The Butterfly Murders Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  The Butterfly Murders

  Dedication

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Books by Jen Talty

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE BUTTERFLY MURDERS

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Jen Talty

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author or Jupiter Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The Butterfly Murders

  By Jen Talty

  Dedication

  To Deb Diez. Thanks for always making me laugh. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend!

  Note from the Author

  There is an old saying in writing that every author has that one project that is “the book of their heart”. This would be mine. This book has taken many forms and has been re-written a few times. While it has more suspense than any other r book I’ve ever written, I wove into it the hunt for a serial killer, which is just the kind of romance my readers have come to love. It’s a reunion story, which I LOVE, and Shane and Kara have spent many years in my mind and heart as I thought about and wrote this book. I hope you enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  FOR MOST PEOPLE, the start of a New Year brought with it a New Year’s Resolution. Homicide Detective Shane Rogers never believed in them. But he did hope for a fresh start after two years filled with illness and death.

  The decision to go back to work on New Year’s Day seemed like the perfect way to ease into a new beginning, except Shane had forgotten one crucial detail: murderers don’t take the day off.

  He stepped from his vehicle and ran a hand through his unruly, thick black hair that was a little longer than a cops typical cut, falling to the top of his collar. His son had told him he was just too old and nowhere near cool enough to pull off the look. Scratching the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the strands, he decided to keep the longer hair. He was starting his life over. Might as well have a new look.

  He brushed his hand across the Glock securely clipped to his belt. A sudden rush of heat pounded in the center of his chest. The crisp night air burned his lungs.

  He moved passed a small crowd that had gathered behind a police barricade manned by some of the city’s finest. He flashed his badge, holding it tighter than usual, keeping his hand steady.

  “Sign in,” the uniformed officer said.

  Shane did as instructed, knowing it was procedure for every crime scene and anyone who dared cross the line would have to file a report. Snow floated gently to the ground, adding to the eight inches that had collected in the last couple of days. The weatherman said it wasn’t going to ease up, but get worse, which wouldn’t help with the crime scene because the fresh flakes were covering potentially important evidence.

  Bright red and yellow lights flashed across the sky as a half dozen police cars, an ambulance, the medical examiner’s car, and two fire trucks, lined the road. The side street was on the outskirts of the city, just west of the Genesee River. A couple of local news crews had set up their equipment on the far side of the street, all hoping to be the first to break the news. Thus far, all they’d been told was that a body had been found. Nothing about the victim being a fourteen-year-old girl. Nothing about the fact that Congressman Cleary was the father of the deceased.

  Shane looked at the names on the list. His partner, Will Jones, had signed in, along with two other uniformed officers, Dr. Eric Green, who was the local medical examiner, and his assistant, as well as the police department’s forensics team.

  “Were you the first responder?” Shane asked the officer as he forced himself to focus on the crime scene.

  “No. He’s at the front door. I arrived five minutes after and taped off the area.”

  “Thanks,” Shane said.

  The cracked wooden steps dipped under his weight as he made his way up the porch and into the house. The building was ice-cold, and he had left his driving gloves in the car. He clasped his hands together, rubbing vigorously, and then stuffed them into his pockets.

  Wires dangled from the ceiling and popped out of the wall sockets. Graffiti and a few pornographic images covered the walls. “You the first responder?” he asked a uniformed officer standing by the doorway.

  He nodded. “As soon as I saw the body, I called homicide.”

  “Notice anything I should know about now?” Shane asked.

  “I was more concerned with making sure the crime scene was secure and dealing with the adolescents who called it in,” the officer said. “Body’s upstairs. Last room on the right.”

  Shane kept his steps slow and methodical. The sounds around him were no longer distinct, merely muffled noises that echoed in the recesses of his mind. White noise, they called it. It helped him stay sharp. His mind churned over everything he knew about this case so far.

  Which wasn’t much.

  He took the stairs one at a time, trying to get a feel for the place. Every homicide crime scene had a texture to it. Even though the body was found upstairs, all the rooms could contain clues that may lead them in the right direction. He looked at every detail as he made his way to the back bedroom, noting the trash and needles left behind from crack users. This house had seen its fair share of crimes before this murder.

  His partner stepped into the hallway. “Shane,” Jones said. “Over here.”

  Shane was the only guy he knew on the force who was called by his first name, but only because of a clerical error where it was noted his first name was Roger and his last name Shane. By the time he’d had it corrected, he was already known as just ‘Shane’.

  Jones wore the typical black pleated slacks, white shirt, and dark sport coat that every detective kept in his closet. “Are you ready for this?” Jones questioned.

