Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  By the time Albert Wong and his sidekick pulled up in front of Cynthia Caldwell’s cottage, Valarie had stashed the contraband safely under the front seat of William Caldwell’s car.

  Albert and Rob arrived back in Detroit after two in the morning. “See you tomorrow,” Albert said, going to his own car. He’d locked Fred Cooper’s service pistol in a small safe in the trunk of the cruiser. In the morning, a ballistics expert would examine the gun. Not allowing his own feelings to influence him, Albert focused on the facts in this case. It looked bad that Fred Cooper visited Jill Saturday morning, but there was no evidence that he knew Cynthia Caldwell was in Detroit. Hopefully, phone records would reveal something else.

  14

  Jill locked the door after Mark left her apartment at midnight Monday night. They were getting to know one another, becoming friends. As a cop, he understood what she was going through. They’d talked for hours by the light of the Christmas tree. “I guess I have to thank you for encouraging me to get the tree, even though it was sort of a manipulation by guilt.”

  “Anything I can do for you, you just have to ask,” he’d said, laughing.

  The decorations from Gus added so much to the Christmas tree; it was no longer a meaningless symbol but a repository of family memories, history and tradition. They’d sat next to each other at the window, drinking hot chocolate laced with Baileys and eating Mexican Christmas cookies that his aunt had baked.

  “I’m getting used to your face,” he said, smiling. “I almost don’t see the bruises anymore.”

  “Great. Just what I want,” she answered, laughing. They avoided any conversation regarding her reason for not being in the investigation. It was relaxing being together, and she didn’t want to spoil it with talk about things out of her control.

  She went into the bathroom, wincing at her reflection. It was worse, her eye swollen shut. Her broken rib hurt, so she took an over-the-counter pain pill. Looking at the tree with its sparkling fairy lights made her feel better, so she decided to sleep on the couch again. The tree provided the only light in the apartment, and it reminded her of her childhood, of security and love. Carefully positioning her body with her broken rib up, her head on the pillow, she was finally comfortable. Smiling, it felt like Christmas after all.

  The next morning, the sun was barely up, frost patterns on the windows of her apartment obscuring the view. Jill looked with her one eye and rolled to her back. If anything, the pain was worse. Sitting up at the edge of the couch as slowly as she could, there was a soft tap at the door. Making her way painfully over the floor, she peeked through the peephole. It was Albert.

  Prepared for his reaction, she ignored his gasp as she stood aside so he could walk by. “That looks like it hurts,” he said, saving the brutal truth for another time.

  “I can handle it,” she said brusquely.

  “I’m sure you can,” he said. “I’m just not sure I can.”

  “Well, leave, then,” she said sarcastically, walking into the kitchen. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Yes,” Albert replied with a chuckle. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be sitting down?” Albert was alarmed but trying to keep it to himself and failing.

  “For a while there last night I didn’t think I should be alone,” she admitted. “Finally, the aspirin started to work. That combined with Baileys.”

  He walked to the small counter that separated her galley kitchen from the living area. “I’m sorry,” Albert said. “Sorry about that and sorry about everything.”

  She turned to look at him. “As glad as I am to see you, I know this isn’t a social call.”

  “No, I do have something to tell you,” he said.

  She went back to the coffee preparation and handed him a mug. “I have cookies, too,” she said. “Not Greek.” Placing the leftovers from Mark on a pretty plate, she put them on the coffee table. They sat down on opposite ends of the couch.

  “So, are you ready?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Fred has the tapes found in Dan Asher’s cottage. The tapes Asher made of your aunt.”

  Frowning, Jill thought back, was it only six weeks ago that her aunt was murdered? Fred told her the tapes found during the search of the murderer’s cottage disappeared to protect Uncle Nick, a retired state trooper, and his barracks was in on the investigation since the murderer lived in their jurisdiction.

  “How’d Fred end up with the tapes?” Jill asked. “I thought he told me they’d disappeared.”

  “He was there during the search of Asher’s cottage. Either his colleagues gave the tapes to him, or he took them,” Albert said.

  Jill was speechless.

  “It appears he was duplicating the videos.”

  “To resell?” she asked, incredulous. “I don’t believe it.”

  “This is information from the victim’s sister. Now here’s the thing, Jill. According to the sister, Cynthia Caldwell was in Detroit to tell you Fred had the videos. She supposedly had the videos with her, but they were never recovered.”

  She didn’t speak right away, thinking about what this information meant. She drank coffee, looking at the tree again. The situation was surreal. “She came to tell me about the videos, and is murdered instead.”

  “Yes, that’s the way it looks right now, according to the sister. She is no fan of Fred Cooper.”

  “Things are never as obvious as they seem,” she said, still staring at the tree.

  He didn’t say anything about Fred dating Cynthia Caldwell or her being seen leaving Fred’s apartment Saturday morning. “That’s true. At least in our experience.” He went on to tell her about the conversations he had with the chief, Caldwell’s family and boss, and then the break-in of the cottage.

