The Butterfly Murders Page 4

  “Your constant worry is starting to affect Kevin in a negative way. He worries you’re going to baby him for the rest of his life.”

  “I think I resent that,” he said. “I’m following doctor’s orders.” Shane had been doing everything exactly the way he’d been told. He followed the recovery program to the letter.

  “I know, and you’re doing a wonderful job. His body is recovering nicely. However, I’m more concerned with his emotional and social growth right now. Has he been playing with other kids? Being as normal as possible is a key factor in terms of lifelong success.”

  “We go to the support groups. He has a few friends there. He texts and plays video games with them.”

  “What about other kids who haven’t had a transplant? Other kids who aren’t in his therapy sessions or in rehab with him?”

  “He spends a lot of time with his cousins.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I think your family is fantastic and a great support system. But I can’t stress enough the need for Kevin to feel normal. He was so happy that you went back to being a detective, doing what you love to do. And I see that has had a positive effect on him. But he needs to go back to what he’s good at, and that’s being a kid. It’s time for him to go to school.”

  “Look, I think he needs more time to adjust. I just went back to work full-time and I’m involved with a tough case. Our lives have changed enough. I can’t afford to be worried about Kevin in a situation I can’t control, and there are too many things that could go wrong in school.”

  “Like what?”

  “He could have signs of rejection, but the school nurse might think it’s just a stomachache and ignore it.”

  Dr. Nads actually had the nerve to crack a smile.

  “He could fall down the stairs,” Shane added, realizing he was overreacting and that there was no way he could control every aspect of his son’s life.

  “He could fall down the stairs at home right in front of you. And as far as the school nurse is concerned, she’ll be informed about his condition and would notify you and me if he even spiked a slight fever, which could happen while at home with the tutor, and could just be an ear infection or stomach bug. These things do happen.”

  “What about gym class? He shouldn’t be doing things like football, or lacrosse, or—”

  “I’ll provide a list of safe activities he’d be able to participate in, but as he grows bigger and stronger he will be able to participate in things you never thought possible for him six months ago.”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” He didn’t feel like arguing anymore because, deep down, he knew she was right. “I don’t want to throw a lot of changes at him all at once.”

  “I understand, but your return to work and him going back to school are two changes that are going to be good for the both of you. If you sign all the paperwork, I’ll make sure I talk with his teachers, the nurse, the principal, and anyone else you think necessary. But if he doesn’t start living again, then his new heart is going to feel that in other ways.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s hard not to focus on all the things that could go wrong.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. “I know. I think the strong relationship you have with Kevin and the rest of your family, has really helped him with the early parts of this recovery. However, it’s time for you to step back and let him start to take over his treatment. He can take his own temperature, do his exercises, especially now that you won’t always be there. He’s ready and he wants the responsibility.”

  “Do you think he can handle it?”

  “He might be young, but it’s no different than teaching him how to brush his teeth. At first, you do it for him. Then you observe, making sure he does it right. Then you ask him if he’s brushed; if he hasn’t you give him the evil eye and he goes and does it until it becomes habit.”

  “I feel like you’re over-simplifying things.”

  “You need to understand that by giving him the responsibility he’s going to own it, and in the long run it’s going to make him feel good about himself. That’s a huge part of his recovery.”

  “But what if he forgets his meds? Or doesn’t pay attention to his temperature? This could be a life-threatening mistake.”

  “You’re not giving your son enough credit. First, he knows what he’s been through. Second, I’m not suggesting that you walk away, never to discuss it again. I’m merely suggesting that you make it more his responsibility than yours. Give him gentle reminders. At the end of the day, ask him about his temperature chart. Have him show you what he’s documented, instead of you taking it and writing it down. To over- simplify, treat it like homework. He does it, you check it.”

  “That’s all easier said than done. You’re basically asking me not to worry.”

  “There’s something else you need to consider in all this.” Dr. Nads stood and walked over to him, placing her firm hand on his shoulder. “Kevin is worried about you.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “He’s worried you won’t ever have a normal life for yourself.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “And you’re doing a great job. Kevin should be here shortly, and I know you need to get to work.” Dr. Nads smiled. “One step at a time. Take things slow. Let’s start with him going to school and settling in with your niece. I already put her on all the forms and I’ll meet with her on Wednesday. From what I’ve heard, she’s going to be great with Kevin.”

  “Okay. School it is,” Shane heard himself say, but wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his lips.

  Chapter 4

  SHANE PULLED THE YELLOW sticky note off his computer screen that summoned him to the conference room. He gathered all the paperwork that had piled up on his desk over the last hour and a half and did his best to push his personal life to the back of his mind. As much as it warmed his heart to see his son so excited about going back to school, Shane had to find a way to put all those thoughts in a box for now and concentrate on the Cleary case.

  “Everything go okay with Kevin and the doctor?” Jones asked as soon as Shane stepped into the conference room.

  Shane nodded. He took the open seat next to Jones. “What did I miss?” The doctor was right about one thing, worrying about Kevin every second of every day didn’t do anything but make Shane nuts.

