Unseen

by Jana DeLeon

  Shaye reached onto her desk to grab a tissue for the distraught woman. “But they dispatched a unit to your apartment.”

  “Building security let them in. I was just coming around when they got there.”

  “You told them what you saw?”

  “Yes, and they sent police to the apartment, but they didn’t find anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything was gone. The man, the woman, the blue rug. There was nothing at all to indicate anyone had been there. Because I insisted that what I’d seen was real, they had a forensics team work the apartment, but they told me they found no evidence that a crime had been committed.”

  Shaye considered what Madison had told her and weighed it against her impression of the woman in front of her. Madison was clearly stressed and anxious. Either she’d witnessed something horrible or she believed she had. The question was figuring out which one.

  “You gave the police a description, right?” Shaye asked. “So that they could check for a woman matching it on the missing persons’ list.”

  Madison looked down at the floor again, a red flush creeping up her neck.

  “Madison?” Shaye said gently.

  “I couldn’t,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Have you ever heard of prosopagnosia?”

  Shaye shook her head.

  “It’s a disorder that affects your ability to recognize faces. It can be a really light case where you struggle a bit to place someone but finally do, or far more severe, like the cases where people don’t recognize their immediate family, even after decades of living with them.”

  “That sounds scary,” Shaye said. “I assume you have this disorder.”

  She nodded.

  “How bad?”

  “Pretty bad. I might not recognize my own parents in a photograph.”

  “But you would in person? By voice, I assume?”

  “That and by their mannerisms. I’d recognize both of them across a street by the way they walk. Some people I recognize by their hair because it’s a specific style and they rarely change it. Tattoos are another way. Clothes are too, although that’s harder with young girls as they like to exchange outfits with friends. Smell also works sometimes. That can be good or bad.”

  Shaye shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what that must be like. Something that everyone else takes for granted…and I understand where your problem lies. If you can’t describe the woman, then the police have no way of knowing if she matches a missing persons report or not and with no other evidence that a crime occurred—”

  “There’s nothing they can do,” Madison finished Shaye’s thought. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure they did everything they could, but they don’t have anything to go on.”

  Shaye frowned. “That guy took a huge risk doing something like that in plain view of the other building. The police couldn’t find any other witnesses?”

  “My building is one of those that was recently renovated into condos. The building manager told me I was the first person to move in, and I’ve only been there a week. And even if there are other occupants now, none of them would have been able to see into the other apartment. My unit stretches the entire length of the building across the front, and it’s higher than the building across the street.”

  “So you were looking down into the other apartment.”

  Madison nodded. “And they weren’t right up against the window, so I don’t think anyone lower could have seen them.”

  Shaye considered everything Madison had told her. There were several more angles of investigation that she assumed the police had covered but probably didn’t go to the lengths of explaining them all to Madison.

  “Do you remember the name of the detective you spoke with?” Shaye asked.

  “Detective Maxwell. He was nice and patient, even though I’m sure my condition sounded weird to him. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m unhappy with the police because that’s not the case. I understand that his hands are tied.”

  “But you thought I could do something the police can’t?”

  “Maybe. I hope, anyway. I have a good job. The money isn’t an issue.”

  Shaye knew a little about Detective Maxwell and even though her relationship with the New Orleans PD was strained, he might be willing to talk to her about Madison’s report. And if he wouldn’t, there were still a few inquiries she could make—likely the same ones the detective had already made. But the real question was what she could legitimately hope to accomplish. And there was something else about Madison’s story that was bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something that wasn’t quite right.

  The young woman was clearly traumatized, which Shaye understood well, but she was also willing to spend her own money on what was likely to be a pursuit without results. And for what? If everything was exactly as Madison had seen it, the woman would be reported missing or her body would turn up. Either way, an investigation would ensue and Madison wouldn’t be able to identify her as the woman in the apartment anyway. So unless the police got a confession or were able to track the woman’s death back to the apartment, Madison might never know that the murder she witnessed had been solved.

  It bothered Shaye to know that the woman might have to live the rest of her life without answers. She had intimate knowledge of how living in the dark felt, but she also didn’t want to give the woman false hope by taking the case. It was a complicated situation at best. An impossible one at worst. Yet she felt a level of desperation emanating from Madison that didn’t quite coincide with her story.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Shaye asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Why are you so determined to have this investigated? The police will work the case from a missing persons report or if they locate the body, so one way or another, someone will be looking for this woman and then her killer.”

  “What if no one reports her missing? Some people don’t have others looking out for them. And what if he dumps the body somewhere that it’s not found? That happens all the time in the bayous. I’m sure you know how many people disappear around these swamps every year.”

