by Jen Talty
“Almost felt like a guest room.”
“The room just felt cold.” Kara pursed her lips and blew into her thick paper mug.
“One never knows what goes on behind closed doors,” Shane said. “Besides, remember what a neat- freak my sister was? Well, she still is. Drives her kids nuts. Theresa, her daughter who is living with me, will tell you that if she even walked out of her room to use the bathroom before making her bed in the morning, Anna would have a cow.”
“So, you think they’re just compulsive when it comes to having everything perfect?”
“Their entire house is like that. It’s like no one really l lives there. All for show.”
“That says a lot about a person,” Kara said. “When appearance matters more to them than reality or even people.”
“I suppose,” Shane said. “You get the memo that Haughton was released a few hours ago?’
“Foster told me.”
“What do you know about how Cleary handled the Haughton case?” Shane asked, keeping the conversation to business, ignoring the urge to kiss her. Just once. Get it out of his system.
“It was barely a case and Haughton’s daughter was no angel. She’d been busted with drugs, and while her sexual history wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law it would have been brought up somehow, putting her in a very bad light with a jury. Cleary had to know his best bet to get the case off his desk was to offer a decent plea. That’s what he did. Ended badly, but we both know he had no way of knowing that Rodney would escalate to rape.”
“According to Cleary, and cell phone text records, Rodney had been verbally abusing the Haughton girl for months. From what I read, I can see how easily it could escalate,” Shane said.
“I’m not disagreeing, but Rodney didn’t have a record, and the text messages didn’t come into evidence until the rape. As a matter of fact, the records state that the texts weren’t even mentioned in the first offense.” Her fingers cupped her paper mug as she held it close to her lips, blowing and taking a small sip.
“Haughton is adamant that he showed Cleary the texts,” Shane said. “I understand the break-in was Rodney’s first offense, but looking at the reports I think Cleary brushed the sexual harassment under the table because he didn’t have a strong enough case. I understand that, but he could have gone harsher on the plea.”
“There is another reason a D.A. would push for a plea in a case like this,” Kara said. “Often, Haughton’s daughter responded to those texts, and she wasn’t always telling the boy to stop. One could argue she encouraged the dirty talk to continue.”
“Doesn’t justify rape.”
“Do you really believe Haughton could have killed Emily? Carved out her eyes?” Kara asked.
“I wouldn’t put murder past a grieving father,” Shane said. “But the eyes, the drawings, and the candles feel too ritualistic, something I can’t get past.”
“Did you get to read through the cases I sent over?”
He sipped his coffee, mentally pulling up the files. “The one in Albany, where the killer cut off all the fingers, but they were never able to nail their only suspect.”
“The suspect was the victim’s stepbrother. We’ve got a field officer interviewing him now.”
“Okay,” Shane said, “but that was in Albany. Why come to Rochester? Why Emily?”
“He was flagged for the butterfly tat on his back.”
“Doesn’t look anything like what we saw on the body.”
“But it’s a lead,” she said. “The young man murdered in Rhode Island also had a butterfly tatt.”
“Emily didn’t have a tattoo.” Shane enjoyed a little too much the easy back and forth he had with Kara. Their ability to talk through a case together was something that normally developed over the course of working with one another.
“That’s true,” she said. “What did you think about the Boston case I sent you?”
Shane swallowed as he remembered the images. A young man found in his home. He’d been bound and gagged, and the killer had ripped open the victim’s gut. It was messy, and his intestines were sprawled all over the bed. “The only one that feels remotely like our case is the one in Boston.”
“Agreed,” Kara said. “But no candles. No drawings on the body. Eyes still in the head.”
“The design on Emily’s body freaked me out at first,” Shane admitted, though he couldn’t fathom why he randomly spit out the statement.
“Why?”
“My son has a scar all the way down the middle of his chest from his heart transplant.” Shane traced a finger down his own chest.
“I can understand why that would bother you.” Kara leaned in, setting her coffee on the table, reaching out and gently touching his hand before retreating.
“What do you make of all the markings?” he asked, her touch lingering on his skin.
She leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs. “We sent that back to our tech analyst who is searching for other images like that and what they could possibly mean. As soon as she has a hit, I’ll let you know.”
He noticed Kara’s gaze kept darting from him to her coffee. She used to do that when she had a question she was uncomfortable asking.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“A lot of things. Mostly the case…” she paused. “…but also, some personal things.”
“What kind of personal?”
“When was your son’s surgery?”
“A little over six months ago,” Shane said. “This is my first case back since spending a year on administrative duty.”
“Is he your only child?”
“Yes,” Shane said.
“What’s your wife like?” she asked.
“My wife died two years ago, in a car accident.” It was impossible to hide the tremble in his voice.
“Jesus,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” Shane had learned long ago that the universal ‘I’m sorry’ was the only thing people could say, because often there were no words. It was the only time ‘sorry’ was used to be empathetic versus apologetic.
“What’s your son’s name?”
