Chapter 4
4
Marcus chewed on his nails as he thought about what he was about to do. He eyed the door to the room the FBI agents were using at the end of the hall, waiting for Agent Mercer to come out. He’d been in there all morning and Marcus had missed him when he came back from his shift of patrolling. Now that he was holed up in the bull pen, getting paperwork done, he’d been watching the door like a hawk.
He thought about ignoring his gut about the recent murder being a copycat of the Butterfly Killer, but his conscious wouldn’t let him do it. He needed to at least mention it to Agent Mercer. At least he wouldn’t laugh in Marcus’s face.
Hopefully not.
He was zoned in on the door when a big gut cut off his line of sight.
“I hope you’re not busy?—”
Marcus moved his head to keep looking at the door. He saw it open and he jumped up from his folding chair. “Can’t talk right now.”
Larry called after him, but Marcus was too busy chasing after Agent Mercer who was walking with his partner, Agent Burns.
Marcus pushed aside all his embarrassment and yelled out to the agents.
“Agent Mercer!”
Mercer stopped and turned to see who was yelling his name. Marcus must have looked like an idiot as he sped walked around people who just had to get in his way.
“Sorry. Sorry.” He apologized repetitively before he made it to Mercer’s side.
“Can I help you officer?” Mercer said, giving Marcus too much grace with that title.
Burns looked confused as hell. “We really must be going. Is this important?”
Marcus nodded. “I’m really sorry to barge in like this, but I had a thought last night.”
“A thought,” Mercer echoed like there was something humorous about what Marcus said.
Marcus decided to ignore it. “I looked over the case files when you asked me to copy them?—”
Burns gaped. “You read through them?”
Mercer didn’t look surprised. “And what did you find?”
“The last Butterfly murder was hasty. He left DNA evidence all over the place—he was getting cocky. And he didn’t take his time. In fact, all the Butterfly murders were messy in some ways. Either leaving DNA evidence, blood on the floor, or leaving the murder weapon behind.
“But this recent murder—it’s clean. Spotless. He takes his time. He treasures her and the murder. He even made sure we found her in the most flattering circumstances.”
Burns shook his head. “She was found with flies eating her.”
Marcus felt a burst of energy bubbling inside of him. He was practically jumping on his toes. “I looked back over the initial report. Calloway’s friend said she was very sensitive to the cold so she wouldn’t set her AC lower than 75. But! The thermostat had been turned down to 40. He tried to preserve her body as best as he could, but he couldn’t foresee that Calloway’s AC would break in the middle of the night and there would be a heat wave.”
Burns thought about it for a second. “Okay…so he’s more connected to his victims now? What changed?”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t think anything changed. Except this isn’t the Butterfly Killer.”
“You think it’s a copycat,” Agent Mercer finally said.
Marcus turned his almost sparkling eyes to him. “Yes. Nothing about this recent murder matches with the Butterfly Killer. The age of his victims, the way he cleans up, and the way he connected with Miss Calloway. This was his first murder and he was making it special.”
The silence he got from the both of them was unsettling. Had he made a mistake coming to them?
Burns slowly nodded. “That’s a good theory, but we can’t go off theories. From the evidence we have right now, it looks like the Butterfly Killer.”
Marcus’s shoulders dropped.
He should have known his ideas would be dismissed. While he knew something was different about this recent murder, Burns was right that he didn’t have concrete evidence of a copycat.
And if it was a copycat, the agents would be booted from the case.
He cringed. It might look like he was trying to get them out of here though that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted them to stay and help, but if this was a copycat…they would be chasing the wrong guy and not be looking for the true Butterfly Killer.
Burns gave a reassuring smile. “But we’ll look into it. Right Mercer?”
Marcus looked up at Mercer, hoping to see that the man wasn’t looking at him like everyone else in the precinct did—with judgment.
He couldn’t quite read what the man was thinking, but he didn’t look like he thought Marcus was a dumbass for bringing the information to them.
“Yes, definitely.”
Marcus smiled with relief.
“I want you to send the information to my email.” Mercer pulled out a business card from his suit jacket and handed it over. Marcus held it with such gentleness someone might think it was worth a million dollars.
It was worth more to Marcus than that. This meant everything to him. Just being acknowledged for once felt like he was shooting over the moon.
“I will. Right now.” He was so excited to share what he found and to be part of the case, he could jump with joy right now. But he held down his excitement and started toward Patrice’s office to borrow his computer.
The agents turned and left to where they were going. It was only when he was outside Patrice’s office that he thought he should have asked where they were going. But that might have been stepping on toes again. He understood completely that he should stay off other people’s cases—it could really mess things up—but it was really hard sometimes to not want to know what was happening.
