Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  Albert scratched his head. “What time was he at your house?”

  “Before eight,” Jill answered. “Mark was inside using the bathroom.”

  “Mark?”

  “Mark Castro. My protection detail.”

  “Mark the detail,” Albert repeated, trying to place him in a sea of cop faces, finally Mark’s coming into focus.

  “Yes. Fred came by unannounced. He’s never done that before. And he was in a snit because Mark was inside. I actually thought to myself, Fred needs anger management. I’d never noticed Fred having any issues, and then out of nowhere he insulted me about not cooking a meal for him. It was just strange. There was something wrong; the entire situation was off.”

  “Well, maybe now we know why,” Albert said. Jill bowed her head. Albert held his breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out.

  “No, but not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I have a gut feeling, but I don’t want to say anything. It’s probably irrelevant.” Jill didn’t tell him that she was sure the reason someone killed Cynthia Caldwell had something indirectly to do with her.

  Albert pulled back onto the road, merging on the expressway in the opposite direction and headed back to Detroit to hand the case file over to another team.

  11

  Rob Sanders was the new chief in Detroit, but he’d been a cop for a long time. When Jill Zannos called to inform him that she and Albert were returning to Detroit to relinquish their case, he didn’t question it. His only concern was that the swamped homicide teams all had holiday murders to solve, and there wasn’t anyone else available. A two-week period of relative quiet after Thanksgiving had given them a false sense of security in which detectives were patrolling the streets to give them something to do. The hiatus ended in a flurry of the brutal taking of lives.

  Jill and Albert walked into his office with the slim case file. Repeating the facts, including the details of Fred coming to her apartment Saturday morning and discovering Mark Castro there, Jill left nothing out. Rob would interview Mark later, who would corroborate her story.

  “Al, did you have any connection to Fred Cooper through Jill?” Rob wanted to keep Albert on the case, joining himself if need be. There wasn’t anyone else available.

  “I don’t think so.” Albert looked at Jill. “Did I meet him at Gus’s?”

  “You may have met him,” she answered.

  Rob looked at his calendar and couldn’t see any reason not to take Jill’s place. There was no alternative.

  “I guess I’m your new partner, then, Albert.”

  Jill and Albert looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

  “Sir, wouldn’t you rather have me switch with another team member?” It seemed a little unsafe to have someone who’d been sitting at a desk for ten years come out in the field at the beginning of a case. But neither Albert nor Jill would say it out loud.

  “I would, but there isn’t anyone to switch places with,” Rob explained. “Yep, better let my wife know I won’t be available for Christmas shopping anytime soon.” He gave a little chuckle; it would be preferable to work a murder case than go to Costco with his wife five days before Christmas.

  “What am I supposed to do while you’re working my case?” Jill asked. Rob missed it, but Albert could hear the venom behind the question. Jill’s idle hands would not be pretty.

  “You can be the researcher,” Rob replied.

  Jill raised an eyebrow. “But then I’ll still be working the case,” she said. “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize this; remember, I’m a witness.”

  “Point taken. Don’t contact Fred Cooper. I’d hate it if you let it slip that he was a suspect.”

  Are you kidding me? Jill thought, squeezing her hands together to keep from slapping his face. “There’s no danger of that.”

  “You’ve just had an injury. Take it easy this week; be available if we need you. When’s the last time you had a vacation?”

  She looked at Albert, and they started laughing.

  “She’s never had one,” Albert answered.

  “Well, that’s unacceptable. Consider yourself on vacation starting now.”

  “I don’t want to take a vacation,” Jill said, attempting not to sound petulant and failing.

  “Then you’re on emergency medical leave. No offense, but you look like you were kicked in the face by a horse.”

  “Thanks, Rob. I’m leaving.” To Albert, she said, “You’d better get to Grand Rapids.”

  “Hey, don’t take it personally,” Rob said defensively.