Shane felt the smile tug at his lips as he proudly puffed out his chest. “Kevin. He’s a real pistol. He’s a brain like his mother. He’s been out for a year between being sick and the surgery, and just went back to school this week. He’s very excited about it.”
“He sounds like a fighter, just like his father,” she said. “When they told you after your broke your leg you’d never ski again, oh my Lord, you were going to prove them wrong.”
“Not only did I prove them wrong, but I never missed any part of the next season. I did, however, develop an aversion to motorcycles.” He laughed at the memory. He’d been fourteen and Kara and he had just started dating, if you could call walking her home every day and stealing a few kisses under the bleachers dating. Actually, their romance started in grammar school. From the day he met Kara Martin, she’d been the love of his life.
“I thought your father was going to break your other leg.”
Shane smiled. “Took me all summer to pay off the damage I did to that bike and Mr. Henderson’s garage. You know, he still lives there, and every time I go to my parents’ house he waves his finger at me, then points to his door, telling me it’s never been the same.”
“Not sure which motorcycle incident was worse.
“Oh no,” Shane said. “You’re supposed to take that to your grave.” He stood, knowing this conversation was headed in a direction where he might ask her why she’d left him. He wasn’t ready for her answer. “Let’s go check out that crime scene. It starts to get dark around four-thirty, so we only have about an hour of sunlight.”
He offered his hand. She looked up at him with her dark brown eyes, her lips turned upward in a slight smile. Instinctively, he laced his fingers through hers. He squeezed her hand, then untangled their fingers. “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“It
’s okay.”
They drove in silence the rest of the way to the house where Emily’s body had been found. When Kara sat in the car for a few extra minutes, he realized this was only blocks away from where her parents had been murdered. He reached his hand into the car, taking hers, feeling the slight tremble. “We’ve got all the photos. We can leave.”
“I’m good.” She squeezed his hand, then let it go. “It’s good for me to be here.”
The Kara he remembered was stubborn. And proud. He’d learned in all the years she’d been his best friend and his girlfriend that she was her own person, capable of making her own decisions, and she was stronger than anyone he’d ever met.
This Kara was just as strong, but she had a softness and a sense of loneliness that tugged at his heart. He gently placed his hand on the small of her back and led her toward the house.
Snow had covered the steps, but the crime scene tape was still intact. He followed her up the stairs. She stood in the bedroom where Emily had been found. She took out a pad of paper and started writing things down. Shane pulled out his own notebook, running his fingers over the top. He’d never forgotten that Kara had given him the pad their last Christmas together.
“The one candle that had been lit barely had any wax that gathered at the bottom, so it wasn’t lit long. You can see it was there.” Shane pointed to the floor. “There were three candles on each side of the body, and then one at the head, and one at the feet. All vanilla-scented. The lab found that some came from BrightLite, but others came from Yankee Candle, and one candle they still aren’t sure about. Might have been homemade or one from a trinket store of some kind.”
“Okay, so eyes are in the head. Maybe the other candles weren’t supposed to be lit.” Kara looked around the room. “The report noted no visible signs of blood.”
“The CSI unit saw it on the floorboards with Fluorescein screening.” Shane swallowed hard. “In the right eye socket the M.E. found glue.”
“Glue?”
Shane pulled out his phone and pulled up the last email he’d gotten. “Yeah. Glue. And parts of the eye socket had been cauterized.”
“We’ve seen killers who can’t stand the sight of blood. Others are obsessed with it. One case I worked the killer would drain the victims of their blood, then have sex with the corpses.”
“That’s one I’ve never seen,” Shane said.
“One I wish I’d never seen,” Kara said. “Back to Emily. Why here? What makes this place so special?”
“At least a dozen houses on this street alone are either condemned or abandoned.”
“So, a great place for drug dealers, users, prostitutes, and killers.” There was no mistaking the harshness and anger in Kara’s voice. He suspected it was more than the case that had gotten under her skin.
“My guess is this was a place of convenience, but one the killer had to know about.”
“Who owns this place?” Kara asked.
“Technically the city,” Shane said. “Most condemned buildings in this area are owned by the city, and I heard some will be demolished come spring.”
“Get a listing of owners for the last ten years.”
“You really think we need to go back that far?” Shane held his phone to his ear, waiting for the desk officer to answer.
“Might as well,” Kara said.
Shane quickly gave the desk officer the information then put his phone into his pocket. “It’s freezing in here.” He checked his watch. It was getting into the dinner hour and he knew he needed to get home to see his son, at least for a few hours. “Do you want me to drive you to the… take you to the street where your parents were murdered?”
Kara shook her head. “No. I don’t want to go there now. Maybe after this case is over. I don’t want to cloud my judgment.”
Shane could relate to that. “Where can I drop you?” he asked, but before she could answer, his phone rang. “It’s Jones.” He pressed the phone to his ear, motioning for Kara to follow him down the stairs and back into the warm car. “What’s up?”
“We got another murder,” Jones said. “And I’m pretty sure… no, I’m damn sure it’s the same killer.”
