Unseen

by Jana DeLeon

  “Ms. Avery,” Wanda said. “There’s a package here for you. I would bring it up, but I don’t have anyone to cover for me.”

  “Your job is more important than delivering my mail. I’ll be down to get it in a couple minutes. Does it say who it’s from?”

  She wasn’t expecting anything, but there was always the off chance that her parents or her sister had sent her something for Christmas.

  “No return address. It’s wrapped in Christmas paper, though.”

  “Thanks.”

  Madison hurried into her bedroom and threw on clothes that were suitable for public, or at minimum, the lobby, and headed downstairs. She was more than a little curious who had sent the package. Her immediate family members were the only relatives she had contact with, and that was sketchy at best. She called them on their birthdays and Christmas. They sometimes remembered to call her on her birthday, but that was about it.

  Otherwise, her knowledge of their lives was limited to their posts on Facebook. She kept telling herself she should unfriend them all and save herself the misery of seeing her parents’ fabulous life with their one perfect daughter, but she never had been able to bring herself to do it. Maybe she did need to talk to someone when this was over. About more than just the killer.

  Wanda smiled at her as she entered the lobby and pointed to the small box on the end of the counter.

  “How are you feeling?” Wanda asked. “You look a little better today.”

  “I’m a bit better. Thanks for asking.”

  “I hope you didn’t catch that flu that’s going around. My grandson caught it at school, then passed it along to the entire household. I told them that if anyone’s still running a fever tomorrow, I’ll Skype them for Christmas and we’ll do the whole present thing later. When you get old, you get practical, especially when it comes to being sick. Don’t heal like you used to.”

  “I’m not running a fever, so I promise I’m not passing anything along. I think it’s probably just a combination of lack of sleep and not eating right.”

  “It’s easy to eat bad in this town, and you don’t go out a lot. Management told me the building’s gym won’t be ready until February. Maybe you need to take some walks…get some fresh air.”

  Madison wasn’t about to tell Wanda that taking a walk might give her a heart attack. So far, the police hadn’t made the murder public and for that, she was happy. If the killer knew the police were after him, then he might just take a shot at her from far away. He didn’t know she couldn’t identify him. If he did, that might make things better or worse. She wasn’t sure.

  “If I don’t see you again beforehand,” Madison said, “have a Merry Christmas.”

  “You too, honey.”

  She took the package and headed upstairs, scanning the box for any indications as to where it came from. Wanda said it had been delivered by courier, but it didn’t bear the stamp of any of the companies she recognized. A single Christmas tag with her name and address was in the middle of a box wrapped in red and green Christmas paper.

  Perhaps it was a gift from her client, purchased from one of the local shops. Some of them delivered all over town, especially the ones selling baked goods. As much as her waistline didn’t need the extra calories, she desperately hoped for something incredibly fattening and full of sugar. And if it wasn’t, she was now seriously considering gifting herself something that fit that bill.

  She let herself back in her apartment and headed into the kitchen, placing the box on the counter. Her Keurig was calling to her, so she started up a cup of vanilla latte and then turned her attention to the gift. She lifted the paper from the end and carefully peeled it back from the backside. Yes, she was one of those people who didn’t just rip into a wrapped gift. For her, part of the pleasure was derived from the anticipation she felt while opening it up. In fact, lots of times, the opening was the most pleasant part, depending on who sent the gift. She had donated a whole box of ugly sweaters to Goodwill one year, and not a single one had ever been worn. Her late aunt Catherine had always had horrible taste.

  Once the paper was removed, she flipped the box around, looking for any identifying markings, but it was just a plain cardboard box like what you could buy at any office supply store. She grabbed her scissors out of the drawer and slit the tab on the top, then pulled back the tabs. The inside was full of shredded paper, and she pulled it off to find a picture frame, facedown, underneath. She sighed. It was probably a picture of her parents and her sister. They were vain enough to think she would want a picture of them in her home. She lifted the frame out of the box and turned it around.

  Then she screamed and let it crash to the floor.

  18

  Shaye sat on a stool at her kitchen island, prepping her list of Realtors to call. The list started with the most recent showings and worked backward, listing every Realtor who had shown the apartment in the last month. She figured once 9:00 a.m. came around, it would be a reasonable time to start the phone calls. Normally, she preferred to question people in person because facial expressions often conveyed more than words, but the urgency of the matter and the fairly long list of people who were likely going to be hard to catch given the holiday pushed her to go with calling first and following up in person with anyone she felt needed a second look. But first up was Detective Maxwell, who needed to know that his case had taken a turn for the worse.

  Shaye’s phone rang just before 9:00 a.m., and when she saw Madison’s name in the display, she stiffened.

  “Can you come over now?” Madison asked as soon as she answered. “Something’s happened.”

  Shaye could tell by Madison’s voice that she was not in a good place. “Are you all right?”

  “No. I mean, I’m at my apartment so I guess I’m safe, but I’m definitely not all right.”

