Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection

by Edwin Dasso

  “Okay, Valarie, tell me what happened,” Albert said.

  Valarie shifted in her seat, scared. She made the decision she’d reveal everything because it was too difficult to keep inside anymore.

  19

  “Wake up!” Paul shouted into the phone. “She’s taking the video to Detroit.” Struggling to sit up, Valarie listened in disbelief, rubbing her eyes.

  “How can you be sure?” she whispered. Paul would never find the video she’d planted. “Maybe it’s one of the murdered lady’s porno videos.”

  “I’ve already searched her place,” Paul said, near hysteria. “The disc is gone. There’s only the cop’s evidence videos left.” After following Cindy from the state cop’s apartment and seeing her going east on the expressway, he rushed to her house, using the key he’d taken off her key ring months ago, and searched for the disc.

  “But how do you know she’s going to Detroit?”

  “I heard her arguing with that cop that she was going to tell the girlfriend about the videos. I saw her getting on the M6 going east,” Paul said. “Where else would she be going?”

  “What do you want me to do?” Valarie asked. She had to intercede to protect her sister. If Cindy gave the Detroit cop the disc Paul had left at her apartment, well, the thought of what the result would be was petrifying. Not caring about what it would mean for Cindy, Paul only cared about losing his job. If Becker discovered the hidden camera, that would be the end. Losing his apartment, having to move back in with his mother was terrifying.

  “Be ready to leave in ten minutes, and I’ll pick you up,” Paul said.

  “Where are we going?” She was frightened.

  “To Detroit, where else?”

  Every year, Griswold Country Club held a lavish holiday party for their employees on Black Friday. Santa came before dinner, and one lucky winner walked away with the keys to a new Ford truck, donated by the local dealership. It was usually a repossession, and everyone knew it, but they didn’t care. The excitement generated in the guests of possibly going home with a new or almost new vehicle lasted through dinner and dancing.

  After Fred turned Cindy’s invitation down, she asked Valarie. “I know it’s last minute, but do you want to go to the club party with me? It’ll probably be boring.”

  “Ha! Well, now I can’t resist,” Valarie replied, laughing. It did sound awful, but it was an honor to be invited anywhere by her sister.

  “I actually have someone I want to introduce you to,” Cindy admitted. “He’s a little old for you, but I think you’ll like him, and Mom and Dad would hate him, so that’s even better.”

  Paul was becoming a nuisance, following her around the club, hanging around her office. His sudden interest in her didn’t rouse her curiosity, and his occasional sexual innuendo fell flat. Getting Paul off her back was Cindy’s motivation in the introduction, and she thought Valarie would be perfect for him.

  “This is Valarie, Paul. My little sister.” Later, he would tell his therapist that she was too young for him, and too sexual.

  “She didn’t have to say or do anything,” he confessed. “All she had to do was stand in her baggy sweatshirt and blue jeans with no makeup and her hair pulled into a rubber band and woman screamed out.”

  “Were you attracted to her?” the therapist asked.

  Paul looked out the window onto the yard and beyond, through miles of chain-link fence. “No, I don’t think it was attraction. I was afraid of her.” Paul wouldn’t say that being around Valarie made him feel even more impotent than he usually felt.

  But the attraction was instantaneous for Valarie. Although little about Paul’s appearance appealed to her, there was the mystique of Paul’s age; he looked young, but he was thirtyish, and he seemed to have a borderline personality disorder that her freshman year psychology class covered during the first week of school.

  Keeping the relationship a secret was important, not only because her parents would never approve of him, but because it added to the allure. She was sneaking around behind their backs even though she really didn’t have to because she’d ceased caring what they thought ages ago. They’d be embarrassed if they found out she was dating a maintenance man, and her goal was to make them as uncomfortable as possible around her.

