Silver Dagger

by T. L. Sinclare

  Loud ringing shattered the dream. Madeleine bolted upright. Her heart pounded in her chest and moved up to her throat and ears until all she could feel was the throbbing of her own pulse. She gasped a few breaths and looked at the clock.

  The red illuminated numbers glowed back. 8:00 A.M. Damn. She was late for work.

  She grabbed for the phone.

  "Hello?" Her voice shook, her body still captive to sleep. The dream crashed through her mind and sensation flooded her body.

  "Madeleine?"

  She sighed with relief. Scott.

  "Oh, good, it's you." She dropped back onto her pillow.

  "Are you okay?"

  Her ears no longer throbbed, and her heart didn't feel as if it was going to explode.

  "I'm fine. I overslept. Weird night." Stephen and those strange erotic visions had danced around her head until sheer exhaustion had dragged her into sleep in the early morning. And he'd followed, haunting her dreams with penetrating eyes and seductive kisses. And his voice. Whispering to her.

  She glanced again at the clock. It was too early for Scott to be calling. He was a cop who worked the late shift. She sat up slowly in the bed.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Madeleine…"

  She'd known Scott for years—since law school before Scott had dropped out to join the force—and in all that time, she'd never heard him sound so grim, so serious. She dropped her elbows to her knees and let her head fall into her hands. Dread filled her heart. "Danielle?"

  "We found her last night. She's dead, Madeleine."

  "Oh God."

  "I'm really sorry."

  "What happened to her?"

  "It looks like she was mugged and left for dead."

  Her mind spun—racing to process the information. "Can I see her?"

  "Madeleine, that's probably not a good idea. We can get someone else to make a formal identification."

  "No, I want to do it." I did little enough for her in life, she added silently.

  He paused for a moment, as if considering his options, and finally agreed. "Okay. I'll meet you at the morgue."

  Mumbling a barely coherent reply, Madeleine hung up the phone. She lay still on the bed, her body frozen in time. The numbers on her clock clicked as they changed to 8:02. Only two minutes ago there'd been the expectation of finding Danielle alive. Now, there was nothing.

  In a fog, Madeleine showered and dressed, drank some coffee to give her artificial energy, and called her office to tell her secretary that she wouldn't be in today.

  Bright sunlight momentarily blinded her as she stepped onto the sidewalk. She paced in front of the building, waiting for the taxi she'd ordered. The sun blazed but the rest of the world clung to the storm. Leaves, wet with rain, molded to the sidewalk, the limp shapes forming decaying clumps. Earthworms drowned slowly in the tiny puddles that had lured them from the ground.

  Madeleine rubbed her hand along her shoulder trying to get rid of the chill that lingered despite the warm morning air.

  She stared without seeing the street. It was too early for the drug dealers to be out. The children in the neighborhood had already made the desperate dash to the safety of the local public school. A few workers were heading toward the bus stop. Madeleine would have been one of them if not for Danielle.

  A lone man lingered across the street. He stood in the alley, his face hidden in the deepest shadows. She knew better than to stare. The rule of the street was to look at no one for long. But she couldn't look away. There was something familiar about his body. She couldn't see his eyes, but she felt them watching her from the dark of the shadows.

  A honk grabbed her attention. She stepped back, dodging the soggy splash from the taxi's tires as it pulled to a stop. Climbing into the cab, Madeleine gave the address for the city morgue. She looked forward, ignoring the startled look on the driver's face.

  Danielle's dead. Danielle's dead. She couldn't believe it. Just last night she'd been ready to lecture Danielle on safety and calling home and hanging out with strangers—now this. Madeleine closed her eyes and dropped her head against the back seat. All the things she'd planned to say seemed so trivial, so petty. And too late. Guilt lurked on the edges of her thoughts.

  I should have taken better care of her.

  The driver dropped Madeleine in front of the building. She stepped onto the curb and paused, gathering her courage before walking up the sidewalk. Scott met her at the door.