It was especially hard when things in the Butterfly case hadn’t been moving at all in the past few years. Ten years was a long time to wait for justice and it really felt like it would never happen.
He knocked on Patrice’s door. He was going through the conversation he just had through his head while he waited.
Patrice answered it. He had his glasses on. They made him look younger than he was.
“Can I use your computer?” He usually wasn’t one to ask, but he did want to get these things sent off to Mercer. It felt like he’d die if he didn’t as soon as possible.
“Sure,” Patrice said, opening the door wider.
He waved Marcus over at his desk while he grabbed a notebook and book from his desk. “I’m taking a few notes while I wait for test results anyway.”
He moved to the comfy reading chair he had in the corner of the office. Marcus sat in the office chair and booted the computer up. He pulled out the flash drive he carried all his files on.
“Well, this might be the last time I have to borrow your office,” he said as he started logging into his email. “Chief let me know you talked to him.”
Patrice coughed. “He did?”
Marcus typed a quick message in the body of the email, attached his findings, and pressed send. He looked at Patrice over the monitor. “Yeah, he did. What were you thinking trying to coax him like that? He knows you’re friends with me.”
Patrice tapped his pencil against the book in his lap. “It worked didn’t it? You’re going to get a desk. Which, by the way, should have happened years ago. How did anyone expect you to get anything done with that thing and no computer?”
Marcus fully agreed, but he didn’t want to admit that he was the ugly duckling of the department. He stared at the screen, confirming the email had been sent and received, but he didn’t want to get up.
“I’m sorry,” Patrice said. “I should have let you deal with it yourself, but let’s face it. You weren’t going to say anything.”
He was right. Marcus was the type of dog to roll over and play dead rather than to fight his attacker. He was the last person to go after danger which was ironic since he was a police officer. Danger was part of his job description.
Deciding he’d sat there for long enough, he stood, gathering his flash drive and closing out of his email.
Marcus went for the door. Patrice put his hand out.
“Are you mad at me?”
Marcus took a hard long look at Patrice. “No.”
It was honest, but there was a bit of a lie in there. He wasn’t really mad at Patrice. He was more so mad at himself for being such a pushover. Maybe the real reason why he didn’t want Patrice to say anything on his behalf was because he wanted to ignore how much of a problem it had gotten to become. He most likely wanted to pretend he was doing the right thing by letting everyone take a piece of him.
The only person he had to blame was himself.
He walked out of the room more put out than when Chief had talked to him. He was relieved he let the agents know what he was thinking about the case—he was confident the recent murder was a copycat. But he was still on the outside.
He was still as far away from the justice he so wanted.
Marcus was making copies of one of his reports when the door slammed open.
He jumped and whirled around as Blevins stormed into the room. He slammed the door behind him and locked it.
Marcus looked down at the doorknob. “Blevins…”
The detective’s eyes looked crazy. He walked right up to Marcus and shoved his papers out of his hands. They scattered to the floor around them.
Blevins jabbed his finger into Marcus’s chest. “What the fuck did I say? Keep your nose in your own goddamn business.”
Marcus put his hands up. “I just?—”
Blevins shoved him back against the wall. “You just what? Put out some dumbass theory that there’s a copycat? You’ve jacked the whole investigation with your fucking nonsense!”
Marcus’s chest tightened. His airway narrowed and it became hard for him to suck a breath in. His vision began to darken.
“Agent Mercer asked me to send him the information.”
Blevins snarled. “You should have kept your mouth shut in the first place!”
He shoved Marcus again and then stepped back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, seething behind it and glaring at Marcus like he was the most disgusting thing he’d laid his eyes on.
He turned around and scratched at his head. “The things I could do…”
He suddenly stopped. He put his hands on his hips, staring at the locked door. He then turned around again. Marcus backed up even though he was against the wall. There was nowhere for him to go. He put his hands up even though he knew that too wasn’t going to protect him from the silent threats Blevins was saying in his head.
Someone knocked on the door.
Blevins paused, his eyes wide and crazy as they pierced through Marcus’s soul.
The handle jiggled. “Hello? Anyone in there?”
Blevins strode across the small room, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. He leaned against it and plastered on the fakest smile. “Hey. Just having a talk with, queazy. You know, he always needs help.”
Blevins threw Marcus a look over his shoulder.
The meek newbie cop looked between the two of them. “Oh. Should I come back?”
He gestured over his shoulder.
Blevins patted him on the back. “No, no. We’re done.”
Blevins shot another look Marcus’s way. A chill went down his spine. The detective walked away, but it took a moment for Marcus to feel safe enough to crouch down and pick up his papers. The newbie cop helped him.