  Valarie confided in Paul, who quickly learned of the competition the parents set up between the girls: Cindy, who they worshiped upon her pedestal, ignoring Valarie. Paul was confused, though; there appeared to be no sibling rivalry between the two. Having the information about the Caldwell family dynamics made it easier for Paul to goad Valarie into trusting him because he wanted an accomplice, making sure Valarie knew the secret about James Becker and Cynthia; she was having sex with the old man in return for cash. And Paul had it on video.

  For days, they thought of little else but how to use the information to get Cindy off that pedestal, Valarie wanting her sister to admit to having a fault. That wasn’t asking too much. Paul gladly gave Valarie one of the discs. Not wanting to come right out and reveal to Cindy what she’d learned, Valarie thought it would be more dramatic to plant it among the discs Cindy had taken from Fred’s apartment. Valarie knew Cindy hid the videos by taping them to the ceiling of her bedroom closet.

  It was a joke, nothing more than a joke. Imagining her sister taking the disc and sliding it into a player, the confusion at first as the video began with a pair of man’s trousers walking behind the desk, and then the rest of it; well, it was just too funny. Maybe subconsciously she wanted to expose her sister, but not to the police, not to get her into trouble.

  They’d both planted videos without the other’s knowledge. After following her to Fred’s the previous Wednesday, Paul watched Cindy go into the apartment. With her safely occupied, he’d returned to her house and using the key, placed the disc near her TV. He’d printed the word evidence on the disc in permanent marker.

  And now this. Valarie bounded out of bed and pulled on the dirty jeans she’d left on the floor the night before. If Cindy handed over the disc of her and Becker screwing in the country club to Fred’s cop girlfriend, she’d surely expose it, ultimately leading to Paul and Cindy losing their jobs. The thought of public exposure for her sister was unimaginable. It made her sick; all of this illicit sex going on and people videotaping each other had to have a bad ending.

  “Why’d you do it?” she’d asked Paul. They were watching the video of Cindy and Becker at Paul’s apartment. Valarie thought he was taking her there so they could have sex. In the weeks they’d been together, he never even tried to kiss her, and it was driving Valarie crazy. Then he admitted he’d planted a camera in the cigar stand that stood to the right of Becker’s desk. It gave a perfect view of anything that took place behind Becker’s desk, including hours of him itching his balls. Then the coup de grace: Cindy’s voice entering Becker’s office. Valarie had a fleeting moment where she wished she were vindictive; she’d send it to her parents.

  The video reached a revealing part. Becker whispered something to Cindy, and she knelt down in front of his chair while he unzipped. Thank God, the viewer only got an occasional glimpse of flesh because it made Valarie sick. When it was over, after the moaning and groaning stopped, Cindy would stand up and Becker would fish around in his pocket for his money clip. Valarie couldn’t see how much, but it didn’t make any difference.

  “So what?” she said to Paul. “She must feel it was worth humiliating herself for money, but what is it to me?”

  Paul shook his head and smirked. “She fucks him, too,” he said. Like that was worse. What was it about people these days thinking that a blowjob wasn’t as serious as a screw? Valarie hoped never to find out.

  “You have that on disc, too?” she asked, incredulous.

  He nodded. “It’s the same video; you have to keep watching.” At Paul’s urging, Valarie pointed the remote and hit fast-forward until he yelled for her to stop.

  “Stop right there,” he said.

  Valarie hit play again. Tha
nkfully, Cindy was wearing a full skirt that day, and they couldn’t see anything except for her sitting backwards on Becker while he sat in his desk chair. Valarie could see her fuss a little bit and imagined she was trying to keep her pretty dress out of the way. There was a little bouncing around and more moaning. When it was over, no one said anything, but he peeled off several bills this time, handing them to her.

  Valarie was ready to explode. So this was how her perfect sister kept up her lifestyle! What had been a loving relationship with little jealousy in spite of her parents’ treatment of her erupted into one of such contempt, Valarie could barely contain it. “What am I supposed to do now?” she cried. “Tell me, Paul, what was the point of showing me this?”

  “That’s your sister,” he shouted. “Are you proud of her?”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with me, Paul. Cindy is a grown woman.” She looked at him, saw the red spots high on his cheeks, his trembling lips.