  "How are you doing, Madeleine?" he asked, his gruff voice hesitant, as if unsure how to provide comfort at a time like this.

  She tried to smile. "Fine."

  "Are you sure you're up to this? We can do a photo ID."

  Madeleine shook her head. "I need to see her."

  Scott was silent, but he turned and led her through the double doors.

  The antiseptic smell assaulted her senses. It smells like a hospital, but they deal in death. She followed him down bright white hallways. Why white? Why not black to suit the visitors' moods? Or even gray?

  Her mind raced with nonsense questions. Anything to avoid thinking about why she was here. Scott led her down the long hall into an equally bright room. Madeleine kept her eyes on his back, not wanting to see what she feared would be around her. A huge window dominated one wall. A table stood in the room beyond the glass. A body rested on top.

  A body. Not a person. The person is gone.

  Madeleine stared at the sheet covering the body and waited, her mind surprisingly distant.

  The cloth was pulled back. Danielle's pale face lay still against the shocking white around her. Madeleine nodded. A lump caught in her throat. She swallowed, trying to clear it.

  The sheet fell and Danielle was gone. Madeleine barely noticed Scott leading her out of the room.

  She sank down onto a bench that had been conveniently situated outside the door, her shaking legs finally giving out. A cup of coffee appeared in front of her blank, staring eyes. She took the cup from Scott without looking up.

  "What happened to her?" She listened to the quiet, almost dead sound of her own voice.

  "Her throat was cut."

  "Where did it happen?" she asked.

  He hesitated only a moment before answering. "We found the body in an empty warehouse. Got an anonymous tip."

  "Convenient."

  "Her money was gone. Her dress torn a bit. It looks like a mugging gone bad. Her body was dumped to hide it." Scott cleared his throat. "I know this is hard for you, Madeleine, but I need to ask a few questions about who might have wanted to hurt Danielle."

  She looked up. "I thought you said she was mugged."

  "It looks that way, but we have to check out everything." Madeleine nodded. "Was Danielle involved in anything that would get her killed? Was she doing drugs? Did she gamble?"

  "I don't think so." Madeleine looked from Scott to her hands, back up to Scott. "I don't know. I would have said no, but recently—I don't know—she's been different." She took a shallow breath.

  "You found an apartment for her in your building and helped her get a job?"

  Madeleine nodded.

  "I told her mother I'd look out for her. Guess I didn't do a very good job," Madeleine said with a self-mocking laugh. Tears began to form. She blinked them away, not allowing herself the luxury of sinking into the grief and guilt that threatened.

  Scott squatted in front of her and took her hands in his. "This is not your fault."

  Madeleine nodded. It seemed like the best answer.

  Scott wouldn't understand. It was the difference between logic and feeling. Logically, she knew it wasn't her fault. But that didn't seem to make much difference with Danielle on that table.

  "So you don't have any idea what she might have been involved in?"

  "No. She was a nice girl, but she had bad taste in men." Madeleine froze as images of her strange visit last night returned. "Wait. She had some new friends. They aren't like the normal guys she hung out with." Her heart started to pound. She co
uldn't save Danielle, but maybe she could help find who killed her.

  "Names?"

  "Stephen and Dylan."

  "You know them?"

  "No, I just met them last night. I thought Danielle might be there, and I went over to talk with her. They said they hadn't seen her."

  "Madeleine…" She ignored the warning tone of Scott's voice.

  "Dylan seemed okay. Nice. Young. But the other one…"

  "Stephen?"

  She nodded. "There's something about him." She couldn't describe it. How did she explain that she'd been terrified and attracted by the same man? How did she explain she'd invited him into her home and kissed him?

  "What?" Scott finally prodded.

  "I don't know, but it was just something."

  "And they knew Danielle."

  "Dylan did. He was worried about her. Stephen said he'd never met her, but I'm not sure I believe him." Her mind searched for proof—something to give to Scott. She could do this. She could bring Danielle's killer to justice.

