The Butterfly Murders

by Jen Talty

  “We have to work together.” Shane chugged his beer. “Having any kind of relationship with someone you’re working with is a bad idea. Especially one that’s a high-profile case. This kind of case could make a career or kill one.”

  “But just for the one case, right? Then you’re not working together.”

  “Well, then she goes back to D.C., and I stay here.” When Shane wasn’t thinking about the case, he was thinking about all the reasons why he and Kara needed to stop whatever it was that was going on between them. It could only end badly.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Dave said. “I know your brain is wired to overthink. And for your job, that’s probably a good thing. But not for this. When she rolls back into town I think you should sit down and let her know what you’re thinking. See what she has to say about things. What she’s feeling, or not feeling. Otherwise you’re just going to drive yourself crazy thinking about all the possibilities.”

  “You’re right.”

  Dave pointed to the box. “Want company when you go through that?”

  “Nope,” Shane said. “If it’s all the things I remember leaving behind, some might be a little embarrassing.”

  Dave laughed, pushing the second beer toward Shane. “I’d better head home then, so a second one is out of the question.” Dave stood and gave Shane a good shoulder squeeze. “Talk to her. I mean really talk to her.”

  “I will.” Shane felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket and read the text. “Speak of the devil.”

  “The good ones always are,” Dave said. “I’ll see myself out.”

  The text from Kara asked if he was around and could talk. He grabbed his beer and the one he’d opened for his brother, and moved to the dining room where he opened the box and pulled out some of the contents. The first thing he picked up was their high school graduation picture. His black graduation robe was open, showing off his striped button-down shirt that was his mother’s favorite. His hair was nearly to his shoulders, a bone of contention with his parents that he refused to cut his hair for graduation. Kara’s yellow robe was zipped up, but he remembered the white strapless dress she had worn that day, along with the three-inch heels she sported that made her almost as tall as him. He tapped his phone, hitting call back on her name. She picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey,” she said. “Thanks for calling.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to talk.” Her voice sounded tired. Quiet. “Long day.”

  “Everything okay?” He set aside the picture, reached into the box, and pulled out a small photo album and smiled. It was from elementary school. Kara had made it for him for Christmas one year. At the time he thought it was kind of stupid, but flipping through the pages now, seeing him and Kara at six with their arms looped around each other… she’d always been his best friend. He had missed her dearly over the years, and was glad to have her back. That’s what he had missed the most. She’d been the one person he could say anything to.

  “It’s been an exhausting few days,” she said. “I just finished the M.E.’s report. Feel like I’ve been chasing my tail.”

  “I hear ya. Did you find out anything?”

  “I sent you a draft of my report on the religious angle. But can we talk about that tomorrow? I’ll get there in time to meet you at Emily’s funeral.”

  “Sure,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really. I’m tired and wanted to hear a friendly voice,” she said. “So, what are you doing?”

  “Truth?”

  “Yes. Unless it has to do with porn and giving yourself a little treat.”

  He laughed, reaching in the box and taking out the snow globe she’d given him for his seventeenth birthday. “I’m looking at Lake Placid Winter Wonderland.”

  “Oh my God. You kept that? You thought that was the dumbest birthday present ever.”

  “Well, you did give me something else later that night.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t that kind of girl.”

  “Yeah, you were.” He pulled out a group of cards. Birthday. Halloween. Love notes. He was a dork for keeping all this stuff. He plucked one out and unfolded the paper and laughed again.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I found a note you wrote to me, hinting at what we might do if we won states.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “We won states,” he said, remembering sneaking her into his bedroom after the team had a big party in the village. “Twice in one night and once in the morning.”

  “Why is it that you remember every sexual thing we did?”

  He set the notes aside and reached in the box, pulling out a picture frame. His breath hitched as he stared at a picture taken at Canandaigua Lake at a friend’s cottage. It had been taken probably an hour after the first time they had made love. “I suppose because you were my first.”

  “My first everything,” she said. “You know, this is highly inappropriate.”

  “Not really,” he said. “Just being sentimental. Now if I started talking dirty to you, maybe tell you about how I’d like to take your breast—”

  “I think we should stop,” she said.

  “I’ve barely begun.” He saw lights pull into the drive. He quickly packed up the box. “I’d push, but Kevin just got home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Good night,” Kara said. “Sleep well.”

  “I will if you meet me in my dreams,” he said. That had been the way they used to end every phone conversation since they were in high school. Old habits die hard.

  Chapter 11

  KARA ROLLED THE SUV to a stop about ten car lengths behind the line of cars at the funeral for Emily Cleary, and right behind Shane’s vehicle. She saw him and Jones standing in the background, flanked out about fifty paces from one another, along with a half dozen other plain-clothed officers who were there for security purposes.

  Shane was on the north side, leaning against a tree. It was one of those days where the temperatures rose to about fifty degrees. Large piles of dirty snow littered the landscape, making winter look like a combination of mud and ice. You could always count on the weather to change drastically day to day in Rochester, and since it was January this warm weather wouldn’t last.

  Grey clouds floated above, and a light trickle of rain drizzled from the sky. Fitting for the funeral of a murdered little girl.

  Friday was always a bittersweet day. She held her two doughnuts in a bag in her hand.

  “Being around him is still hard on you, isn’t it?” Foster asked.

  “Sometimes,” she admitted. “I’ve known him since I was in grade school. He used to pull my ponytail and tease me on the playground. I would come home crying, and my mom would always tell me that boys who did that were being stupid because they actually liked you. That boys in general were illogical, even as grown men. In middle school, Shane and I began a secret romance. Everyone thought we were just friends. But we weren’t.”

  “Ah, friends with benefits. I’ve had a few of those.”

  “We were in middle school.” Kara glared at her partner. “And I was never easy.”

  “Never said you were.” Foster laughed. “If he got to cop a feel, it was friends with benefits.”

  “What is it with men and ‘copping a feel’?” She used her free hand to make the quotation marks.

  “We’re men. Breasts and swords. It’s what we live for.”

  She shook her head. “Anyway, Shane and I have a good working relationship now.”

  “There’s a lot of history between you and him.”

  She glanced at Foster, holding up the bag. “A lot of history in this town.” Foster knew more about her than she liked anyone to know. He knew her routines now. Her rituals about only taking days off when forced, and working cases on vacation. She’d been avoiding life for fifteen years. Perhaps it was time for a change.

  “You still care about him,�
� he said matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t you still care about your first love?”

  Foster stuffed his hands into his pockets. “No. She left me at the altar and married my cousin, who happened to be my best man.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It did,” Foster said. “But then she left him for his accountant. She’s forty-two and on her third husband. I’m really glad I never married her. Now, the first girl to let me in her pants? Yeah, I still got it bad for her. She still lets me in her pants now and then.”

  “You can be a real pig, you know that?”

  He nodded. “Jones is a good detective. I like working with him.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said. “You two have a real bro crush going on. Odd, coming from a guy who gets into pissing contests with other men.”

  “As long as we don’t cross streams.”

  Kara opened her mouth, then shut it tight before opening it again. “I got nothing.”

  Foster laughed “Let’s go tell them what we’ve uncovered, which isn’t much. Then, once the funeral is over, we can regroup back at the precinct.”

  “There’s something I need to do first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My parents are buried in this cemetery.”

  “What me to come with?” Foster asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Got it. I’ll hitch a ride with Jones. You’ve got the SUV.” Foster meandered toward Jones. Kara stood by the car for a moment, watching Shane. He wore his standard black coat and trousers. His shoulder against the tree. One ankle crossed over the other. He must have felt her presence, because he turned and waved her over.

  It was time to face another demon. Only this time she realized she didn’t have to be alone.

  “Hey you,” he said as he placed his hand on the small of her back and rubbed gently for a few seconds before letting his hand drop. “How was the flight?”

  “Uneventful.” She smiled. It did feel good here with him.

  “I haven’t had the chance to read your report. Been staked out here since seven.”

  “The religious angle is interesting. The one cult where the pastor was molesting small boys caught our attention because it was rumored he performed human sacrifices. I was able to interview five of his former followers. They said at one point they didn’t have any electricity in the compound, so he used a lot of candles. They also said he used them in religious rituals like exorcisms and shit. One follower said she saw a human sacrifice. The details she gave were gruesome. Stuff like taking out human hearts...shit,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Shane said. “Keep going.”

  “She’s not a credible witness, but the details she gave us were a little too realistic and detailed to ignore. Can’t make that stuff up.”

  “Do we know where the pastor is now?”

  “Yes,” Kara said as she studied Shane’s profile. He’d always been confident in almost any situation. “Went dark a few years ago, but resurfaced this winter in Kentucky. My office is looking into his current church and working on getting an interview with him. Hoping to have something this afternoon.”

  “I was thinking about the black market,” Shane said. “The killer wouldn’t have known Gregory had a transplant, unless it was a friend or close family member. That information is kept under lock and key.”

  “I thought about that, too,” she said. “Except for the scars. The killer would have had to see them on his back.”

  “So, then, why take the kidneys?”

  “That I don’t know,” she said. “The guy who we think runs the black market is under surveillance, but it appears he’s aware he’s being watched. He barely moved from his house and we didn’t see anyone coming or going. Nothing suspicious. I talked to a few people involved, and thus far everyone who has donated did so voluntarily. Did it for the money. Most of the organs don’t stay in this country, but kidneys are a big bulk of the market, so my question is why murder someone when people are willing to sell them?”

  “People will go to any length. Pay any amount of money,” Shane said. “You’d be surprised what people might do if they can’t get to the top of the organ recipient list.” He glanced at her, his brow arched in an inquisitive stare. “You think we’re on a wild goose chase, don’t you?”

  “With the black market? Yeah, I do,” she said. “Both murders are too ritualistic. My gut says it’s not the black market, but we’ve got four other different rings that we know are active, and we have to chase down every possible lead when we’ve got nothing solid.”

  “The funeral is over,” Shane said, pointing at the sea of people moving away from the grave site. “I think we can leave now.”

  She noticed Shane picked up a bouquet of flowers and showed them to her. “Your parents,” he said softly. “I thought you might want to pay them a visit.”

  “I was planning on it.” She held out her bag that contained two fried cakes. “Treat O’Friday.”

  “You still do that?” Shane slipped his hand under her FBI rain jacket. His fingers gently rubbed against her lower back as they walked down the narrow path in silence, until she was standing in front of her parents’ tombstones. Some brown grass and mud was mixed in with the snow. The tombstones had weathered over the last fifteen years, and the carvings of their names and dedication had darkened with age.

  “The last time I was here was for their funeral,” she whispered.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes.” He began to pull away.

  “No,” she said, grabbing his arm. “I want you to stay. Please?”

  He said nothing else. Just stood there next to her, arm looped around her waist, holding her steady like he’d done all those years ago.

  “I have been so wrong about so many things,” she said, leaning toward the graves. The stone above her mother’s resting place felt cold and clammy. She ran her fingers across the lettering.

  Patricia Murphy Martin. Loving Wife and Mother. A Friend to All.

  She took the flowers Shane had brought and placed them in the holder next to each stone. A pang of guilt trickled down her spine as she looked at the engraving on her father’s stone.

  Edward Eric Martin. An Inspiration to All.

  “I should have put more on his stone.”

  “Your dad was a man of few words to begin with. I’m sure he’d rather it be a simple statement with a positive sentiment.” Shane squeezed her hip. “And that’s exactly what that statement is.”

  She pulled out one of the doughnuts. “Here’s to you, Dad.” She raised it in the air. “Say hey to Mom.” Kara stuffed her mouth and practically swallowed the doughnut whole. She coughed as she gently tossed the second one to the ground in front of her father’s grave. It was then she realized a few tears had rolled down her check.

  Shane wrapped his powerful arms around her and drew her close. She leaned into him, sucking every ounce of energy he offered. She buried her face against Shane’s chest, wrapping her arms around his strong midsection “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t think I’d get emotional.”

  She felt his hands run up her arms, keeping her body from shivering. It was a gentle touch. Caring. His thumb lifted her chin. She blinked open her eyes as he pressed his lips against her forehead. “You’re allowed to be emotional.”

  For a long moment, all she could feel was his thumb gently caressing her chin and cheek. His soft brown eyes locked in an intense gaze with hers. “Thank you,” she managed, doing her best to pull herself together and step away from the embrace that had become way too familiar.

  But he wouldn’t let her go. He cupped her face with both hands as he lowered his head and gently, but firmly, pressed his lips against hers. The way he carefully parted her lips with his tongue sent a warm pulse straight through to her toes. He took away all the pain and filled it with something. She leaned into him, taking the strength his embrace had to offer. The kiss deepened. He drew her closer. It felt safe and warm, lik
e she’d come home.

  Her fingers dug into his back, demanding more. Her tongue swirled around in his mouth in a wild, panicked frenzy. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  With his hands still firmly cupping her face he pulled back, dropping his forehead to hers. “I know I started this, but this isn’t the time or place.”

  She let out a long sigh. “I think we need to talk about what’s happening with us.” Never did she think she’d be back in this town, in this cemetery, kissing Shane Rogers. Her heart ached for everything she’d walked away from.

  “We do.” He kissed her forehead, then stepped back. “Right now, we need to head back to the station. Jones and Foster are meeting us there.”

  They walked in silence, with space between them until they reached the gravel road where their cars were parked. Shane held the door of her SUV open after she’d climbed in and started the engine. He looked at her with a combination of understanding and something deeper. Something powerful and passionate.

  Chapter 12

  SHANE LEANED BACK in his chair, feet up on his desk, tossing a crumpled piece of paper up in the air. He caught it and then repeated the motion, doing his best to rid his mind of that fantastic kiss. He wasn’t in high school anymore, yet he couldn’t seem to keep his hands or lips to himself.

  Jones sat his desk, directly across from Shane. Kara was using the desk on the right side of Shane, and Foster sat on the edge of that desk. The bullpen was on the quiet side for a Friday afternoon.

  “It doesn’t look that similar,” Shane said, comparing the markings on Emily’s body to that of the church symbol of the pastor in Kentucky. “I mean, parts of it do, but not the whole thing. Honestly, it looks more like the tat from that case in Syracuse.”

  “That kid as a solid alibi,” Foster said. “For both murders.”

  “Look at this.” Kara shoved another piece of paper under Shane’s nose. “That’s from the pastor’s previous church. It looks just like a butterfly with a very long midsection and short wings.” Kara tapped the paper. “And these two oval things in the middle look like the incisions in Gregory’s back.”