Chapter 7
Declan
Ismell blood the second I step into Natalie’s apartment.
It’s not fresh. I’d guess at least a day old, maybe more. It’s hard to say exactly, but I’m familiar enough with the reek of death.
“Casey!” I have my gun drawn and I’m going slow. Nothing moves. There’s no sound. The place seems oddly empty, but I only spoke to her ten minutes ago.
“In here.”
I follow her voice to the back hallway and find her slumped down on the floor across from the bedroom door. Blood’s pooling in front of her, a trail of it leading away.
I hurry over, drop to my knees, and wrap my arms around her.
She lets out a soft whimper as I hug her tightly. I don’t know what she saw yet, but from the amount of blood out here, I’m guessing it’s not good.
“I have you,” I whisper, soothing her the best I can. She’s clearly still in shock. Her face is pale and her skin is blotchy from crying. “Don’t worry, Casey, I’m here with you now.”
“Natalie.” She chokes on the name. “On her bed.”
I slowly release her and stand. Casey stares up at me, lips trembling.
“Stay here. Don’t move.” I move into the bedroom, carefully avoiding the blood puddles. There are some footprints already, probably from Casey, but that’s okay. We’ll sort it all out later.
The girl’s lying on the bed like Casey said. She’s slumped on her back, her arms spread out, almost like she was positioned. I glance around the room and spot signs of a struggle: a knocked-over lamp, a broken glass, a spot on the wall where it looks like someone hit it hard.
Whoever killed Natalie probably didn’t expect her to put up such a struggle.
I don’t touch anything, but I get closer. She’s wearing what looks like pajamas. Which means she likely was killed either last night or this morning. I’d bet she didn’t show up to the office, but I can confirm with her manager later.
One last detail catches my eye. I almost missed it from the other side of the room. It’s a plain piece of paper, folded in half twice, and left on the girl’s chest. It blended in with her gray t-shirt.
Casey’s name is written on top.
I stare around the room like someone’s watching me.
Adrenaline slams into my chest. Why the fuck is there a note to Casey left on her friend’s stabbed corpse?
I grab it and gingerly place it in my pocket on a whim.
I don’t want the police to find that and think she had anything to do with her friend’s death.
I know for a fact she was busy last night and slept at my place until early this morning.
One last detail: the knife looks like it was military surplus. Not the kind of knife a girl like Natalie might have lying around her apartment.
I back away and step into the hall.
“You made the right decision calling me first,” I say, kneeling down beside her again.
“Is she… is she…” She takes a deep breath. “She’s dead, right?”
I’m not the type of man who sugarcoats the truth. I’ve always believed that reality should be faced with strength and dignity.
But, fuck, the way she’s looking at me…
Like she’s broken.
It makes me hesitate. I want to tell her anything else. That it’ll be alright. That we’ll catch who did this. I can talk about justice, about honoring those we’ve lost, about anything else.
Except I am what I am.
“I’m sorry, Casey. She’s dead.”
Her face crumples like a crashed truck and she begins to sob again.
I hold her as she cries. My mind’s whirling through a dozen possibilities, but they all keep coming back to the note in my pocket.
Whoever killed Natalie knew that Casey would eventually end up here.
Which means they know Casey well. They knew her extremely well, since their prediction was correct. I’m starting to wonder if Natalie’s death was about Natalie at all.
Knowing who Casey’s parents were…
But I can’t get ahead of myself. I don’t know what the note says. It could’ve been from the dead girl, but that seems highly unlikely.
There’s not a single drop of blood on the paper.
Once Casey calms down, I take control of the situation. I gently take her shoes off before I get her out of that hallway and away from the blood. I leave the shoes dirty though, since the police will want to see them to confirm where the footsteps came from.
I get her sitting at the kitchen table. She stares blankly around her. There are still dirty dishes in the sink and it’s so obvious her friend never meant to die last night.
“Here’s what’ll happen.” I sit across from her and take her hands in mine. “I know people in the NYPD. My family has connections. I’m going to make some calls. I’ll make sure friendly officers arrive and get a good, solid detective assigned to the case.”
“Am I going to get in trouble?” she asks quietly.
“No, you’re a witness to the scene and nothing more.”
“But I’ve been calling her all day… and I walked in there…” Her fingers wrap through mine and she digs her nails into my palm. “Who would do this to her, Declan?”
I squeeze her hands. “I don’t know. But we’ll find them. Just stay here. I’ll be back in a second.” I get up and drift back to the hallway. I take out the note, unable to help myself any longer. I have to know what it says if I’m going to play this right.
I unfold the paper and stare at the handwriting.
It’s very neat. That strikes me as odd. Whoever put this down wasn’t rushed or worried. The words are perfectly formed. I can appreciate that.
The past is never dead. Senesi.
It’s cryptic bullshit, so far as I can tell.
Except for that last word…
It triggers something. All sorts of alarms ring in my head. I glance at the bedroom door and a cold realization washes over me.
This can’t be happening.
There’s just no way.
I know that name. It’s a name my father has spoken of many times. It’s an old story, a name long buried in the past.
It’s a scary story and a primordial terror. It’s a name to scare little children at night.
It’s a name intimately tangled with Casey’s parents.
“We have to go.” I shove the note back in my pocket and get Casey to her feet.
“Right now? What about the police?”
“We don’t want to be here when they show up. I’ll make sure you do all the right things, but we have to leave.”
I don’t want to tell her that if Senesi did this, then our lives are very much in danger by staying.
She’s wooden and stiff as I move her to the door. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave her friend. It’s got to be hard, but that corpse isn’t my concern anymore.
Casey’s safety is my only priority.
“We can’t just leave her like that,” she whispers.
“It’s evidence now. Trust me, this is the right thing to do.” I steer her out into the hallway. “You’re coming home with me.”
She doesn’t even argue. It’s like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. She’s dead silent on the drive to my apartment and stumbles up into my apartment like she’s sleepwalking through a nightmare.
I get her sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a cashmere blanket, looking catatonic before I finally make a call.
“Is everything okay? You left in a hurry.” Mom sounds tired. I hear the grandkids in the background.
“Do me a favor. Grab Seamus and tell him to call Detective Murphy for me. There’s a dead girl at an apartment. I’ll send you the address.”
“Work stuff?” Mom sounds confused. “But why are you calling me?”
“Because I found a note on the girl’s body. And it was signed with the name Senesi.”
Mom doesn’t respond right away, but I hear her breathing double.
“That can’t be right.” She’s whispering now. The noise of the kids fades into the distance like she’s going into a different room. “Vincenzo Senesi’s been dead for years.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Unless there’s some other Senesi—”
“Who’s this dead girl?”
“Natalie Malinowski. Casey’s best friend.”
Mom lets out a long breath. “That’s not good.”
“If he’s really back, we’ve got a serious problem.”
“All right. Okay. I’ll talk to Seamus and get him moving on the body. Are you sure Casey’s clean in all this?”
“She’s safe and with me. She wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene last night.”
“Good. That’s good.” Mom curses softly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her use foul language before. It makes me profoundly worried. “I’ll have to talk to your father.”
“I called you for a reason.”
“I know that, Declan, but he was around last time. He’ll know who to talk to.”
“Leave him out of it.”
“If the Butcher of Milan is really back, we’re going to need your father’s help. Keep an eye on Casey for now. We’ll talk again soon.”
The line cuts off. I shove my phone back into my pocket. Casey’s right where I left her, still staring off into space. I can only guess at what she’s feeling.
But an ugly prediction fills my body like a black, rotten light.
This is only the beginning.