  Fuck off, asshole, Jill thought. But to his face, she would show the respect her father had instilled in her.

  “Right,” she answered and walked out. Even though she knew it was nonsense, Jill was embarrassed Ron dismissed her. It was insulting, and worse, she felt demeaned. Her anger clouded her judgment. Walking out of the building, she grimaced at the cold hitting her sore face. It was damp out, bone-chilling, snow-in-the-air Michigan winter weather. She looked up at the sky; gray clouds followed by darker snow clouds lumbered across the sky. Her father’s apartment had a brick fireplace, and she longed to stretch out on the couch in front of it and take a nap. Pulling out her cell phone, she texted Albert.

  Stay in touch. This is really killing me.

  No worries, he texted back. It’s killing me, too.

  Laughing, Jill knew it would be difficult for Albert to spend an hour in the car with Rob let alone an entire afternoon.

  Albert was not looking forward to the next days. The team of Wong and Zannos worked like a piece of finely tuned machinery. Neither doubted the other because they were free to check and cross check and double check. Now, Rob would expect Albert to follow his lead, and Albert didn’t know if he had it in him to do so. They went out to the parking lot, and the first conflict arose.

  “My car’s over there,” Rob said, pointing.

  “I’d like to drive, sir,” Albert replied.

  “Well, let me this time. I do my best thinking while I’m driving.”

  What Albert feared happened; Rob talked continuously from the time they left Detroit until reaching the greater Grand Rapids area.

  The first stop was a search of Cynthia Caldwell’s house. Rob followed the GPS, winding through residential streets until they pulled in front of a tiny cottage decorated with twinkling lights visible in the gray daylight, strung over the trees, windows, the railings and the fence. Cynthia Caldwell loved Christmas.

  “How are we getting in?” Rob asked.

  “Her parents are meeting us,” Albert said, checking his watch. Not usually a clock-watcher, minutes with Rob seemed like an eternity, and he struggled not to roll his eyeballs every time the man spoke.

  Glancing at the cottage again, the tragic death of its owner hit him. There was one moment in every murder case, just one that he acknowledged, in which the reality of loss of life hit him hard. If he dwelt on it too long, he wouldn’t be able to do his job. He hated that a young woman with every advantage would fall prey to a man in some way. The full picture had yet to unfold, but in time, he’d know to what extent she’d listened to lies. It was often the same thing, a poor choice led to death. It made him sick. Fortunately, the arrival of her parents put an end to his inner dialogue. He watched them pull up in the side-view mirror, getting out of the car to meet them.

  He introduced Rob, whose title of lieutenant and position of authority was a comfort; Detroit appeared to be doing everything they could to solve the murder of their daughter.

  “This is Cindy’s sister, Valarie,” Elizabeth Caldwell said dismissively. Not, “This is Valarie, Cindy’s sister.” Apparently Valarie was second place in her mother’s life; Albert felt the hostility toward her in Elizabeth Caldwell’s voice. Valarie would ultimately become a target for her mother’s anger. She was probably in her late teens, Albert thought, plain to Cynthia’s flashy looks, but prettier, w
ith large brown eyes that were currently swollen and red. Curvier than Cynthia, Valarie was dressed in sweatpants and a down-filled jacket, but even the bulk of her clothes couldn’t hide her figure. Albert offered his hand, which she grasped with a weak shake, nervously eyeing him.

  William Caldwell was moving up the walkway impatiently. “Come on,” he said. “I want to get this over with.” Reluctant family members often resisted disturbing the belongings of their love ones, and Albert would help them through it. Caldwell put the key in, but the door swung open without unlocking.

  “Someone’s already been here,” he said, reaching over to flip a light switch on, the beveled ceiling fixture casting an eerie glow over the room. Albert gave it a once-over, it looked like the room had been ransacked, while Mrs. Caldwell gasped, pushing her way between Albert and Rob.

  “Her house is always messy,” Valarie said.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Albert said gently but firmly. “This is a crime scene.” Rob called the local police to send their team.