Chapter 7
KARA SUCKED IN A BREATH as they pulled up in front of a house on Field Street near Clinton Avenue. Not the best part of the city, but certainly not the worst. Two city police cars, one Monroe County Sheriff’s car, the CSI unit, a few unmarked cars, and a fire truck were already at the scene.
Kara followed Shane up the creaky steps of a house that looked like it had seen better days. They both signed the log, knowing they’d have to file a report. She glanced around the small foyer, noting the number of people in the room who also had to file a report, which she’d end up having to read. “We really need to reduce the number of people inside the crime scene.”
“Agreed,” Shane said. “I’ll get my captain to send out a memo.”
The house had been broken up into three apartments. One upstairs and two downstairs. “I’m going to go talk to Foster,” she said, holding a hand over her nose. The smell of rotting flesh hung in the air like a cloud of thick smoke.
“I’m heading to where the body was found,” Shane said.
“I’ll be there shortly.” Her eyes burned from the stench as she made her way across what appeared to be a living room.
“Tell me what we’ve got,” she said to Foster, whose face looked as green as she felt.
“Male. Twenty-one, according to his driver’s license.”
“Why does Jones think it’s the same killer?”
“Eight candles. All vanilla-scented. But this time all of them had been lit. The body was found bound, gagged, and naked.”
“Eyes missing?”
Foster shook his head. “But the medical examiner says there appears to be knife wounds in the victim’s back.”
“What’s the connection to the Cleary case?”
“Other than the candles? Nothing. The body is badly decomposed, so we don’t know if there were any drawings.”
“Did you see the notes and journal entries Shane and I found?” Kara asked.
“I did. Pretty heavy stuff for a fourteen-year-old. The boy she wrote about is eighteen, and if what she stated is true, he could be facing statutory rape charges.”
“I noticed every page had a butterfly on it, and I still think the markings on the victim look more like a butterfly than anything else.” Kara had no idea how Jones could stand there without covering his mouth. Even with the cold air seeping in through the front door, the smell was worse than rotting eggs mixed with used hockey equipment that had been sitting in a hot car, baking for days.
“I concur,” Jones said.
“We rechecked Emily’s phone.” Kara tried not to swallow. The taste of death was worse than tar. “The boy’s number doesn’t come up.”
“Kids delete that shit all the time, especially if they don’t want their parents to know.”
“Need to get the phone records of Doug, the boy Emily writes about, and have a little chat with him.”
“Not we,” Foster said. “Shane can interview him. He has a son and understands kids. He gives the impression of being a caring and understanding kind of guy. Not to mention he’s more even-keeled than the rest of us.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Kara pulled her turtleneck up over her mouth and nose. She held her breath as she made her way past a few street cops and into the kitchen. Shane stopped her in the doorway. He looked her square in the eye, pausing for a moment, as if searching for something in her gaze. Or maybe trying to tell her something. “We can’t let Cleary know there’s a connection,” Shane said. “I called both my captain and the chief and they agree. We have to keep a lid on many of the similarities. My second team is here. They’re talking with some of the neighbors.”
“I’d like to meet Detectives Pollock and Benster.”
“I’ll make sure I introduce you before we leave,” Shane said. “There are enough simila
rities to Emily’s case to connect the two. Forensics will gather up the wax and see if we can match it to Emily’s crime scene. It will be interesting to see where these candles come from. The Lab’s putting a rush on it.”
Kara nodded. “So, do you think the killer was able to finish the ritual? If it was indeed a ritual?” she asked, wondering what on earth those candles meant.
“Not sure,” Shane said.
“How many deaths has this city had so far this year?”
“Five,” Shane said. “This is number six. All but this one and Emily’s were either domestic or drug related.”
“We need to find out if Haughton has any connection to this victim, and if he has a thing for candles and butterflies,” Kara said. “That song “Butterfly Kisses” is now stuck in my head.”
“I know what you mean.” Shane looked away. “Janet used to give butterfly kisses to Kevin every night before bed.”
“So, did my dad when I was little.” Kara’s mind flooded with fond memories of her father. “Butterflies can mean so many different things. But we’re not sure the drawing on Emily’s body was a butterfly, and we don’t know if this Doug kid she talks about in the journals likes butterflies.”
“We’re just going to have to go ask,” Shane said. “The sooner the better.”
“I think we might want to question the ex-Mrs. Haughton as well. She might have some insight to Haughton that connects him to both cases.”
“Thought of that, too,” Shane said. “Tomorrow is Sunday; should be able to catch her at home.”
“I can handle it if you want to take the day off.” Kara stepped around Shane to get a better look at the crime scene. She took out her notepad and did her best to ignore the death that loomed over them. She’d never been good with dead bodies. She didn’t know anyone who was, except for medical examiners, coroners, and funeral home directors. Those people weren’t normal. It took a special person to want to cut into a dead body, or prepare one to be seen by family members. It was something she never quite understood. And never wanted to. Then again, they probably thought being an FBI agent wasn’t normal.