  “Okay. Stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  She clutched the steering wheel of Jackson’s truck as she drove, wondering what had happened that had sent Madison into a downward spiral so early in the day. She seriously doubted Madison had left her apartment, and the killer couldn’t get by security without a viable reason and approval from an occupant, which at the moment was limited to only a handful of people. So what had happened? Did she need to call Detective Maxwell? Madison hadn’t indicated whether she’d contacted the detective before she’d disconnected but Shaye had been able to feel her panic over the phone.

  Without knowing what happened, Shaye didn’t want to bother the detective. Madison had said she was in her apartment and safe, so did that mean she was just inside her own head too long and freaking out? Maybe she was having nightmares. Shaye knew all about night terrors and the way they could debilitate you.

  Okay, so she’d see what was wrong first, then call Detective Maxwell if it was something he needed to be involved in. Either way, she’d already decided to call Eleonore. Madison needed to talk to someone, and even though Shaye had plenty of experience being a victim and knew what Eleonore would say to Madison, she lacked the credentials, maturity, and general calm that Eleonore could provide. While the life Madison had carved out for herself was admirable, Shaye knew that the girl could benefit from ongoing counseling, just as she had. And no one was better at dealing with strange situations than Eleonore.

  The same woman who’d been working security the previous day looked up at Shaye and smiled as she crossed the lobby.

  “Here for Madison?” she asked.

  Shaye nodded and the woman buzzed Madison and told her Shaye was downstairs.

  “Go on up,” she said as she hung up the phone.

  “Thanks,” Shaye said and headed for the elevators.

  This time, Madison wasn’t standing at her door. Shaye had to knock twice, and it took several seconds after the second knock before she heard the dead bolt sliding back. Madison stared out at her, her face ashen, her eyes red and swollen. She stood back to let Shaye inside and her hand shook as she drew the dead bolt back in place. She pointed to the
kitchen, still not uttering a word, and Shaye wondered if she should call for a paramedic. Madison appeared to be in shock.

  Shaye followed her into the kitchen and saw the box with wrapping paper on the counter. Madison walked around the counter and pointed to the floor, and Shaye stepped around and saw a picture frame facedown on the tile. Madison stood off to the side, refusing to even look at it. Confused about what was happening, Shaye knelt down and picked up the frame. When she turned it over, she gasped.

  No wonder Madison was terrified.

  The picture was Madison, walking on the sidewalk near her home, the picture taken as if she were walking toward the photographer. Behind her was a hooded figure, his hand up in the air and a knife clenched in his hand. His face was blurred.

  Shaye set the picture facedown on the counter and went to Madison, placing her hand on her arms to steady her as she swayed. She guided Madison onto the stool next to her and grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator and placed it in front of her.

  “Take a drink of the water,” Shaye instructed. “Slow and easy or you’ll choke.”

  Madison reached for the bottle but never looked at it. She stared directly ahead, not seeming to focus on anything, her face slack. She lifted the bottle as if a puppeteer were pulling strings, then placed it back on the counter. Shaye leaned down and put her finger on Madison’s chin, gently turning her face toward her.

  “I need you to talk to me, or I’m calling the paramedics,” Shaye said.

  Her words seemed to have broken the spell, and Madison blinked then slowly shook her head. “There’s nothing they can do,” she said quietly. “I’m not sick.”

  “They can sedate you if you need it,” Shaye said.

  Madison’s eyes widened in panic. “No! If I’m out of it I can’t run.”

  “Okay then. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Madison nodded and recounted how she acquired the frame and how there was no return address.

  “Did you call Detective Maxwell?” Shaye asked.

  “No. I called you, then it’s like I went numb. I couldn’t think of what to do so I just stood here until you knocked.”

  “You’re in shock. It’s perfectly understandable. I’m going to call him now. I doubt there’s any forensic evidence on the frame or box, but he needs to have it processed.”

  “Please. I want it out of my house.”

  Shaye pulled out her phone and called Detective Maxwell and gave him a brief explanation of the situation. He said he’d be right over. Then she looked at Madison to assess the woman’s mental status. The color was still gone from her face but her eyes were focused now, the glazed look gone.

  “I want to go downstairs and talk to the security guard,” Shaye said. “Can you stay here and drink your water for just a few minutes? I promise I’ll be right back and I won’t leave the building.”

  Madison nodded and Shaye hurried down to the lobby. The security guard looked up as she approached and frowned when she got a good look at Shaye’s expression.

  “Is something wrong?” the security guard asked.

  “Wanda, right?” Shaye asked, and the woman nodded.

  “Yes. There’s something wrong,” Shaye said. “That package that was delivered earlier contained a very cruel joke that scared Madison. I was hoping you could tell me something about the delivery.”

  “Oh my God. That’s horrible. Why would someone want to scare that nice young lady?”

  “Someone is stalking her,” Shaye said, not wanting to get into the details until the police made the investigation public. “We don’t know who he is, but I think he sent that package.”

  Wanda’s hand flew over her mouth and she paled a bit. “I sent her upstairs with a package from a stalker. That poor girl. I never would have done that if I’d known.”