  “What could this mean?” Caldwell asked. “Is it a coincidence?”

  “I don’t think so,” Albert said.

  “Dad, I’ve seen enough,” Valarie said. “I want to go home.” But she was looking at Albert, shifting her eyes to the side, giving her head a subtle nod. The Caldwells’ crying resumed; while they were distracted, Albert slipped his business card to Valarie, who quickly pocketed it.

  “We’re not leaving,” Caldwell replied.

  “Shouldn’t we be here when the police arrive?” Elizabeth Caldwell said. “Or does it make a difference?”

  “You may be able to tell if anything is missing,” Albert said, looking around the mess. “It looks like they were searching for something.”

  William Caldwell pointed to a wall-mounted flat-screen. “Her television is still here. She kept her jewelry box at our house because of break-ins in the neighborhood in the past month.”

  Albert nodded his head. He walked through the house, checking the locked back door. “This doesn’t appear to be a break-in; whoever came through the door had a key.”

  They went back out on the front porch and stood close but separate, shivering in the freezing cold. The sky was clear, the sun shone brightly here on the west side of the state, but its warmth didn’t penetrate the atmosphere.

  “We’re supposed to get more snow back in Detroit,” Rob said. “I thought you’d have more than we do.”

  “We’ve had a mild winter so far,” William Caldwell said. Talking about the weather! Albert thought, looking at Rob, trying to get his attention. The hints and unsaid words exhausted Albert. The guy can’t shut up. Fighting the urge to look at his watch, he was aware of Elizabeth Caldwell weeping again. She’d learned her daughter was dead less than six hours ago. The pain must have been unbearable. Caldwell put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. They both began to cry.

  Although she hovered close by, neither attempted to draw Valarie into their embrace, which Albert found disturbing; surely she was suffering, too. He looked away, but Valarie caught his eye again. She had tears on her cheeks, seemingly desperate to talk to him. He mouthed, now? and Valarie nodded. Turning from her parents, she walked down the steps of the porch, and Albert followed her. They walked to the other side of the cruiser, but Rob was following. Valarie wasn’t going to talk in front of Rob. The opportunity disappeared as her parents consoled themselves into an argument and the Grand Rapids police arrived. The chance for the confessional was over, for now.

  They left the cottage, this time Albert driving Rob’s car. As he pulled the cruiser into the Griswold Country Club parking lot, confusion passed over Rob’s face. “What are we doing here?”

  “Interviewing Caldwell’s employer and co-workers,” Albert said, frowning. He had a headache. They got out of the car, and Albert hung back, exhausted from the encounter with the Caldwells and the hours of banter about Rob’s life; his daughter’s soccer team, his son’s college tuition, his wife’s uterine prolapse.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I want to lead this investigation.” There. He’d said it.

  Rob, who had already walked halfway to the entrance, turned around. “And why is that?”

  “Because it’s my case,” he said simply. “And Jill and I have a plan we think will work best.”

  “Oh, is that right,” Rob said. He rubbed his chin, then put his hand out. “After you, Detective.”

  Nodding his head, Albert walked past Rob through the club’s entrance. In the corridor at a lavishly carved desk sat an attractive older woman. She saw Albert, so obviously not a member of their club with his striking Asian features and long black hair, standing alongside a rumpled, middle-aged man. Cops, she thought, snickering.

  “How may I help you?” she said, smiling. Albert opened his badge case, and she looked at it and back to his face.

  “May I speak with Cynthia Caldwell’s boss?”

  The woman’s expression didn’t change. They’d heard about the horrible murder of their event planner, and everyone was upset. Why else would cops be there?

  “Certainly,” she said, pushing an intercom button and speaking softly into the handset. She pushed back from the desk and stood up. Albert was impressed with her suit: vintage and expensive. She didn’t seem very upset, either.

  “Follow me, please,” she said.

