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Kelsey ran down the back stairs to the alley with her arms full of blankets and a sandwich in the pocket of her coat. Jake had always been the one to do this since their very first winter in the city. Their narrow alley with its rusted fire escape always attracted at least one homeless human on the coldest nights, and he had worried about them a lot. “I’m freezing my ass off,” he would say in his thick Georgia drawl. “Imagine how they feel.”
She pushed through the alley door at the foot of the stairs hoping she wasn’t already too late. From the sun, she thought it must have been nearly noon. “Hello?” Jake’s mattress had been dragged into the snow, and the blankets she had thrown away with it were lying in a sodden pile beside it. “Is anybody here?” The woman she had spoken to the night before was nowhere to be seen, but the snow was packed and trampled with footprints all over the alley. She saw a streak of blackish red against the grayish white, and her heart started to race. “Is anybody here?” she repeated, following the trail behind the dumpster.
“Hello?” a man’s voice said from behind her, and she screamed. “I’m so sorry,” the owner of the voice said as she whirled around. He was holding his hands up in front of him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh yeah?” Her voice was shaking as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m glad you weren’t trying.”
“I know, right?” He smiled, and she tried to smile back. He wasn’t particularly scary; in fact, he would have been handsome if he hadn’t had an ugly scar across his face. “I’m a cop,” he explained, reaching into his pocket. She tensed, ready to run, but he pulled out a badge. “Detective Lucas Black.”
“Okay.” She shifted her stack of blankets to one arm to look it over, and it looked real. “Yeah, you scared me pretty bad.”
“If it makes you feel any better, when you came out that door, I almost pissed my pants.” He was still smiling, and the dark hair falling over his forehead made him look almost puppyish in spite of the scar. “I thought the beat cops that secured the scene would have sealed it off.”
“Beat cops?” The smear on the ground must have really been blood, she suddenly realized, feeling sick.
“Yeah…excuse me, miss, but who are you?”
“I’m Kelsey.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and she flinched without thinking. His hand felt like ice even through her heavy coat. He wasn’t wearing any gloves despitethe bitter cold. “Mrs. Kelsey Marlowe.” She moved away from him. “What happened, Detective?”
“A homeless woman was murdered. Slaughtered, actually.” He glanced at the blankets she was carrying. “Did you know her?”
“No, not really. I live in this building.” Her legs had turned to water, but there was no place to sit down. “I’ve seen her. I saw a homeless woman out here last night.”
“What time was that?” he asked, pulling a notebook out of his pocket.
“I don’t know exactly. Not late, no later than eight or nine.” She was standing in the blood, she suddenly realized, and her stomach lurched. “I gave her some stuff, this mattress and these blankets.” She put a hand over her mouth, fighting the urge to throw up. “You don’t think somebody killed her for her stuff?”
“Hey, you never know.” He was examining the blood trail, following it past her down the alley. “Street people can get pretty territorial, particularly when it gets cold.” He looked back when she didn’t answer. “But no,” he said, coming back to her. “I’m sure that’s not what happened here.” He didn’t sound sure. “I mean, the stuff’s all still here, right?” He walked over to another smear of blood on the side of the building, almost black against the brick. “They stabbed her through the throat right here, up against this wall.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if they told the morgue to run a rape kit?” He took out his mobile phone and started to dial as Kelsey started to sway.
“You don’t really think…” She started losing her balance, and she couldn’t seem to keep talking. She grabbed his elbow, saw his face waver slightly, the world going black.
“Oh shit,” he said, his face registering alarm. “Okay, hang on.”
He caught her just before she hit the ground. “I’m sorry,” she said, almost certain she was about to throw up all over him. “I’m not usually so squeamish.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Marlowe. Not to worry.” He half-led, half-carried her over to what had been the bare frame of Jake’s hospital bed, and she sank against it, barely noticing the ice that covered it. “You just take your time.” He was patting her on the back as she put her head between her knees, and she really, really wished he would stop. “Take some nice, deep breaths.” He bent her further forward. “Is Mr. Marlowe upstairs? Can I call him, get him down here?”
“My husband’s dead.” She straightened up a little, pushing him back. “I’m all right. I’ll be all right.”
“Oh wow.” He took a step back, but only one. “Wow, Kelsey, I’m sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I hate to hear that.”
“Thanks.” She stood up. “I think I need to go inside.”
“Yeah, sure, of course.” He put a hand on her elbow. “Here, I’ll walk you up.”
“No.” She spoke too sharply, too fast. But the idea of inviting this man into her apartment was appalling. She didn’t know why, but standing so close to him was like suddenly finding a snake in her path in the woods, coiled and sleeping but still dangerous. Every instinct in her body told her something about him was wrong. “It’s fine,” she said, smiling, making herself look him in the eye. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” She had barely noticed his eyes before now, which was strange. They were beautiful. The irises were brown but so dark they looked purple, and his lashes were longer than hers. But where was the crime scene tape? she suddenly wondered. Where were the other cops?
“I’m positive.” She drew her arm out of his gentle grasp. “Sorry again for startling you before.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said. “Listen, Kelsey.” She had started toward the door, and he followed. “I know you’re upset, but I have to ask.” He was holding his notebook again. “Did you hear anything last night?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t. I’m all the way up on—I’m pretty high up.” She put her hand on the doorknob, wishing someone else would suddenly come out.
“Okay.” He was watching her, standing half a step too close. From this angle, his scar was horrible. It looked like it must have been made with something heavy and sharp like a machete or an axe and allowed to heal on its own. Surely a doctor could have made the edges less ragged, stitched the skin back together more neatly? And how would anyone survive such a blow in the first place? “Let me give you my card.” He reached down and put it in her dangling hand. His fingers barely brushed against hers as she took it, and she was struck again by how cold his hand felt. “If you think of anything or hear anything, call me. Or if you just get scared.” He smiled. “Any time, day or night.”
“Okay.” She looked down at the card as if she were memorizing the number, looking away from those eyes. “Detective Black.”