  “Yes. Any of those things is possible, and they’re probably all things beyond my ability to change. I don’t mean to push, but I get the feeling there’s something you’re not saying. If you want me to help you, I have to know everything.”

  Madison stared at the floor for a while and Shaye wondered if the young woman was simply going to say “never mind” and leave. Finally, she looked back at Shaye, all color washed from her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “The killer saw me.”

  3

  Shaye stared at Madison for a couple seconds, trying to control the spike of fear that coursed through her with the young woman’s words.

  “You’re sure?”

  Madison wiped the tears from her face and nodded. “When I went to grab my phone, I hit the remote that controls the electrical systems in my apartment. I accidentally pressed the button to turn on the lights. The entire front of my living room is a giant window. With the lights on…”

  “He could see you as easily as you could see him,” Shaye finished. “But are you sure he looked up?”

  “Yes. It’s the last thing I remember before I lost consciousness. I can’t describe his face, but I’m certain he was looking directly at me. I think that’s why I passed out. I was already horrified at what I’d just seen, but that wave of terror when I realized he’d seen me must have been too much to handle. Or maybe I’m just a wimp.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself. What happened to you was terrifying and your reactions were completely normal. They still are. You have every right to be scared and upset. You witnessed something that we aren’t supposed to see and aren’t equipped to handle.”

  Madison sniffed. “Thank you. I’ve been so angry with myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I
hadn’t passed out, they might have caught him. But when he saw me, he knew he had to clear out. By the time I came to and told the cops what had happened, it was too late. He’d made it all disappear, and I just looked like some emotional mess of a woman.”

  “You were distraught. I’m sure Detective Maxwell recognized that fact. He’s been doing his job for a while. I’ve only dealt with him briefly, but he’s never struck me as callous or shortsighted.”

  “I offered to take a drug test. To prove that I wasn’t drunk or strung out.”

  Shaye shook her head. “I’m sorry you thought that was necessary, but I understand how it feels to know something that you can’t explain and to have people look at you as if you’re deliberately trying to make things harder.”

  Madison nodded. “That’s why I came here. I know your story and I’m really sorry about everything that happened to you. I also knew that no one would understand how I felt as well as you could. You spent years walking the streets of New Orleans, never knowing if the person you’d just passed on the sidewalk was the man who’d hurt you.”

  “And every man you pass could be the killer.”

  Shaye’s chest clenched as a flood of bad memories coursed through her. Madison was right. Shaye understood exactly how she felt, with one caveat. Even if the killer was identified, Madison still wouldn’t recognize him. Not during trial, not if he got probation, never. He could literally show up at her doorstep claiming to be the cable guy ten years from now and she wouldn’t be the wiser. Basically, her fear couldn’t be completely overcome unless the killer got life in prison without possibility of parole or died.

  “Do you have someplace you can go?” Shaye asked. “Family you can stay with? At least for a little while.”

  “No,” Madison said quietly, and stared at the floor again. “My parents…let’s just say they’re thrilled that I left town. They don’t want me back, especially if there’s even the remote possibility that I could be involved in something they would consider crass.”

  Shaye blinked. “We’re talking about your safety.”

  “I’m not as important to my parents as their social standing in Baton Rouge. I was always an embarrassment. I couldn’t remember important people like the mayor and the governor and my mother’s wealthy friends. They were convinced that I refused to remember people on purpose, just to cause them shame.”

  “But surely…I mean, doctors must have explained your condition to them.”

  “They said the doctors were wrong. That I was just slower to develop and I would grow out of it. As I got older and didn’t improve, they convinced themselves I was doing it to spite them.”

  “I honestly don’t know what to say, except that I’m sorry.”

  Shaye might have had one of the worst starts in life that a human being could get, but her life with Corrine contained all the love, support, and encouragement that every parent-child relationship should consist of. The difficulties Madison faced living with the disorder were already monumental in so many ways, but to have her own parents accuse her of faking it went beyond bad parenting. It was abuse.

  Madison gave her a small smile. “It’s okay. I wanted to be away from them and their lives as much as they wanted me to go. They restructured my trust fund and dispersed it to me on the day I graduated from high school. Lucky me. An eighteen-year-old millionaire.”

  “So you moved to New Orleans?”

  “No. I moved into a little apartment near the LSU campus and went to college. Don’t get me wrong, my trust fund was a great way to start out, but it wasn’t going to support me an entire lifetime. Between college and buying my apartment, it’s mostly tapped out, but that’s okay. I wanted to work.”

  Shaye nodded. It was a sentiment she understood. “You wanted a career. College must have been difficult given your situation.”

  “At first, it was really hard, trying to explain to people why I didn’t recognize them. People get offended, you know? But finally, one of my teachers suggested I have cards printed up that explained prosopagnosia and let people know what they could do to make it easier for me to be more normal.”