  “Do you think someone was looking for the videos?”

  “I do,” Albert said. “Her computer was missing.”

  But Jill was shaking her head. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “All over a grainy tape of two old people’s lovemaking?” Neither said anything more for a while, drinking their coffee. Suddenly, Jill jumped up with a shout, grabbing her side, startling Albert.

  “I just remembered something.” She picked up her phone and punched in a number, Albert watching, curious.

  “Maxine, this is Jill Zannos. I know it’s early, but please call me as soon as you get in. I just remembered that I saw footprints in the snow along The Strand when I returned to Belle Isle yesterday. Before the attack. I’m sorry I’m just remembering now.” She left her number and hung up from the call. “I can’t believe I didn’t report this.”

  “What difference will it make?” Albert asked.

  “It’s huge. It could mean there was a third person at the scene when Caldwell was murdered.”

  “Jill, she was killed on Saturday. Who knows how many people hiked through the snow over the weekend?”

  “No, this was different. Someone crept along the trees that grow along the road. Like they were trying to stay out of sight of the caddy shack.”

  “What are you getting at?” Albert asked, his turn to frown. “Maybe they belong to whoever attacked you. Maybe the person was just ahead of you.” The thought she was that close to her attacker sent shudders through him.

  “I don’t think so. They didn’t look fresh. There’s something more here,” she said. “Oh, I wish I could have seen the look on Fred’s face when you got to his apartment.”

  “It was clear he was shocked to see us,” Albert said.

  “Because he was caught or because he was just taken by surprise?”

  “I think he was afraid he’d been caught being a whore,” Albert replied apologetically.

  “Yes, and I hope he feels like crap about it. He’s involved in this in some way. I can just feel it. There’s something we’re missing.”

  “Like what? Drugs?”

  But she was shaking her head. “No, not drugs. Why Belle Isle? Belle Isle is a Detroit thing. People from Grand Rapids who want to kill in town d
o it in a hotel room or an alley.”

  Now it was Albert’s turn to frown. “Where’d you come up with that?” he asked, confused.

  “It’s statistics,” she said. “The world runs on stats.”

  Albert drank the last of his coffee and stood up. “Okay, well, I guess I better get moving. You should probably stay home,” he said. “As much as I want you to come in.”

  “Work here,” she suggested. “I’d like to see the case file, and I shouldn’t even touch it at the precinct.”

  He agreed and would get copies of the field investigators’ report and autopsy. She had a DVD player if the video Maxine’s team made of the crime scene was ready.

  “I look forward to getting away from Rob,” he said.

  She laughed, holding her broken rib, imagining what it must have been like to spend the entire day with their boss, but grateful he didn’t complain about it to her since she was responsible for it.

  15

  On Tuesday, Mark woke up with a smile on his face. In his bedroom, an armchair piled high with wrapped packages, rolls of wrapping paper, and shopping bags full of unwrapped gifts stood in a corner. Just a few more days until Christmas, he was looking forward to the holiday this year for a change, and the anticipation reminded him of when he was a child.

  During his youth, his family made the pilgrimage to see his great-grandmother in Mexico every Christmas. The memories of the warm December nights, the lights strung on the streets of the villages, with the sounds of brass bands playing traditional carols flooded over him. When his mother’s abuela (grandmother) died, they no longer traveled to Mexico. Detroit had very strong Christmas traditions, including the J.L. Hudson’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the second oldest Thanksgiving parade in the country. The parade marched down Woodward and ended with Santa Clause arriving on his sleigh. Mark remembered waiting to see Santa and then being too shy to tell him what he wanted for Christmas. His mother had the sentimental photos of him sitting on Santa’s lap year after year, until she thought he was too old. Jill was the first person to whom he admitted he believed in Santa until he was thirteen.

  “You didn’t!” She was trying not to laugh, but it was hopeless. He was laughing, too. “How’d you finally discover the truth?”

  “Believe it or not, I was at church sleep-away camp one night; when we were sitting around bullshitting, I asked the other campers what they wanted Santa to bring them for Christmas. Their response was pretty shocking.”

  Jill was holding her side, laughing. “What happened next?”

  “They started making fun, and I figured it out right away. ‘I’m just kidding!’ I said. But I let my mother have it when I got home Sunday night.”

  Whistling while he got ready for work, he thought of Jill, how pretty and smart she was. Although they’d just met, knowing her made him happy, and happiness was not something he usually associated with himself. But it was nice, a pleasant, relaxed feeling that he could get used to. It would be enough for the time being; he didn’t imagine she’d allow a relationship to develop quickly after she admitted jumping into one in September that was turning out badly. Shaving his face, he rinsed the razor under the hot water with each swipe. It turned out that the guy who showed up at Jill’s door Saturday morning was seeing the murdered woman as well as Jill. It didn’t mean he was guilty of murder, but it didn’t look good, and it would almost guarantee a closer look by investigators.