  "Okay, I'll look into it." Scott snapped his notebook shut.

  "I could help."

  "Madeleine, let me handle it. It's my job. Do you have a way to contact them?"

  "They have a house on State Street," she said with a sigh. If that was all she could do, then that's what she'd do. "I'll call you with it when I get home."

  "Good." She stood and they walked to the front of the building, Scott carefully guiding her. He opened the door, indicating Madeleine should precede him. She turned and waited for him to follow her out.

  "This has a price."

  "What? You're selling me information?" Scott's incredulous look almost made Madeleine smile. Almost. She couldn't find the power to smile, knowing Danielle lay dead in that room—murdered, while Madeleine was supposed to be looking out for her.

  "I don't want money, Scott. I want information. I want to be kept up to date on what you find out."

  "Madeleine, you know I can't do that."

  "Yes, you can. I'm not asking for privileged information. I just want to be kept in the loop. She was my cousin, Scott. I'm not asking much. Just keep me informed."

  Scott sighed. "I'll do my best, but give me that address. And Madeleine, stay out of it."

  ***

  "Scott, what the hell is going on?" Madeleine held the phone with one hand and the newspaper with the other. The article was small and the headline benign, but it still sent a pain through Madeleine's chest.

  "Madeleine, I told you, yesterday and the day before that and the day before that—nothing is going on. It was a mugging." He spoke patiently and consistently, just as he had every other time she'd called. It wouldn't do any good. She didn't believe him.

  "Tell me that's not Danielle they're talking about."

  She found the relevant passage and started to read. "The body of a young blond woman, not identified by the police, was found in an abandoned warehouse. The blood had been drained from her body. "

  "Madeleine, we get a lot of homicides. Don't assume that story has anything to do with you. Danielle was mugged. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Did you talk to Stephen and Dylan?" she pressed.

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "And nothing, Madeleine. Dylan was Danielle's friend. Stephen had never met her. Besides having no reason to kill Danielle, they have alibis for the day of the murder." Scott sighed. Deeply. "Madeleine, it was a mugging. Let it go."

  She shook her head even though Scott couldn't see her. "I don't buy that. You searched her apartment. Twice. If she was mugged, why would you care what happened in her apartment?"

  "It was routine."

  "Fine." Madeleine hung up the phone without saying good-bye. Scott was lying. He'd been lying since he'd reluctantly agreed to give her information.

  She walked to the window and watched the night settle on the city. The pale pink streaks of the setting sun echoed through the haze of dust and smog. The streets emptied as people hurried home. She looked across the street. He was gone—the man who stood in the alley's shadows. She let the curtain fall and pushed the concern aside. It was probably nothing. In this neighborhood, people claimed a section of sidewalk as their own and then defended it with their lives. He was probably just some new drug dealer. She was getting paranoid.

  She briefly considered telling Scott about him but dismissed it. If he was telling the truth and this was just a mugging, then the stranger on the street could have nothing to do with it.

  She paced the length of the room, losing track of how many times she passed by the threadbare couch. She tried to mentally organize what she knew, but she kept coming back to the same place. She needed information.

  Don't do it. Trust Scott. She exhaled sharply, her breath hissing through her teeth. Yeah, right.

  She reached the short table she used for a phone stand and jerked open the cluttered drawer. Danielle's spare keys were somewhere in the pile.

  Danielle had giggled when she gave them to Madeleine. "Be sure to knock," she'd said. "I might have Mister Right in there." Madeleine had smiled, thinking it was cute that Danielle was still looking for Mister Right.

  Madeleine had thrown the keys in the drawer and forgotten about them. She pawed through the mess of old notes, bent nails, plastic silverware, and loose change until the bright red ring was shifted to the top of the pile. Grabbing them, Madeleine picked up her own keys and walked into the hall.

  She hurried down two doors to Danielle's apartment. Police tape no longer barred the entrance.