  “Like what?”

  “Simple things really, but stuff you’d never do with people you know. Like telling them who you are every time you run into them. The people I was around the most, I grew to recognize by voice, but it’s a big campus and there were a lot of students and group projects and such. I thought everyone would keep away from me—you know, the weird girl with the weird disorder—like they could catch it. But mostly everyone was cool about it.”

  “That’s great. Do you have the same sort of understanding at your job?”

  “Yes and no. I’m a programmer, but I’m an independent contractor and work from home. I majored in programming for that reason. The project manager I report to knows, of course, but all of our exchanges are by email or phone except for a meeting once a week at their office in the French Quarter.” She sniffed. “He always wears the same suit that day. He’s been really nice about everything.”

  Madison stopped talking for a moment and looked out the window, then back at Shaye. “I know it may sound cowardly, but I didn’t want to work in an office and deal with it every time we had a new employee start. I made it through college but it took a lot out of me, and there, at least, I knew it was only for four years. But this is my career. I didn’t want explaining my condition to become a part-time job.”

  “I understand completely.”

  “Except you had it even worse in college because your case was covered all over the news and never solved. The amount of questions, insinuations, and strange looks you must have gotten is overwhelming for me to even think about.”

  “College was tough, but I had my mother and an incredible therapist. You did it all alone, and that’s a different level of difficulty that I didn’t face. You’re stronger than you think, Madison. We all are.”

  “That’s probably true. But still, I took the easiest route with everything that I could.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for example, even though I could live anywhere with decent Internet, I moved to New Orleans—specifically downtown—because it’s a city with a lot of people who didn’t know me and that I never had to get to know.”

  “You could disappear.”

  “Yes. And my job allows me to mostly be a hermit. Between Amazon and food delivery, there’s little reason to have to leave.”

  “I have hermit tendencies myself. My mother used to make me get out of the house and go shopping with her and when I was older, to charity events, but I’m still not a fan of either. She’s still a bit dismayed over the shopping one.”

  Madison smiled. “I think I’d like your mother, based on what I’ve read about her.”

  “And I think she’d like you. So, we have a murder that appeared not to have happened, a victim who appears not to be missing, and a perpetrator who saw the only witness to the crime but that witness can’t identify him.”

  “When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous and impossible.”

  “I don’t think it’s either. I think it’s challenging and I can’t guarantee success, but I promise you, I’ll track down every angle until I’ve exhausted them all.”

  Madison’s entire body relaxed. “So you’ll take the case? Even with nothing to go on?”

  “I think there’s far more to go on than you think there is.”

  “But how? I told you everything I know.”

  “I don’t think you did. Don’t get upset. I’m not saying you’re lying. You just don’t process the things you’ve seen like an investigator does. That’s my job. All I need you to do is relax and answer some questions. Do you have time now?”

  “Yes. Of course. Whatever it takes.”

  “Great. Do you like chocolate chip cookies? My mom made some yesterday and I have more of them than I need to eat. So how about a little inquisition and a lot of cookies.”

  “Cookies sound really good.”


  Shaye went into the kitchen and grabbed the container of cookies, two small plates, and napkins, then headed back into her office. She placed the items on the desk in front of Madison, then stepped around to her office chair behind the desk.

  “If you don’t mind,” Shaye said, “I’m going to do this from here so that I can type my notes. My handwriting is not the most legible. Please help yourself to the cookies.”

  Madison opened the container, pulled out a cookie, and took a bite. “Oh my God. These are great.”

  “My mom loves to bake and she tends to do it more when she’s stressed. I’ve been putting in two extra days a week on the treadmill because of her baking.”

  Madison’s expression filled with sympathy and although she didn’t say anything, Shaye knew that the young woman understood why Corrine had been baking more lately. Granted, it was hard to miss unless you never watched the news, signed on to the Internet, or talked to another human being. It was especially hard for Corrine because she was such a private person, but she’d faced the reporters with her usual grace and eventually, they’d drifted away, leaving Corrine and Shaye to rebuild their broken world.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Shaye said, and created a new document for case notes. “The first thing I want you to do is describe the man to me. I know you can’t describe his face, but your powers of observation of other items is sharpened based on your inability to remember faces. I gathered as much from the way you described your methods for recognizing individuals you saw regularly. Start by telling me about his size.”

  “I can’t tell you a lot, but what I saw might narrow it down. Okay, the doorframes of the unit he was in are around seven feet. I know because I saw them moving the refrigerator in. It’s hard to know exactly because of the angle, but I’d say he was over six feet but not by a lot.”

  “That’s good. What about weight?”

  “Thin, but I’m not sure if it was toned or not because his body was completely covered by his clothes.”

  “Tell me about the clothes.”