  “Wait,” Valarie said, triumphant. “I should have known! You’re in love with her.”

  Paul looked at her with puppy-dog eyes, tears near the surface, and his expression led her to believe it was true. Valarie was as easily deceived as everyone else.

  “She sucked on that old man’s dick for a twenty-dollar bill,” Paul screamed.

  Valarie put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the tirade that followed. He wanted to get even with her sister. And he was using Valarie to do it.

  But it was almost too late. They had to reach Cindy before she gave the video to the cop. Valarie was waiting at the curb when Paul pulled up in his Camaro. “Get in,” he screamed when she opened the door. They said little as he sped down the interstate toward the east side of Michigan. The sun was coming up, blinding them both. She looked over at Paul, at his runny eyes. His clothes were a mess. He was so obsessive about most things, yet he smelled like he hadn’t had a shower in days.

  “How will you even find her?” Valarie said. “Detroit covers a lot of territory.”

  “We’ll call her first. There would be no reason for her not to tell us where she is.”

  “What if we’re too late,” Valarie asked.

  “We won’t be,” Paul said, yelling. “She didn’t leave until after five. We’re only a half hour behind her.” He thought for a moment. “Call her and pretend you’re just checking up to see how she is.” Valarie got her phone out and dialed Cindy’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “I’m trying to get to Detroit, and I’m lost!” she said. “I’ve driven around in circles for the past half hour.”

  “Where do you want to go? I can check the GPS on my phone,” Valarie offered.

  “Greektown,” Cindy replied.

  “Look for road signs, and then get off at the next exit. You can wait for me to figure out where you’re at.”

  “Okay, there’s an exit coming up for Dearborn Heights,” Cindy replied, calming down. “Thanks, Val.” There was silence as Cindy pulled off the next exit.

  “I’m on Telegraph in Dearborn Heights.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you right back,” Valarie said. She didn’t know how to use the GPS on her phone and stay on a call. She looked at a map, telling Paul where her sister was.

  “How the hell did she get to Telegraph?” Paul said. “She must have taken I275 south instead of getting on 696.”

  “Be quiet,” Valarie replied. “I’m calling her back.”

  “Tell her we’re coming to help her,” Paul said.

  “She’ll suspect something,” Valarie replied. “She’ll wonder why I didn’t say something when I just spoke with her.”

  “No, she won’t. Just do it. Tell her to meet at the caddy shack on Belle Isle. It’s easy to find, and we won’t miss each other.” So Valarie called Cindy again and said they were on their way to help her out. Cindy was so relieved she didn’t wonder why they just happened to be near Detroit, hours away from home.

  “What are we going to do once we get to Belle Isle?” Valarie asked.

  “We’ll take the disc away from her. If I have to, I’ll tell her the truth. She won’t want those images in the cop’s hands.”

  Valarie looked at him, afraid he was lying to her. “Are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?” Valarie asked.

  Paul glanced at her before he looked back at the highway. “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind,” Valarie replied. “Forget I said anything.”

  “I’m not in love with her,” he said.

  “Why’d you make the videos, then? Why risk the trouble unless you’re trying to set someone up?”

  “Just for sport,” he said, but his face was red, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He drove to the bridge that led to Belle Isle. “I came here every summer for my mom’s company picnic. It was great. We hiked to the lighthouse and back, played miniature golf. I have so many wonderful memories of Belle Isle.”

  “There she is,” Valarie said excitedly, catching sight of Cindy’s car. Paul pulled around into the parking lot, avoiding piles of snow the plows left behind, and drove alongside the car. Cindy looked over at Paul, a hint of a smile on her face. But when she saw Valarie, the questions about why they just happened to be right behind her were forming, wondering how they just happened to follow her to Detroit.

  Valarie opened the door and saw the mushy snow-covered driveway, sorry she’d worn her good boots. “Oh, my boots are going to get ruined.”