  Shane nodded, although he wasn’t entirely confident. “What do we have, exactly?” A surge of urgency raged through him like a wave crashing against the sand. His heart beat so fast his hands shook. Just nerves. A normal reaction to being away from homicide for nearly a year. As soon as he got into the swing of the investigation, it would be like riding a bike.

  “I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” Jones said, running his fingers through his hair. “The bastard literally carved out her eyes.”

  Shane inched his way into the room and immediately fixated on the lifeless body sprawled out on the cold, bare floor with eight small candles around her body. One near the top of the head. One at the feet. And three on each side of the body. It appeared only the one by her head had been lit.

  Despite the nausea, his mind snapped into focus. He eased closer, slipping the latex gloves Jones had handed him over his hands.

  The girl’s eyelids sank into
the holes where her eyeballs had once been. A person’s eyes could be the gateway into their soul, letting the world see them for who they really were. Even in death, the eyes seemed to hold onto the person’s last thought, or visual, or sound. This victim had none of that.

  Small teardrops had been drawn on the girl’s cheeks. Her mouth had been covered with duct tape. Shane noted it was from the tail end of the tape, as the cardboard had been flipped up on the right side of the victim’s mouth.

  The young girl’s hands were tied above her head with a thin rope. Her skin had turned purple from livor mortis, her hands blue and her arms lined with dark bruises. Shane concentrated on the knot. Just your regular double knot. Nothing special.

  “Let me through!” a male voice shouted. “I’ll have your badge.”

  Shane glanced between his partner and the door as two police officers tried to restrain Congressman Cleary as he tried to push his way into the room. Jones and two members of the forensics team blocked the view of the body.

  “You can’t go in there, sir,” the uniformed officer said. “You’re contaminating the crime scene.”

  Shane took five quick steps toward the door. “Congressman,” he said in a level voice. “I’m going to need you to step outside.”

  “I need to know if that’s my daughter!” Cleary’s eyes were bloodshot. His breath reeked of alcohol, yet it still took two cops to hold him back. “Let me in, Detective.”

  Shane could understand the man’s need, but this wasn’t the time or place. Not when forensics was still dealing with her naked, bound body. Even if the initial investigation of the crime scene had been completed and the body covered, it still wouldn’t be the right place for a father to view his child, making it the last memory etched in the man’s head, haunting him for the rest of his life.

  “Let us do our jobs,” Shane said. “Your presence puts everything we do under fire when we catch who did this and go for a conviction. As a former D.A., I think you can understand the implications of you being here.”

  Cleary’s nostrils flared as his chest puffed in and out.

  “We’ll get someone to take you home,” Shane said. “Go be with your family.”

  “I can drive myself.”

  Shane shook his head, then said to one of the officers, “Make sure he gets home.”

  “I’m calling Captain Morrell. He’ll let me stay. Be part of the investigation.” Cleary squinted, pursing his lips in a tight line.

  “You do that,” Shane said. “Outside. If my captain calls and clears it with me, I’ll let you in. All right?”

  Cleary quickly turned and stomped off down the hallway, the two officers following swiftly behind.

  Shane turned his attention to the victim once again. He swallowed as he let his gaze lower to the rest of the body. The killer had stripped her of her clothes, leaving them piled neatly on the floor near the door. The lower parts of her body were dark purple-black, a condition called lividity, and normal in the decaying process. It was impossible not to think about his son, Kevin. It had only been six months since his son lay in a hospital bed, just days from death before a heart miraculously had become available, giving his son a second chance at life.

  “Cleary being in this house has already put our investigation at risk,” Jones said, standing next to Shane.

  “If his name isn’t on the log book, it’s going to be worse,” Shane said.

  The girl’s ankles were crossed and bound with a run-of-the-mill thin rope and loose knot, but it appeared some of skin had been rubbed raw.

  Bending to one knee, Shane studied the lines and circles on the victim’s discolored skin. The markings looked as if they had been made from a marker of some sort.

  “Any reason to think it’s someone other than Congressman Cleary’s daughter, Emily?” Jones asked.

  “She looks identical to the picture they gave us and…” Shane forced out a few short breaths. “The clothes and jacket match the description Mrs. Clearly left to the letter, right down to the brand of the parka. She’s the only missing child in the area.”

  Jones stood there, hands on hips, blinking his eyes rapidly. During most investigations, he’d remain stoic and philosophical. He didn’t have children. Probably never would. That was because his younger sister had half a dozen, one of whom had been killed in a mass shooting at a mall a few years back.

  “Any sign of sexual assault?” Shane reached into his coat pocket and fingered his cell phone. The need to hear his son’s voice was too strong to ignore.

  Dr. r Eric Green, the M.E., glanced up. “I won’t speculate.”