  “A few more reports came in. I put copies in the folder. Not much new was added since you breezed past me in the parking lot earlier this morning.”

  Shane tapped his finger on the folder in front of him. “I’ve skimmed the new ones.”

  “I hope you have a handle on all this, because the captain should be back any minute and he’s not in a good mood.”

  Shane opened the folder and leafed through to where he’d left off, and started reading, trying to mentally organize everything in his mind.

  “How do you feel about Kara coming into town?” Jones only knew of Kara and Shane’s history because of one drunken night shortly after Shane’s wife had died. He’d been feeling like life didn’t want him to be in love and happy. He had no idea what he’d told Jones that night about Kara, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to know.

  “My relationship with her was a long time ago.”

  “She hot?”

  “She was back then.” Shane had often thought of Kara in both good and bad ways. She’d broken his heart, and now that she was coming back he realized it had never completely healed over the years.

  “If she’s still hot, mind?” Jones asked.

  “You’re asking me if I mind if you hit on my ex-girlfriend?” Shane knew Jones was trying to lighten the mood, especially since Jones was in an on-again-off-again relationship, but still.

  “Pretty much,” Jones said.

  “Yeah. I mind.” Shane was a little surprised by how quickly and harshly he made that statement. Then again, who wasn’t sentimental about their first love? Their first everything
.

  “Are we up to speed?” Morrell asked as he appeared at the door.

  “Getting there,” Shane said.

  “Did you read about Cleary’s life as a District Attorney?” the captain asked. He moved to the front of the room and positioned himself behind the podium, where he sat down on a tall stool, just like he’d do if he were addressing the entire department.

  “He was the D.A. when I first made detective. We’ve crossed paths a few times.” Shane flipped through the pages. “Why?”

  “Near the end of his time at the D.A.’s office he prosecuted a case where a young man, barely eighteen, John Rodney, was accused of breaking and entering a neighbor’s house. The neighbor, Rick Haughton, caught the kid in the kitchen and called the cops. He said the boy had been harassing his teenage daughter, Lisa. Haughton demanded they do something about it. Cleary wasn’t going to take the case to trial, so it was negotiated down to a misdemeanor with probation, community service, and mandatory counseling.” The captain paused for a moment. “Case closed, until about six months later when Rodney breaks into the Haughton house again, strung-out on drugs, and rapes the daughter.”

  “I remember that case.” Shane swapped a glance with Jones. They’d both just made detective and had been paired together. It wasn’t a homicide case, but he remembered the frustration of the lead officers who had fought to have Rodney face the maximum time in prison.

  “Then you’ll remember that Haughton’s daughter killed herself a few months later. Days after her death Haughton shows up at a party, looking for Cleary who just resigned as D.A. and is now the good Congressman. Haughton was drunk and babbled all sorts of threats, one of which was to make sure that Cleary understood exactly what it was like to lose a child. To make him pay for his inability to put criminals behind bars. A restraining order was filed and that was the last time we know they crossed paths.”

  “Did Cleary think to tell the officers in missing persons about Haughton?” Shane asked.

  “No. But that was before the note,” Morrell said.

  “What note?” Shane thumbed through the files in front of him, not finding anything about a note.

  “When Cleary opened his newspaper this morning there was a note inside from Haughton,” Morrell said.

  “When was the note found?” Jones asked. Obviously, this was news to him as well.

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  “What did the note say?” Shane asked.

  “‘How does it feel?’” Morrell responded.

  “That’s it?” Jones questioned. “How do we know it was from Haughton?”

  “Because he signed it,” the captain said. “Cleary called me this morning, flipping out, demanding an arrest.”

  “I hope you mentioned that his little stunt with the press conference could have affected the case negatively.”

  “I mentioned that,” Morrell said. “But I also told him we’d get a search warrant and bring Haughton in.” Morrell handed Shane some paperwork. “Bring him in,” he said. “We can hold him for 24 hours. Not sure if Special Agents Martin and Foster will meet you there, or here. But no push-back about the Feds being here. Got it, Jones?”

  Jones nodded.

  “Captain,” Shane said. “What about the eyes? If it’s Haughton, why would he remove the eyes?”

  “I have no idea,” Morrell said. “But you better find out before Cleary does something really drastic.”

  “Giving a press conference was drastic,” Shane mumbled.

  “Well, then, let’s solve this case. If we don’t soon, it’s my ass on the line with the Chief. I don’t think you two want that shit storm.”

  * * *

  “Why’d you leave the note?” Shane shifted in the metal chair as he sat across the table from Haughton in the interrogation room. The florescent lights flickered in unison with Shane’s headache. They’d been at it for half an hour now and had gotten nothing of use out of Haughton.

  And no word from Kara.

  “I told you.” Haughton looked like an eighty-year-old, his face etched in deep lines, though he was only fifty-eight. “I’m glad he’s getting a dose of his own medicine. I’m glad he has to experience the agony that has been my life since my little girl died. I feel bad about his daughter’s death, I really do. But I don’t have any sympathy for what he’s going through.” Haughton narrowed his eyes, almost daring Shane to challenge his conflicting emotions. He carried a world of hurt behind his pale blue eyes.

