweatpants and went down to the gym. Running on the treadmill would get his mind off Jill. Well into his workout, a tap on his arm interrupted his run.

  It was his commanding officer.

  “Hey,” Mark said, turning off the treadmill. He took his earbuds out. “What’s up?” he asked, iPod off.

  “I thought you should know that your protection detail was injured today. Evidently, she was on Belle Isle working a case, and an object hit her with enough force to break a rib. She needed stitches. I heard she’s banged up in her face, too.”

  Mark didn’t engage him, and he nodded and walked off. Not able to move for a second, questions swirled through his head. Who did it to her? Where were her stitches? He carefully stepped off the treadmill, frightened, angry. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket but had to leave the gym before he tried calling her because there was no phone reception in the basement.

  “Hey, Castro, wipe down your machine,” the attendant called.

  “Fuck off,” Mark replied, punching buttons and putting the phone to his ear. She answered right away. “It’s Mark,” he said. “My commanding officer just told me you were injured.” His heart was beating so hard he was having trouble talking, lips trembling.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she answered, wanting to tell him what she was really feeling, needing him. She was afraid something was wrong with her mentally because she never admitted fears. So instead, she stuck to the facts, feeding him details about what had happened to her, in turn frightening Mark.

  “This might be totally inappropriate, but I feel like I need to see you right now,” he said.

  “Yes, me too. But I’m still on the Isle, digging up bullet fragments. As soon as CSI finishes, I can leave. Do you want to meet at home?” She was already calling her place home to Mark.

  “Wait. You’re working?”

  “I had to finish,” she said, trying not to wince as she lifted a shovel of snow.

  “I’m leaving the gym now,” he said. “I’ll get over as soon as I can get away.” He could leave safely as long as he was within a reasonable distance. Her apartment wasn’t that far. Looking at his watch, it was only two. He wouldn’t get through the day without seeing her again.

  Hair still wet from showering, he rushed out of the precinct, telling his partner that he had to check on a fellow cop who’d been hurt.

  Waiting for her in front of the apartment, in minutes Jill pulled up behind him. He jumped out of his car and went to hers, bending over to look in, shocked at her bruised face, her left eye swollen.

  “I know, I look bad,” she said, swinging her legs out of the car. Placing his hand gently under her chin, he looked at her mouth first, at the line of stitches barely covered by the pressure bandage.

  “Well, not so bad,” he said, uncertainly, then, “Yes, it’s bad.”

  “Oh God, don’t make me laugh. It hurts to stretch my lips, and my rib is killing me.”

  “Which rib?” he asked. She pointed to her left side. Placing his hand on the right side of her back, he led her to the staircase.

  “What happened?” Mark asked.

  Jill explained what she remembered, being hit, the confusion afterward, not calling for help.

  “Whoever it was could have been waiting for you,” he said gently, not wanting to admonish her, but needing to understand why she’d take the risk.

  “Don’t get angry, but evidently, he was. It was Jacob Parker. Albert thinks I might have been unconscious for a moment.” The thought that she’d lain in the snow for any amount of time while that pervert looked on enraged Mark, but he successfully squelched it, not wanting to do anything that would make her cautious about sharing her concerns with him.

  They walked into the apartment, and Jill closed and locked the door. “Come here,” he said, his voice husky. Jill went to him, and they embraced, her head on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding through his coat, and Mark nestled her head under his chin. He ran his hand along her back where she’d been hit.

  “Does that hurt?”

  Jill shook her head, unwilling to break the spell she felt they were under, but guessing it was time. They couldn’t stand there all day, and she was longing to kiss him.

  “Well, all I can say is thank God you are okay. Are you hungry? I can make us lunch unless you already ate.”

  “Not here, you won’t. I don’t have any food. Let’s go to my dad’s.” She stepped away from him, but he grabbed her arms again.

  “Wow,” he said, bending down to look into her eyes.

  She giggled, looking into his, too. “I’m outta control.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I guess we’d better get moving,” she said, reluctant to do so. “We both have to get back to work.”