  “Stay in the car,” Paul said. He got out and walked around it to the driver’s side of Cindy’s car, and the next thing Valarie realized, he was dragging Cindy out by the arm. She was dressed even less appropriately, still in her dress and heels from the night before. Cindy didn’t fight Paul. Valarie wasn’t sure what the dynamic was between them, and suddenly she wondered if her sister was having sex with Paul, too. They disappeared behind the caddy shack for several minutes. Valarie pulled down the visor and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Then she heard gunfire twice, pop pop; flipping up the visor, she strained to see beyond the caddy shack, but her view was blocked. It occurred to her she could investigate, but fear kept her planted in the car. She saw a bright blue cop car driving past the parking lot, and she inched down in the seat.

  Soon Paul was running back to the car, face horrible, crying, and Valarie’s heart skipped a beat. Opening Cindy’s car door, he ducked in, grabbing a brown paper lunch bag containing two discs.

  Valarie’s heart was pounding in her chest, and she saw wet, maybe blood, on the front of his dark coat. “Paul, Paul, did you get shot?” she cried, reaching out to him, not believing what was happening. “What was that? I heard gunshots. Did she shoot you?” she repeated, terrified. He paused to see what she was talking about, looking down at his front.

  “It was an accident,” he said, frantic, shaking off her grasp. “I was holding my gun, and she struggled, and it just went off. We have to get out of here.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, mucous streaking the fabric.

  “Wait. You shot her? Let’s go help her!” Valarie screamed. “We can’t leave her here, Paul, for God’s sake.”

  “She’s dead,” he said, sobbing. “I held her in my arms. I could feel her heart stop. There’s nothing we can do for her.” He composed himself enough to start the car and put it into reverse.

  Cindy’s car looked so forlorn all by itself, Valarie hated to leave it. She knew she was being a pussy, letting this jackass be in charge, leaving her sister in the snow. What if she’s still alive? Pulling away from the caddy shack, Paul drove back to the bridge and out of Detroit, Valarie disbelieving, numb, the view out the window unseen. They needn’t have hurried, though; no one would go back until early the following Monday morning, and by then, all traces of Paul and Valarie would be gone, except for the imprints of his size thirteen Nikes in snow around Cynthia Caldwell’s frozen, bloodless body.

  20

  On Christmas Eve, for the first time since she was a child Jill took an afternoon n
ap, knowing it was the only way she’d stay awake for midnight mass. Her face looked better as the day progressed, but the pain from her broken rib and the stitches in her mouth wore her down, and by lunchtime, she was snoring. Mark sent her a text message and assumed she was resting when he didn’t hear back. Before he left her apartment that morning, he’d asked her for a date.

  “We’ve never been on a real date before, unless you count the trip to the mall,” he said.

  “I counted it as a date,” Jill answered. “Why?”

  “Well, I’d like to spend this evening with you. Christmas Eve. I know you do a meal and church with your dad, and I’d like to join you, if I’m not being too pushy.”

  Jill laughed. “Of course, you can join me. I’d be honored. Remember, though, my family always has something dramatic happen, and Christmas is no exception.”

  “Oh, I love family drama,” he said. “Promise me it will be juicy.”

  He left her apartment, and she watched him walk down to his car, looking up at her window to wave before he got in his car to drive away.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t have breakfast with her father, but she didn’t feel well enough to leave the apartment. Gathering the courage, she called him.

  “Papa, I’m not going to make it for breakfast this morning,” she said sadly.

  “Oh no,” Gus answered. “I’ll bring you something right away.” But Jill didn’t want him to come out in the rain, and she wasn’t hungry anyway.

  “No, you stay there,” she said. “I’m going to rest now. But I’ll have dinner with you tonight. Mark’s coming to dinner and to church, by the way.” They chatted a while longer about their plans and then said goodbye.

  After Gus hung up the phone, he looked out over his store and had a pang of anxiety. Although they’d never discussed it, he thought that Jill would probably leave the city if she ever married and thought about having a family. He couldn’t imagine not being able to see her every day.