“Why’s he such an asshole to you? He needs to be reported.”
Marcus blushed. “It was an accident. Don’t mention it, okay?”
It was bad enough the newbies were catching on that he was the outcast. He didn’t need them to be speaking out for him as well. Patrice had done enough of that already.
He grabbed his things and shot out of the small room as fast as possible.
Another day. Another long morning doing the usual routine while his life slipped away.
Marcus tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised around the lush neighborhood that looked much like the ones his cousins used to steal from. His mom cut most of their contact from that side of the family—she didn’t have a soft bone in her body for her abusive sister—but she let Marcus’s cousins stay over a few times.
A few times was cut short when she found out his cousins were roping him into stealing from houses on the rich side of the city.
“Rich” was a broad term in his household. It meant anyone who wasn’t living off food stamps. It meant anyone who could afford twenty dollar shoes. And it meant anyone who owned their own home.
Marcus didn’t remember much about his cousins. He’d been only ten back then when their connection had indefinitely been severed. However, he did remember the way his mom had looked at him when she found out he’d taken clothes from one of the homes they’d broken into.
She looked at him like he was the worst person on the planet.
He’d puked all over the floor, just before she gave him a beating on his ass so hard he couldn’t sit down for a week.
That might have been when his weak stomach started to form. His body seemed to morph into responding to stress by relieving itself through the mouth. He hated the response. He hated everything about vomit and puking. Just thinking about it now was making him queasy.
Queasy. That was how he’d gotten his stupid nick-name in the academy. Any sort of stress had him puking his guts out. Blevins had dubbed him the name as quick as possible. Some people didn’t even know him by anything else.
He got lost in his thoughts as he drove around. This was what he thought was the most boring part about being a cop. He was driving around for hours in the morning shift. Though, filling out paperwork was much worse. Made so by the fact his desk wasn’t at all optimal. He digressed.
He was yanked out of his thoughts when a woman came running out into the street, clutching her child to her chest.
He slowed to a stop. One look at her crying and frantic face had him on high alert. He put the car in park and got out.
The woman started speaking fast Spanish. He got a couple words—death, killed, devil. He put his hand up and had to regretfully shake his head.
“No Espa?ol. Can you speak any English?”
The woman cried harder. She was clutching her toddler tight to her chest, but they didn’t seem to be as upset as she was.
Marcus gestured to her child. “Is your baby hurt?”
She shook her head. “H-He not see anything. Abi, m-my babysitter—she’s dead.”
She broke down into tears. People in the neighborhood started to come out onto their porches, wondering what was happening. Police didn’t stop on this street. Nothing ever happened here.
Marcus lead the woman to the police car. “Have you called 911 yet?”
She shook her head. “N-No. I saw your car and came running out. I-I just saw?—”
Her voice broke. She hard trouble trying to finish her sentence.
“It’s okay. Sit here while I call them. Do you have anyone you can stay with or that can pick you up?”
She thought for a second before she nodded.
“Do you need me to call them?”
She shook her head. She pulled out a cell phone.
“Okay. Make arrangements. We’ll just need your statement before you go.”
Marcus closed the door. He called the station on his walkie-talkie. They were a few minutes away with first responders, but Marcus had a feeling they weren’t needed.
The house was standard. No flares or anything. It was new. Or at least it appeared to be retouched in the past couple years. He tried the front door, but it was locked. He walked down the side of the house, following the driveway that wrapped around to the back garage.
He jogged to the back. It was unlocked.
As he pushed the door in he smelled it. Death. But there was something else mixed in it. It was a stench he was familiar with. It sometimes lingered on Patrice’s clothing.
Formaldehyde.
He had to cover his mouth as he walked deeper into the laundry room. There was a neatly folded pile of clothing sitting on the dryer. The washing machine chimed as it finished its last cycle.
Marcus left the door open to let the fumes out. It was so thick it was hard for him to breathe. It had been the same when he found Miss Calloway.
He took a step inside the laundry room. The floor creaked beneath him. As he moved toward the archway, he saw a peak of pink sneakers.
Marcus moved forward. He was prepared to do all that he could until first responders could get there, but it wasn’t needed.
The young girl lay pinned to the floor by the same needles pushed into Miss Calloway’s hands. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. Her chest was cut open, her skin pulled back to show off her ribs and organs.
The killer had learned from last time. It was freezing inside and they’d doused her in formaldehyde to keep the bugs away.
However frightening as the murder was, the more frightening thing to Marcus was the fact that it hadn’t been more than a couple days since the last murder.
This killer was hungry for a fix and they were going to be looking for another hit.
Soon.