  “Of course not,” Shaye said. “The way you can help Madison is to give me information.”

  “You’re working for her,” Wanda said, her momentary confusion shifting to understanding. “Good. That’s really good.”

  “Yes, I am. And I’d really like to help her now. How was the package delivered?”

  “A courier dropped it off.”

  “What did the courier look like?”

  Wanda frowned. “It was a young girl. I remember thinking she didn’t even look old enough to hold a job, but then the older you get, the younger everyone else looks. Or with kids out of school, I figure someone could have brought their kid to work with them.”

  “How was she dressed?”

  “Not very well. Her clothes were rumpled. She wore one of those hooded sweatshirts and it was pulled down over her forehead. Her hair stuck out of it a bit and it looked like it needed a good brushing.”

  Shaye nodded. Based on Wanda’s description, she’d bet money that the killer paid a street kid to deliver the package. She was probably underage, and if she was living on the streets, the police would have a hard time finding her. They tended to scatter and protect their own when cops were around. But Shaye had an inside track. She might be able to find the girl who’d delivered the package.

  “Would you have her on security footage?” Shaye asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t think it would do you much good. She had that hood low and walked in looking down. The only camera in the lobby covers the entry door to the elevators.”

  “Okay. Then can you give me a really detailed description?” Shaye asked.

  “I can do you one better. If you give me a bit, I can draw her.”

  “Really?”

  “Back years ago, I fancied myself an artist. Did portraits in Jackson Square before I decided a steady paycheck suited me better. I’ve got good recall. I can get her down well enough that you’d recognize her if you saw her.”

  “That would be fantastic. I’m going to go back up and see to Madison, but I wanted to let you know that a Detective Maxwell is on his way and it’s okay to let him up.”

  Wanda nodded, her expression grave. “I do hope he can help. A stalker. That poor girl must be scared out of her wits. You tell her not to worry about this end of things. No one is getting up that elevator without clearance.”

  “I’ll let her know, and thank you.”

  On the way back to the elevator, Shaye pulled out her phone and called Eleonore. She gave her friend and therapist a rundown on the situation and Eleonore promised to be there within thirty minutes. Satisfied that she’d done all she could do for the moment, Shaye headed back upstairs to make sure Madison was okay.

  As okay as she could get with her life spiraling out of control.

  Given what had happened to Madison, Shaye wasn’t about to tell her about the killer shooting at her last night. Madison was already aware of the danger and taking every precaution. Telling her about the shooting might send her over the edge of sanity and into breakdown territory. They couldn’t afford that. Shaye needed her as aware as possible.

  But she would have a conversation with Detective Maxwell as soon as they were out of Madison’s earshot. Her cell phone rang and the number for the car dealership came up on the screen. She answered the call.

  “Ms. Archer? This is Stan, your service adviser. Is this a good time to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you all right? I wasn’t sure if you were in the vehicle when the, uh, accident occurred.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  “That’s good. Well, the mechanic checked out your tire this morning. I don’t know who you’ve pissed off but that tire was slashed and it wasn’t no accident. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that the bullet holes in the side of the vehicle weren’t either. Bunch of punks roaming the streets these days. They’re out of control.”

  Shaye blew out a breath. She’d expected as much, but it was always worse to hear it. “I thought that might be the case with the tire because it went flat so quickly.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It can’t be fixed the way it was cut, but since the tires are so new, you can replace ju
st the one without it affecting the ride any.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, that was the easy part. As for the other, it’s going to be a bit more complicated.” He gave her a detailed description of the work required to repair the vehicle to its previous condition.

  “That all sounds fine,” she said. “Please go ahead with the repair the way you suggested.”

  “Do you need for me to arrange a rental for you?”

  “Thank you, but I’ll handle it myself later today.”

  “All right, Ms. Archer, then we’ll get you fixed up and I’ll call you when we’re closer to finishing. We’re probably looking at four weeks or better. I’ll update you once a week.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “There’s one other thing.”

  She could hear the hesitation in his voice. “Yes?”

  “Company policy says I have to report the shots to the police. And I won’t be able to start work on your vehicle until I get the okay from the cops. I’m sorry about the inconvenience.”

  “That’s okay. The police already know, but please file whatever paperwork you need to.”

  “That’s good,” he said, and she could tell he was relieved by her response.

  Shaye hung up the phone and hurried back upstairs. Madison was still sitting on the stool where Shaye had left her. Half of the bottled water was gone, which was a good sign, but the young woman was still pale and her hand still shook as she lifted the bottle. Shaye wished there was something she could say or do to make her feel better, but she knew only one thing would do that.

  Catching the killer.

  Jackson walked into the police station and straight for Grayson’s desk. He motioned to the back door and the senior detective followed him out into the parking lot. Jackson moved away from the door and waited until a couple of traffic cops made their way into the building before looking at Grayson.

  “We need on the Carla Downing case,” Jackson said.

  Grayson stared. “You said to let Maxwell have it. That we didn’t need the heat.”