  Work gear organized neatly on his bed, he was as detailed about his uniform as everything else in his life; his fellow cops called him metrosexual, teasing Mark because of his perfectly coifed hair.

  “Don’t light a match around Castro’s head; he uses so much hairspray it might explode into flames.”

  Laughing as he sprayed his hair, Mark already knew Jill was more laid back than he was about superficial stuff. She uniform dressed, wore minimal make up, and liked things neat and simple. She wasn’t a girly girl either, but it hadn’t mattered. He was attracted to her whether she wore sweatpants or her Kevlar vest.

  The kitchen alcove off the living room of his apartment was set up with a timed coffee pot that was already brewing. Coffee poured, he dialed Jill’s number.

  “How’d you sleep with your wounds?” he asked.

  “Not too bad,” she answered, thinking of what she’d just learned about Fred and his involvement in Cynthia Caldwell’s murder. Deciding to be honest so the distraction of the case didn’t impede their communication, she told him about Albert.

  “My partner came by this morning. He’s going to work here for a while today.”

  She explained a little about the case without giving away the confidential details, especially about her aunt.

  “I’d like to see you again tonight,” he said, really wanting to call out sick and spend the whole day with her, but not saying it.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Me, too. Be safe out there today.” Once she spoke the words of safety into the universe, she wouldn’t worry about Mark.

  “Okay, I will,” he replied with no ready sarcastic response, which took him aback. I must be sick. “You feel better.”

  “I’m trying,” she said, laughing. “By the way, before you hang up, if you’re free for lunch, stop by. My dad’s bringing food.” Mark agreed, and they said goodbye. She puttered around her apartment on a workday; so foreign to her to be free that she felt guilty.

  A similar situation was taking place a few blocks to the east in Greektown as Andy spoke to Nicole while getting the boys’ breakfast.

  “My mom and dad won’t be here until nine to watch the boys, so I wanted to say good morning before things got too crazy.”

  “Aw, good morning to you, too. It’s still quiet here, but that can always change in a second. How’d your day go yesterday?”

  With the boys off school on Christmas break, keeping them busy while working in the store, he hadn’t called her.

  “It was hectic,” he said. “But I thought of you and wanted to make sure you knew before it happened again. Today should be easier because of my folks. By the way, what’d you eat for dinner last night?”

  “Leftovers,” she said timidly. “I felt funny coming in for dinner.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “My uncle noticed you didn’t come in and mentioned it right away. ‘So you’re such a lousy date that I lose a good customer?’”

  Nicole burst out laughing. “He did not say that!”

  “He did. So he’ll accuse me of driving women away if you get shy. Come by and we can eat together.”

  She agreed and said goodbye, putting her phone in the pocket of her pink scrubs, and returned to finish stocking a supply cart. Hearing from a man while she was at work was a new experience, and she smiled, working with a little extra pep in her steps.

  Love wasn’t the right word to use for the way she felt about her job. But she really liked it. It fed her need for action and adventure, and balancing the relationships she had with other Type A personalities who worked a trauma unit added challenge to an already heady work environment.

  The privacy curtain to the cubical she was working in opened. “Nicole, two MVAs are coming in, and you’re getting one in here,” Head Nurse Debbie Frank said. MVA was the acronym for motor vehicle accident.

  “How old?” Nicole asked.

  “Adult female,” Debbie answered. The room was ready, and Nicole walked around confirming that she had everything they’d need to care for someone who’d been in a car crash. She hoped it was minor, never getting used to the abrupt loss of life due to trauma. Especially before Christmas. Let them be safe, she thought as she hung an IV bag with tubing dangling off it from the IV pole. The distant whine of an ambulance heard through the masonry walls of the hospital announced the arrival of her patient.

  Nicole spent the rest of the morning in a futile attempt to save the life of a young single mother hit broadside by a truck driver who had fallen asleep. Her daughter survived; they were on the way to the babysitter’s house before work. At noo
n, the trauma physician on the team called it; it was time to stop resuscitation.

  Heartsick, Nicole worked at removing all visible traces of their effort, combing the young woman’s hair, so her family, who had waited since nine that morning, could see her one last time. When she’d finished with her, pulling a clean sheet and blanket up to her chin, a man from housekeeping came into the cubical and assisted Nicole in cleaning up the mess of the room.

  Debbie came to the curtain and pulled it aside. “Are you ready?” she asked softly, and Nicole nodded her head.

  Ushering the victim’s parents in, Nicole stood by, just in case. For some reason, maybe because of meeting Andy, who was raising two small children on his own, this case got to Nicole in a different way than others had in the past. Always a tragedy when a life ended, she focused on the family left behind this time. It was difficult to gauge how old the victim’s parents were, but she thought at least fifty. Would they raise the orphaned child?