  “So, you killed his daughter to seek revenge,” Jones said. He’d positioned himself by the door, leaning casually against the wall, checking out his fingernails.

  “No. I didn’t kill her. I don’t wish any child dead. But it’s hard not be a little glad that he now understands what I’ve been going through. To feel what it’s like to lose the most precious thing in your world. I will admit I wanted him to see things through a different set of eyes. I wished it. But I would never kill an innocent child. That’s the truth.”

  “What do you mean,” Shane asked “‘through a different set of eyes’?” The first time through the questioning, Haughton never once mentioned anything about eyes.

  Haughton slumped back in his chair. “Walk in my shoes for a minute.”

  “Not a minute,” Jones said. “His daughter is dead. He’ll be walking in those shoes for the rest of his life. And you gave him those shoes when you abducted and murdered his little girl.”

  “I didn’t kill his daughter. I would never do that.”

  “But you’re glad she’s dead,” Shane said. “You even said so.”

  “No…I said I’m glad he has to feel the pain…never did I say I was happy an innocent child had died.”

  “To me, that has to mean you’re glad she’s dead,” Shane said. “How else could he feel that way?”

  “I didn’t kill her.” Haughton closed his mouth tight.

  “All right.” Shane decided to pull out a couple images of Emily’s body. As he slid two images across the table Haughton gasped, then dropped his head to his hands.

  “I swear, I didn’t do that. I would never hurt a child. Never.” Haughton sobbed into his hands, avoiding the images. Shane tucked them back into the file. There had been no smirk pulled across Haughton’s lips. The groan seemed to come deep from the man’s gut. That said, many killers couldn’t view their victims, especially when they felt remorse.

  “Where were you yesterday?” Jones asked

  “At home, alone most of the day.”

  “Can anyone verify that?” Jones asked.

  Haughton shook his head. “I think I’ll ask for a lawyer now.”

  “Just makes you look guilty,” Shane said.

  “You’ve already decided I’m guilty,” Haughton replied. “I’ll need a public defender.”

  “Suit yourself.” Jones jerked opened the door. It screeched across the hard floor. “We’ll call one right now.”

  Shane rubbed his temples as he stepped from the interrogation room, shutting the door behind him. Whoever created florescent lights had to be into torture of some kind, because Shane had never been under one that didn’t flicker.

  “What do you think?” Jones stood in the hallway, hands on his hips.

  “I don’t know. The comment he made about the eyes and Cleary getting what he deserves is kind of hard to ignore, but I think I believe him when he says he didn’t kill her.”

  Shane rolled everything Haughton had said in the interview around in his brain. It wasn’t so much Haughton’s denial over killing Emily that Shane believed, but the sheer honesty that shone from his eyes when he spoke of his disgust for Cleary. But when he briefly glanced at the pictures of Emily, Shane saw Haughton’s disgust turn to pure sadness and heartache. He’d seen that look on himself when Kevin had been diagnosed. And in his son’s eyes the moment Shane had to tell him his mother had died. But still, Haughton had motive. A strong one.

  Jones ran his fingers down his long chin, a habit he developed when he’d taken two
weeks’ vacation and grown a beard. “What he says is contradictory and he feels like Cleary might as well have raped and killed his own daughter. He wants Cleary to suffer. Readily admits it. But what about the kid, John Rodney, who actually raped Haughton’s daughter? I mean, Haughton doesn’t seem too concerned with him, you know? Doesn’t seem to be any payback for him.”

  “He’s in prison. Maybe Haughton feels like he’s already paying?” To Shane, Haughton had nothing to lose… having already lost his daughter, then his wife to divorce. It made perfect sense on every level but one: Shane’s gut level.

  But a gut feeling needed to be proven; even when at his best, his gut could be wrong.

  “I don’t know,” Jones said. “Haughton thinks the rape could have, should have, been prevented, therefore he didn’t do his job. He holds Cleary personally responsible for his daughter’s suicide.”

  “Yeah, but he denies killing the Cleary girl and owns up to everything else. Why would he do that?”

  “To mess with us. To fuck with Cleary. Make him suffer more somehow.”

  “Maybe.” Shane’s phone vibrated. He glanced at it. A text from Kara letting him know she’d be landing in ten minutes, which meant in approximately thirty minutes he’d be face to face with the woman who broke his heart at the ripe old age of twenty.

  * * * * *

  The moment the FBI jet skidded to a stop at the Greater Rochester International Airport, Kara started to fidget. Being nervous was not a feeling she welcomed.

  “Jesus, it’s cold out here,” Foster said as they got into a Suburban that had been dropped off for them. “And what’s with all these piles of snow?”

  “Welcome to Rottenchester,” Kara said, giving him the evil eye as he took the driver’s seat. Driving would give her something to focus on instead of the uncomfortable awkwardness she felt being in the same city as Shane, “where there are two seasons: Winter and Construction. We get two weeks of summer in July, if we’re lucky.”

  “I see why you left this place behind. It’s like one giant dark cloud. Where to?”