  Walking behind her, they passed through a massive carved door and along a dark, wood-paneled hallway. The carpeting was thick and muffled the sound as they followed her to an open door where a gray-haired, distinguished man looked up from his desk. The woman stepped aside so Albert and Rob could pass by, shutting the door behind her.

  “We were wondering when you’d get to us,” the man said, holding out his hand. “James Becker,” he said. “Cindy was my employee. She practically ran our event services single-handedly. What an awful thing.” He looked like he was struggling to keep it together, but Albert couldn’t be sure if it was genuine.

  “Her body was only discovered this morning, Mr. Becker.”

  “Have a seat,” Becker said, trying but failing to ignore the imagery of her body only being discovered this morning, while pointing to two chairs positioned in front of his desk.

  “Did Cynthia work on Friday?” Albert asked.

  Becker cleared his throat, working hard at recovering from the vision the words evoked. “Yes. She was here until eight. We had a staff dinner. Cindy came alone. She wasn’t dating anyone that I knew of, and she often came to our functions unescorted or with her sister. It’s perfectly fine with us. We’re an old-fashioned club with rules about a lot of issues, but unescorted ladies are no longer forbidden.”

  Albert wished Jill had heard it. It took a lot of control to keep from responding.

  “What was the menu?” Albert asked. He wanted to know if her last meal of steak came from the dinner.

  “Prime rib, among other things.”

  “Fries?”

  Becker looked confused. “Why?”

  “Just want to know,” Albert said, smiling.

  “Yes, or baked potato.” Suddenly understanding why Albert might be asking, the reality of the conversation struck; the man turned pale again, losing what little ground he’d gained.

  “Oh.”

  “What time did she leave?”

  Becker looked off into space, shifting a little in his seat. It occurred to Albert that he might have been more than Cynthia’s boss.

  “Around eight,” he repeated, hesitating.

  “Was that the last time you saw her?” Albert looked at Becker from his notepad.

  “I waited for her to show up for a wedding we had on Saturday afternoon, and she never arrived. I can’t remember her ever missing an event.”

  “So Friday was the last time you saw her,” Albert said, growing weary.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you try to contact her? Call her family?”

  “I did both. Then I felt terrible alarming her parents.”r />
  “Did you leave a message on Cynthia’s phone? Text her?” Albert noticed a muscle twitch in the corner of Becker’s mouth as he thought about what to say next.

  “Both. I was pretty angry that she’d dropped the ball.”

  Albert leaned forward in a gesture of intimacy. “Look, Mr. Becker. If there was anything going on between you and Cynthia, you might as well tell me now. We will find out, and your omission will appear suspicious to us. Get it?” He moved his eyebrows up and down a few times for emphasis.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, indignant.

  Albert let it go. Now he was sure a relationship had existed, but it would crop up later when the messages from Cindy’s phone were retrieved.

  “We’d like to interview her friends here at the club.”

  “I’ll round them up for you,” he said, cooperative. “You can use this office if you’d like. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  “How’d you figure he was involved with the victim?” Rob asked. “I didn’t get that vibe at all, and now I’m sure he was.”

  “I didn’t,” Albert explained patiently like he was training a rookie. “It’s not uncommon for bosses to have intimate relationships with their employees, so it’s a standard question I ask of every possible suspect.” Albert thought incredulously, This guy’s my boss!

  “Hey, I’m just makin’ conversation,” Rob replied, noticing Albert’s concern.

  The woman at the desk reappeared with a tray of coffee. “I thought you might enjoy this.” Albert thanked her, and she placed the tray down on a low round table nearby. In a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. Albert answered and stood aside as a tall, gangly young man passed through.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said, pointing at the empty chair, doing a quick evaluation. The man was stooped over and had a definite challenged looked about him. “Have a seat. I’m Detective Wong, and this is Chief Sanders. You are?”

  “Paul. Paul Cummings,” he answered, twisting his baseball hat in his hands.