  She opened the door but hesitated. It was a dead person's house. Her fingers gripped the door frame.

  Either go in or go home.

  She took a deep breath and stepped inside. It looked like it always had—cluttered and frilly. Danielle had loved lace. Madeleine walked through the living room and glanced in the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place, but then again, nothing seemed in place either. Danielle had had a fluid style of housekeeping, piles flowing into each other.

  Madeleine grasped the handle of the bathroom door and stopped. This is the point in horror movies when the unsuspecting neighbor finds a body hanging from the shower rod.

  "What are you doing in here, Miz Bryant?"

  "Ahh." The yelp broke from her throat. Turning, she came face to face with Bob. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to slow her wildly beating heart. "What?" she demanded.

  "This ain't your apartment, Miz Bryant. I'm not sure you're supposed to be here."

  Madeleine ground her teeth together, trying to hold back the words that threatened to burst forth. Adrenaline surged through her body. "Danielle gave me a key." Her voice shook. "Her mother asked me to clean out her stuff."

  "Yeah, it's a shame about her. She was a looker. And she was a nice girl. 'Course it always happens. Them guys like that fancy fella of yours always get the good-lookin' ones."

  Madeleine nodded, listening, as she did in any conversation with Bob, only partially. She opened the bedroom door. Bob's words registered. She spun around.

  "Wait. Fancy fellow of mine? Who are you talking about?"

  "That dude you were with the other night. Last time I saw your cousin she was getting into his car."

  "Here? He picked her up here?"

  "Yeah."

  "And you're sure it was him?" she pressed.

  "Yea-ah." Bob looked at her like she was stupid. "I keep up on the comings and goings of just about everybody around here. I especially noticed your cousin, if you know what I mean?" He gave Madeleine a knowing nod and wink. "She wasn't the kind of girl a man can ignore. I just didn't picture the two of you into sharing." A repulsive smile curled his lips. He took a step closer. "I kind of pictured you as the straitlaced, one-man woman type." He winked again.

  Madeleine barely noticed. Stephen knew Danielle. He'd lied to her.

  Shock moved through her body. She didn't know why she should be surprised—why wouldn't Stephen lie to her? But somehow she was disappointed
.

  "I was just coming up to see you, Miz Bryant." Bob's voice stopped her as she stepped into the hall. "This package was delivered for you this morning."

  He handed her a large brown envelope.

  "Thanks," she said absently, taking the envelope and turning it over in her hands. It looked official. Her secretary sometimes sent things to Madeleine's home, but it wasn't her handwriting on the outside.

  Bob cleared his throat as he took a step closer. Madeleine almost choked on the smell of stale cigars in his clothes. He ran a finger down her bare arm. "Don't I get a tip?"

  She slapped his hand and nodded. "Yes. Touch me again and I'll break your fingers."

  She didn't stop to see his reaction. She hurried to her own apartment and snapped the locks behind her. She tore the envelope open and gasped.

  It was Danielle's autopsy report.

  Madeleine stared at the report and felt her way to the couch. She sank down and flipped through the pages. The words blurred in front of her eyes. It told her nothing—nothing she could understand. She flipped to the back page and sighed with relief. The final opinion had been highlighted.

  Cause of death was blood loss from a wound at the neck. There was little blood found in the victim's body, almost as if she'd been drained. Postmortem wound at the neck indicates someone was trying to hide the initial wound. Additional postmortem wound found in her heart made by a nonserrated blade.

  She dropped back against the couch. What was going on? Who'd sent this to her?

  She looked at the outside of the envelope again. No return address. Bob might remember who delivered it but as he'd said, it had been delivered this morning; she didn't think it was high on his priority list. Besides, she didn't want to think of the price she might have to pay for the information.

  It had to be Scott. Only someone official could get this information. Maybe Scott was afraid he'd be reprimanded for giving her the information so he'd sent it to her anonymously.

  It didn't really matter how she'd gotten it—she knew. Danielle was the girl in the newspaper article.