  “I’ll drive,” he said. “Come in my car. I can drop you back here if I need to leave.”

  They went out to the car, and he opened the door for her. Jill hesitated.

  “I’m thirty-six.”

  She said it softly, before they went any further, seeking out his eyes.

  “So,” he said, frowning. “Age means nothing.”

  “My time clock and all that. I thought you should know.”

  He looked down at her, longing for her. He fought the desire to pull her to him again before she got into the car.

  “Well, then we can’t waste any time,” he said instead, helping her in before closing the door. He walked around the front of the car, the look of concern clear on his face, but she didn’t say anything when he got in next to her.

  “The good thing about what happened today is that Parker is behind bars,” she said, hoping to lighten his mood.

  “Lucky for him,” Mark said, thinking with pleasure about what would happen when word got out that Parker was in jail for assaulting a police officer. He reached over and took her hand.

  “You’re freezing,” he said, letting go of it and turning the heat on in the car. “Oh boy, how’s this going to affect your father?”

  “He knows,” she said. “I did the daughterly thing and called him when I went to the ER. The only reason I went in was because my mouth was bleeding. Look, I’ll live. Thank you for not grimacing when you saw me.”

  “You look like he kicked you,” he said, wanting details about what had happened.

  “No, he didn’t make contact with me exactly.” She told him what happened, how she was punched from behind and thought it was a spirit.

  He looked at her, confused. “Well, it could have been a ghost, but it sounds like he got you with a non-lethal.”

  “I bet that’s exactly what it was,” she said. “There’s a rubber bullet under the snow at Belle Isle.”

  “It won’t be difficult to find if the snow ever melts,” Mark replied.

  “This is as good a time as any to tell you I have a little bit of second sight. Some people call it ESP.”

  He pulled over to the curb, finding the rare on-street parking spot. “This is our lucky day,” he said.

  “I knew there’d be a spot here before you turned the corner,” Jill said, holding her mouth as she laughed.

  “I’ve heard about you,” he said, smiling as he shut the car off.

  “Oh, awful,” she said, frowning. “I don’t like people to know.”

  “Ha! People are jealous of you, or they wouldn’t talk. Screw them.” He got out and walked around to the sidewalk to open her door, and she let him pamper
her.

  “I’ll accept your help again to get out. This rib is starting to ache.”

  He took her hand and gently squeezed it. “Can you take medical leave?”

  “No, I have a case to investigate, remember?”

  He held up his hands in a sign of submission. “Right, right, my mistake. No time off.”

  “Yeah. Don’t you forget it. And don’t mention it in front of you-know-who.” She nodded toward the door, where her worried father was standing waiting.

  “Oh no, Jill.” Gus spoke in Greek, repeating it over again. “Look at your face, your eye! The bruising. It looks so painful. Should you be out in the cold?” Estelle was looking over his shoulder, repeating everything Gus said, the synchronization of their concern about as annoying as could be to Jill.

  “She needs an ice pack,” Estelle said. “Hot mint tea and her feet up on a stool.” She scurried away to find a stool.

  “Let’s sit in back so no one loses their appetite looking at me,” Jill said. She kept her head turned away from the table where a few early diners sat while Gus followed, wringing his hands, speaking to her in Greek.

  “Dido isn’t going to appear from out of nowhere, is she?” Jill asked, looking around.

  “She’s upstairs,” Estelle assured her.

  Andy came out next, concerned, wanting to see for himself. “Oh, it’s really that bad,” he said, frowning. “Mind if I sit with you two?”

  “Only if you keep your comments to yourself,” she answered. “I’m starving, by the way. And Mark’s technically working, so this has to be fast.” The words were out of her mouth when his phone rang. It was work.

  “I’ve got to take off, but you stay to eat.” He looked up at Gus. “Will you get her back to her car?”

  Gus nodded. It was rare for him to leave the store in the middle of the day, but to keep her there for a bit, he’d do it.

  “Will I see you later?” Jill whispered.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll call you when I finish up.” Mark said goodbye to everyone. While Gus prepared her lunch, Andy kept her company.