Butterfly

by Sharon Sala

“What’s up?” Red asked.

  Ben paused. “China Brown’s baby… the coroner just released the body to the next of kin.”

  “I thought she didn’t have any kin,” Red said.

  “She doesn’t,” Ben muttered, and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to China. I need to ask her where she wants the baby buried.”

  “She can’t talk,” Red argued. “Besides that, you can’t just waltz in there and ask her something like that. She doesn’t know about the baby. The news could kill her.”

  “She does know,” Ben said. “And she can talk. She just hasn’t wanted to yet. I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off, okay? If the captain needs to get in touch with me, he has my number.”

  Before Red could argue, Ben was gone.

  ***

  Someone was washing China’s face and brushing her hair, and she wanted to tell them they’d just gotten soap in her eyes, but she couldn’t summon enough initiative to argue. Early that morning she’d heard a man—a doctor, she thought—giving orders regarding her care. They had upped the antibiotic and lowered the pain medication. She wanted to tell them they were crazy. If they hurt in as many places as she did, they would shoot themselves full of painkillers and never stop.

  A loud noise sounded in the hallway outside, and China jumped. The reflex was instinctive—the sound too much like a gunshot.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” the nurse said, and patted China’s arm in an effort to calm her. “You’re in a hospital. You’re safe. Don’t be afraid. There’s a policeman on guard outside the ward, and you’re doing just fine.”

  She struggled with a sigh. Safe? She would never feel safe again. Her mind gave up the struggle to stay awake, and she drifted off to sleep. Sometime later she awoke but could not bring herself to the point of opening her eyes. The last thing she’d seen was that woman pointing a gun at her, and then the snow falling into her eyes. She was afraid to look—afraid of what she might see. So she lay without moving, listening to the murmur of nurses’ voices and the occasional moan from a patient nearby.

  She was drifting again, lost in a place between reality and denial, when she heard another sound—that of footsteps coming toward her at a steady pace. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew those steps. She knew his voice. It was the promise man.

  ***

  The adrenaline rush of wanting to wring Tommy Fairheart’s neck was subsiding as Ben exited the elevator and started down the hall to the ICU. Normally he looked forward to these visits, but not this afternoon. Instead, he felt sick to his stomach. There was so much he needed to know, and she was the only one who could help them. Guilt had a good foothold in his conscience as the nurse at the desk waved him into the ward. What if Red was right? What if this visit made things worse instead of better? He shrugged off the thought. This woman was a fighter. She deserved the right to be a part of these decisions. For all he knew, it was the only thing keeping her alive.

  Then he saw her face, and the tension begin to ease from his body. Just a few more steps. Finally he was there.

  “Hello, China.”

  He stroked the length of her arm, testing the warmth of her skin as he touched her.

  Although her eyes were closed, there was something different about her. It had to do with the posture of her body, or maybe the tilt of her head upon the pillow, almost as if she were listening. He slipped his hand beneath her fingers, letting them rest on his palm, and then gave them a gentle squeeze of hello.

  “It’s me. Ben. It’s been a few hours since we last talked, and a lot has happened that I knew you would want to know. We found your friend, Tommy Fairheart.”

  She inhaled slowly. Ben looked up just in time to see a muscle twitch in her jaw.

  “Okay, maybe he’s not your friend anymore, but we found him, just the same. At first we thought he was the one who shot you, but he has a pretty good alibi. Just don’t give up on us, okay? The investigation is still going strong.”

  She sighed, then seemed to be waiting for him to continue.

  “There’s something we need to talk about.”

  He hesitated, uncertain of how to begin. She was so small and so hurt, and the thought of causing her more pain of any kind was abhorrent. Yet it was her child, and she was the one on whom the decision should rest.

  He cupped the side of her face, tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb.

  “China, you do understand me, don’t you?”

  Within seconds, she nodded slightly. The communication, scant though it was, was beautiful to Ben. He wanted to laugh, then he wanted to cry. Instead, he patted her cheek and then brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead.

  “That’s good, honey, so good. Now, do you think you can do something for me?”

  She didn’t move, but he could feel her pulse jumping.

  “Will you open your eyes for me?”

  China’s heart was pounding inside her chest so hard that it felt like it might explode. Her fear was so great that she couldn’t find the words to say no.

  “Please,” Ben begged. “I promise it will be okay.”

  She sighed. The promise man—back with another promise. Did she dare to trust him? Did she dare to trust herself?”

  “I need your help,” Ben said softly. “We need to bury your baby. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  A moan slid out from between her lips, followed by the onset of tears. Both the sound and the sight broke Ben’s heart. He didn’t know whether to apologize and leave, or cry along with her.

  “I know, honey… I know,” Ben whispered. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

  When her fingers curled around his wrist, he took it as a no.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I’m here. You just take your time. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.”

  He looked around for a chair, but before he could move, he heard her take a slow breath. He looked down. Her eyelids were fluttering, then opening to accommodate only the briefest of glances, as if the lights were too bright for her eyes.

  “Here, China. I’m here.”

  She turned to the sound of his voice and then stilled. Ben felt as if he’d been waiting all his life to look into her eyes.

  China’s memory quickened. Light. She’d almost forgotten there was a world beyond the darkness of her mind. Shadows danced before her eyes, coupled with intermittent flashes of brilliance. Her eyelids were dry against the corneas, and she blinked several times until it was no longer painful. She could feel his breath on her face and the rock-steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers.

  “Mama,” she said, and didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice.

  Ben frowned. Was she more confused than he’d imagined? Her mother was dead. Surely she wasn’t asking for her.

  “I’m sorry, China, but your mother can’t be here.”

  She licked her lips and then slowly shook her head no.

  Ben was even more confused. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Baby… with Mama.”

  Suddenly Ben understood. “You want the baby buried beside your mother?”

  Immediately the tension in her body relaxed and she managed a nod.

  “Can you tell me where she’s buried?” Ben asked.

  “Rest…”

  At first Ben didn’t understand as his mind raced toward a dozen different conclusions.

  “I know she’s at rest, honey. But I need to know where she’s buried. Is she in Dallas?”

  Her eyes opened a little bit more, and then she was looking at Ben English’s face. Ben caught himself holding his breath. Her eyes were blue—a deep, stormy blue—and her gaze reflected such sorrow he couldn’t find the strength to speak. He waited, naked before her gaze.

  “Restland.”

  “Oh… Restland Cemetery on the north side of Dallas?”

  She nodded, then closed her eyes.

  “I understa
nd. You’re mother is buried there, and you want the baby with her.”

  China’s answer came out in whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you trust me to do this for you? Will you do that, honey? I promise to make it special.”

  Tears welled, coming all the way from a broken heart to China’s eyes. The promise man—so full of promises. Why couldn’t she have met a man like this before it was too late?

  “Ah, God,” Ben murmured. “I didn’t mean to make you cry any more. Forgive me?”

  She curled her fingers around his wrist and then sighed. She was tired—so very tired. She wanted to sleep, but there was something she needed to tell him, only she couldn’t remember what.

  Ben could tell her endurance was just about gone, but he didn’t regret a moment of his visit. Today was the first day since he’d seen her lying on the sidewalk in front of that bar that he felt positive she would recover.

  “I’m going to let you sleep now,” Ben said. “You did good today, really good. I’m so proud of you, China. Just remember, we’re still hard at work on your case, and we will find the man who shot you. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Suddenly China’s eyes flew open. She remembered what it was that she’d been wanting to say.

  “No,” she muttered, and dug her fingers into his wrist.

  Startled by her vehemence, Ben frowned.

  “No? You don’t believe we’ll find him?”

  “No,” China said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Not a him.”

  Ben froze. What she’d just said was something they’d never considered.

  “China, are you saying the person who shot you was a woman?”

  China’s eyes were drooping. She was fighting an overwhelming urge to sleep, but he had to understand that they were looking in the wrong places. Her head lolled to the side. She could hear the promise man’s voice, calling to her from far away.

  Ben was frantic. “China… sweetheart… just one more time. You can do it, I know you can. Are you telling me that the person who shot you was a woman?”

  He saw her take a breath. Her lips parted. He stared at her mouth, waiting for the word to emerge. Finally a whisper came, so faint that he had to bend down to hear.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed as shock shot through his body.

  “I heard you, honey. I understand. Now rest. I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

  When China heard the words “I promise” she smiled in her mind, though the smile never reached her face.

  Ben straightened abruptly. Satisfied that his visit had done China no harm, he touched the side of her cheek one last time and then walked away. This changed everything, and Red and Captain Floyd needed to know as soon as possible.

  ***

  “Senator Wakefield, you’d better turn on your television and take a look at this.”

  Bobby Lee glanced up as his aide, Duffy Melton, entered his office, then picked up the remote and hit the Power button.

  “What channel?” he asked.

  “Breaking story on all channels, I think,” Duffy said.

  As the picture began to emerge, Bobby Lee could see news crews and an ambulance, as well as about a dozen of Dallas’s finest cordoning off what appeared to be a crime scene.

  “What’s the big deal?” Bobby Lee asked.

  “Tashi Yamamoto was found dead in his car in a bank parking lot. They think it was a robbery. His wallet and jewelry are missing, and they’re saying he died of a gunshot to the head.”

  Bobby Lee frowned. “Tashi Yamamoto of Yamamoto Industries?”

  Duffy nodded. “One and the same. This is going to play hell in South Dallas. That factory employs over a thousand of your constituents. If they close down that plant, we’ve got a whole lot of people out of a job, and in this economy, that’s not good.”

  “I never met the man,” