Butterfly

by Sharon Sala

  The words to the Rod Stewart classic “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?” were her anthem. She sang along with the CD as she zipped up her dress and stepped into the matching heels.

  A quick glance at the clock told her it wouldn’t be long before her date would be here. A shiver ran up the back of her spine as she thought about his hands touching her. God, but she loved the feel of a man’s hands on her body as much as she loved the feel of silk. It made her sick to her stomach, thinking how close she’d come to losing all of this. She had no misgivings about what she’d done to Chaz Finelli. The little bastard never did know when to quit. Besides, the game he was playing was dangerous. What happened to him was nothing more than a job hazard. She did regret having to shoot an innocent bystander, but not enough to lose any sleep. This was a tough world, and she was as tough as they came. Survival of the fittest was her motto, and to hell with anyone who got in her way.

  The song rocked its way to silence, and for one blessed moment she closed her eyes, savoring all that was her world. Secrets were dangerous, but danger also added another frisson of excitement to the game.

  Suddenly the sound of tires rolling on gravel became apparent. She moved to the window. Although it was dark, the cat’s-eyes headlights on the sports car were a signal that her date had arrived. She’d heard about his predilection for… how could she put it? Unusual sex? All it had taken was one phone call and he was hers. Through the window, she saw him get out of the car. He paused, smoothing back his hair and brushing something from the front of his coat before moving toward the door. She smiled to herself as the doorbell began to ring. The stupid bastard. He might be rich and kinky, but before the night was over, he would know her in a very special way.

  ***

  Captain Aaron Floyd was nursing a headache and the beginnings of what felt like the flu when Detectives English and Fisher knocked on his door.

  “Come in,” he said, and then winced at the sound of his own voice. “Give me some good news,” he said, as he opened a drawer and took out a bottle of cough medicine.

  “China Brown is getting better,” Ben said.

  “That’s good, but not the news I was referring to,” he said, then tilted the bottle to his mouth, rather than use the little plastic cup that also served as a lid. He swallowed and shuddered as he replaced the lid and put the bottle back in the drawer. “God, I hate winter and everything that comes with it.”

  Both detectives wisely chose not to comment and waited for him to continue.

  “Okay,” Floyd said. “Tell me where we are on this investigation. I’m getting some flack from up above.”

  “Dang, Captain, you mean even God’s in on the case?”

  Floyd rolled his eyes and then blew his nose. “Shut up, Fisher. I don’t feel good enough to put up with your crap.”

  Red grinned.

  Ben leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “We’ve been as discreet as possible without undermining our investigation. Beyond that, I don’t give a good damn. Between the adultery, the drugs and the perversions, the people involved brought it on themselves.”

  “Amen,” Red echoed. “And what sticks in my craw is the fact that not a damn one of them even blinked about the money they paid Finelli. It was getting caught that pissed them all off.”

  Floyd nodded. “Yeah, but when the mayor’s involved, it puts a lot of heat on a lot of people. So, what do we know?”

  Ben handed the captain a list of names. “The ones that aren’t crossed out are the only people who don’t have iron-clad alibis. The ones with a red mark beside them are the ones who have no one to corroborate where they were. The others had people who could vouch for them part of the night, but not all of it.”

  Floyd scanned the list. “Ariel Simmons? Wasn’t she on television that night?”

  “Taped show,” Red said. “Which she forgot to mention when we asked.”

  Floyd moved to the next name. “Connie Marx?”

  “Said she was home with the flu,” Ben offered. “Turns out Larry Dee Jackson says she was in his hotel room with him. Either way, one of them is lying, maybe both.”

  “What about Bo Milam, the real estate developer?”

  “In a jet on his way to Las Vegas. It checked out.”

  “And the others?” Floyd asked.

  “About the same story, but we’re still working on these two.” Red pointed to the bottom of the page. “One’s a banker. One’s a plastic surgeon. Neither one has an alibi worth a damn, and we’ve got a couple of guys checking them out.”

  Floyd looked up. “Okay, keep at it,” he said. “Let me know as soon as something breaks.”

  “Captain, about the guard we put on China Brown…”

  “What about it?” Floyd asked.

  “I’d like to continue it 24-7 until we know who we’re looking for. If word gets out that we’ve got a live witness to this, her life won’t be worth a damn.”

  “How are you handling that, by the way?” Floyd asked.

  “With a little deception. The newspaper account said two people were killed. Finelli and someone whose name wasn’t being released until notification of kin. We’re counting on the shooter to assume that China was the other death, since she’s the one who got shot. The fact that it was her child instead of her might not occur to him, and as long as he thinks she’s dead, she’s safe.”

  “Okay, I’ll back you on this,” Floyd said. “Continue the guard. But after she’s released, that’s another story. She was homeless, right? We don’t have the budget to put her up in a hotel with round-the-clock guards until we bring in the perp.”

  Ben was already ahead of the issue. “There won’t be any problems. I’m taking her home with me.”

  Floyd forgot the headache and every other ache in his body as he bolted up out of his seat.

  “The hell you will,” he said. “You’re already over the line with this.”

  “I’m not planning to kidnap her. I’m just offering her a safe place to stay.”

  “That’s a conflict of interest. I won’t allow it.”

  Ben stood his ground. “I’m not a lawyer. I’m a cop. What I do on my own time is my business as long as it’s not illegal.”

  “I don’t like it,” Floyd said.

  “Objection noted,” Ben said. “Is there anything else?”

  Floyd glared at Ben English. Ben returned the stare without comment. Floyd was the first to look away.

  “You mess this up and I’ll have your ass,” he warned.

  “It’s already messed up, Captain. I’m just trying to do something right. It’s the least she deserves.”

  “Then go catch me a killer,” Floyd said.

  Seven

  It was noon the next day when they got their first break in the case, and then it was just by chance. A man named Tommy Fairheart had been booked into jail the previous night on a drunk and disorderly. Ben weighed the odds on how many men would have the same name and not be the man who’d walked out on China, then decided to see for himself. He grabbed Red on the way out of the men’s room and together they headed toward the city jail.

  A short while later Ben stood outside the interrogation room, staring through a one-way mirror at the man inside. His clothes were fashionable but rumpled. His sandy-blond hair was just a little too long, and, except for a weak chin, Ben had to admit women probably found him handsome. Even though he’d spent the night in jail, he seemed unfazed by his situation. He was smiling and laughing and playing his con, even while Red was interrogating him. Ben wanted to hurt him—to make him suffer the way China was suffering.

  When Red turned and stared directly toward the mirror, nodding slightly, Ben’s muscles tensed. It was their prearranged signal for Ben to appear. Red had Fairheart at ease. It was time for Ben to nail his ass to the wall.

  When the door opened, Fairheart looked up, a smile still on his face. Compared to the trouble he’d been in before, a drunk and disorderly was nothing. The fact that they were interrogating him made n
o sense, because no crime had been committed against the bar owner. However, he was willing to go along with their game, as long as it got him released.

  But the detective who entered didn’t return Tommy’s smile, nor did he seem inclined to do so at a later date. Tommy shrugged it off and leaned back in his chair, waiting to see what came next.

  Ben walked up behind Fairheart, then stopped. Fairheart looked up into the mirror at the man standing behind him. Their gazes met and locked. After a moment, Fairheart’s smile began to slip.

  “What’s going on here?” he said, and looked at Red for an answer.

  “My partner doesn’t have anything else to say to you,” Ben said. “But I do.”

  “Oh… I get it,” Fairheart said and then smirked. “This is good cop-bad cop, and you’re Satan himself, right?”

  Ben spoke, his voice low and angry. “Shut up, Fairheart. I’m the one asking questions, understand?”

  Fairheart shrugged, although he was beginning to get nervous.

  “So ask,” he blustered, and leaned back in the chair, balancing it on the back two legs.

  “Sit up!” Ben ordered, and pushed the man into an upright position. The chair hit the floor with a thump.

  “Where were you at 10:00 p.m. on December 11?”

  Fairheart’s belly began to knot. Fuck! How had they found out? He would have sworn there was no way they could trace him to the robbery in Dallas Heights.

  “I don’t remember,” he said. “What day was that?”

  “Friday.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess I was at the movies.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I forget.”

  Ben circled the table to face him, then leaned down, bracing his hands on the surface.

  “You’ve got to do better than that. Do you own a gun?”

  “No,” Fairheart blustered, thinking of the 9 mm semiautomatic back in his apartment. “Besides, what does this have to do with having a little too much to drink? All I did was break a couple of chairs.”

  “Not a damn thing, actually,” Ben said. “This is about the two people who were murdered down in Oakcliff on December 11. You have heard of the area, right?”

  Now they had his attention. Fairheart would have been the first to admit he was a con man, but a killer? Never. Yet he also knew that plenty of men went to prison for things they didn’t do.

  “Oakcliff is a pretty big area. Where did the murders take place?” Fairheart asked.

  “The Blue Parrot sound familiar?” Ben asked.

  Fairheart shook his head. “I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t ever been there. Look, Detective, I didn’t have anything to do with any killings, and I don’t hang out in places like that. I don’t swing that way, if you know what I mean.”

  “You saying The Blue Parrot is a gay bar?”

  “All I’m saying is, you go in there, you better be careful who you come out with. You get it? There’s a little bit of everything going on in there.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Ben said. “And we both know you like women, don’t you, Fairheart?”

  Tommy shrugged and then grinned. “What’s not to like about them? I’m all man and then some.”

  “Oh, we know what kind of man you are,” Ben said. “You’re a liar and a thief. You use women, and when they don’t have anything left to give, you walk out on them, leaving them to deal with the mess you’ve left behind. Is that a fair assessment?”

  Fairheart shrugged again.

  Ben slapped the table with the flats of both hands.

  “Answer me, you son of a bitch, or I swear I’ll—”

  Red laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder. For the moment, it was enough to steady Ben’s anger.

  “So I’m not the marrying kind, so what?” Fairheart asked. “Since when is that a crime?”

  Ben leaned forward until there was less than a foot between their faces.

  “For starters, since you stole money from China Brown.”

  Fairheart sighed with relief. “Is that what this is all about? Well, it’s her word against mine. Besides, she’s gone.”

  Ben’s heart skipped a beat. The information he had from China’s landlord had Fairheart skipping out about a week before she was evicted. How could he know she was gone unless he’d seen her afterward—like maybe on the street, in front of The Blue Parrot?

  “Gone where?” Ben snapped.

  “She’s not at the apartment anymore, that’s all I know.”

  “And you know why, don’t you? She’s not there because maybe she went looking for you after she got evicted. She was six months pregnant with your kid and needed a place to stay. She got all the way to the South Side, didn’t she? Only you didn’t want to be found. You got into an argument on the street in front of The Blue Parrot, and you shot her—twice. And then someone started taking pictures of what you’d done, and you shot him, too.”

  Fairheart needed to throw up. “No! God, no! I didn’t shoot China. I didn’t even know she got shot. I don’t kill people, man. I drink too much, and I don’t like to be tied to one woman, but I’m not a killer. I swear to God, I’m not a killer. I’m not the one who killed China, and I don’t know anything about another man. As for the kid being dead, so what? At least the system won’t be hounding me for the next eighteen years to pay child support for some brat.”

  Before Red could react, Ben had taken Fairheart by the neck, yanked him out of his chair and slammed him against the wall.

  “Help!” Fairheart screamed. “Get him off me!”

  Red grabbed Ben’s wrist before he threw the first punch, but it was all he could do to hang on.

  “Ben! Ben! Don’t ruin your career over this piece of shit!” he cried.

  Ben cursed, turning loose of Fairheart as if he’d suddenly ignited and stalked to the other side of the room.

  “That’s police brutality!” Fairheart shouted. “You’re looking at a lawsuit that will—”

  Red put his hand against Fairheart’s chest, and the quiet tone of his voice was more frightening than any threat he might have made.

  “You’re not going to sue anybody, because there’s not a mark on you, and you are going to sit down and be quiet,” Red said. “And while you’re there, you need to think about all the dangers a pretty boy like you faces behind bars.”

  Tommy Fairheart had a sudden urge to urinate. He’d been in jail before, but never for any length of time and never in a maximum security prison. If they nailed him for murder, he wouldn’t survive inside, and he knew it.

  “I didn’t kill anybody,” he repeated.

  Ben turned, and the look on his face was deadly.

  “Then prove it,” he said.

  Fairheart sighed. Copping to a B and E, breaking and entering, was a hell of a lot better than being sent up for murder. With any luck, he would be out within a year. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad, being inside during the winter months. A warm bed, three squares a day and clean clothes. It was beginning to sound better and better.

  “I can prove where I was,” he said.

  Ben shoved his fists in his pockets to keep from putting them in Fairheart’s face.

  “Keep talking.”

  “There’s this house over in Highland Park. You can check with Robbery. They’ll tell you. I was there on December 11 around nine-thirty in the evening. I pawned the take at Frankie’s Gun and Pawn Shop the next morning. There isn’t any way I could have been on the south side if I was robbing a house in Highland Park, right?”

  At that moment Ben knew he was telling the truth, and the knowledge made him sick. Even if they were going to put Fairheart behind bars, they were back to square one with the murders. He couldn’t get Fairheart for murder, but he could get him for money.

  “I noticed on your booking sheet that you had a little over twelve hundred dollars on you when you were picked up.”

  Fairheart shrugged. “So?”

  “So I’m thinking that you’ve just gotten an attack of conscience over the way
things have turned out.” Ben looked up at his partner. “Hey, Red, didn’t I just hear Fairheart say he was planning to give that money to the county to pay for burying his child?”

  Red grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”

  Tommy Fairheart bolted to his feet. “Hey, man, you can’t do that to me. I need that money for my bail and I—”

  Ben took one step toward him.

  Fairheart began to back up, holding his hands in front of him like a shield.

  “Wait… wait… yeah, that’s fine with me. After all, I can always get more.” He couldn’t resist bragging. “There are plenty of lonely women. China Brown was an easy mark. I didn’t hit her. I never hit my women. I treated her good when I was with her.”

  “And when you left, you destroyed her,” Ben said. He pointed at Red. “Call Robbery. Get someone over here to take him to booking, and don’t forget to have lover boy here write a letter of intent about the money before he leaves.”

  Now that everything was beginning to calm down, Fairheart began to regain his bluster.

  “You don’t scare me,” he said, as Ben opened the door.

  Ben turned. “You should be afraid,” he said softly. “Very afraid. Stay away from China Brown. If you come near her again, I will bury you so deep in the paperwork of the Texas justice system that you’ll never see daylight again.” He walked away, not trusting himself to stay any longer.

  Fairheart glared after the man’s back, then turned his fury toward Red.

  “That was another threat. You heard him,” Fairheart argued as Red began to handcuff him for transport.

  “I didn’t hear a damned thing,” Red said.

  Ben walked all the way back to Homicide by himself. He needed to put distance between himself and that man before he did something he couldn’t take back. But when he got to his desk, the note by the phone darkened his mood even more.

  Call the coroner.

  He punched in the numbers, although he suspected what the message would be. Red walked into the room just as he disconnected. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and slipped his cell phone in his pocket.