  “Was there a ransom note?” Shane asked Jones. “Any indication on why someone would want to hurt the Congressman or his family? Has the Congressman been threatened lately?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “Smells like bleach,” Shane said. “I don’t see any blood. You’d think cutting out the eyes, there’d be a lot of blood.”

  “Crime scene techs will check for blood with Luminal,” Jones said.

  Shane stepped to the other side of the body. “It makes sense the scene would be clean since the killer took the time to fold the clothes, indicating he cared.”

  “Look at her hair, too,” Jones said.

  It looked soft and smooth. Recently styled. Shane bet there wasn’t a single tangle in her long golden locks. “What do you make of the drawings on her body?”

  “Message of some kind, maybe,” Jones said. “Took pictures on my phone. Want to run it through some databases by morning. See if it gives us a lead. I’ve asked a few people what they think the design could be and I’ve gotten different answers.”

  “Looks sort of like a butterfly if you stand over the body.” There was a long single line down the center of her chest. It reminded Shane of his son’s scar. “But looking at it sideways, it looks like a mirror image.”

  Jones stepped to the other side. “I go for the butterfly based on the patterns and drawings inside what would be the wings.”

  “Me too,” Shane said. “Hey, Doc, do we know anything about how the eyes were removed?”

  “A sharp object.” Green glanced up with an arched brow. “I’ll let you know when I know more.”

  Shane ditched his gloves, stuffing them into a plastic bag, and then pulled out his notebook. He ran his fingers over the leather cover before flipping it open, a habit he developed on his first day as a police officer. He tapped his pen against the paper before scribbling the word eyes. He also made notes of his first impression of the crime scene, noting the layout and position of the body. He tried to re-create the images the killer had drawn on the body, hoping it would trigger something, but so far, nothing. He shoved the pad back into his pocket. He’d compare them with the written reports later.

  Jones stared at the body, hands in his pockets, head tilted. “Why the eyes?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but Shane answered anyway. “Could represent how the killer thinks the victim viewed him. Some say the eyes are the gateway to a person’s soul.”

  “What about the black market?” Jones asked. “Remember that case where the funeral homes were removing bones and replacing them with PVC piping?”

  “I do,” Shane said. “They were selling the bone marrow on the black market.”

  “They could also be a trophy,” Jones said. “Remember that one guy in Buffalo who took fingernails? That was weird.”

  “Weird is being polite. One more question, Doc,” Shane said. “Was she alive when the killer took the eyes?”

  “Not going to speculate on that either,” Green said. “I’ll let you know when I know.” It was his standard response, no matter the question.

  Shane swallowed the bile that was lodged in the back of his throat. He prayed the young girl didn’t suffer too much. No murder was ever easy, but a child? There were no words. He stepped away from the girl and scanned the room. He checked his notes to see if what he saw differed from his first impressions, but so far, the only thing
that stood out was a distinct smell of bleach, antiseptic, and vanilla, which he assumed was from the candles. “Kids found her, right?” Shane asked.

  “Yep,” Jones said. “All minors. Came here with some beer to party. They’re in the patrol cars, waiting for parents. They were pretty shaken up, but still can’t rule them out.”

  “That’s rough,” Shane said. “But we’ve seen teenagers do some pretty insane things. Any drugs?”

  “No,” Jones said. “First responder indicated that his gut says they found her here. Not going to be an easy memory to erase.”

  “You don’t un-see something like this.” Shane watched the forensics team snap a few more pictures. With each flash of light, he mentally stored his own version of the scene in his brain. He moved around the room, trying to get a feel from every possible angle.

  “What have the kids said so far, if anything?” Shane asked.

  “They told the officer they came to party. Had a thirty-pack. Fifteen were already finished, so they were well into their party since it was only the four of them.”

  “Why’d they come upstairs?”

  “First responder said two of them wanted privacy.”

  “Teenage drunk sex.” Shane took a few moments to walk the perimeter of the room, searching for another way in or out. “Only one candle lit. Maybe the kids interrupted the killer after he’d killed the girl, but before he could finish lighting the candles. If that’s the case, where did he go?” Shane stopped at the doorway, looking for a place a person could hide. There were two other bedrooms with closets, and a small bathroom. “What about footprints in the snow? Any patterns indicating someone jumped out of one of these windows?” Shane noted that in the front room anyone could have climbed out a window, onto the porch roof, and jumped from there.

  “Footprints all over the place,” Jones said. “But with this constant snowfall, it is hard to figure out who’s who and where they went.”

  “So, either the killer hid in another room until the kids ran and called us, or...” Shane let his words trail off. “Where did the kids go before we got here?”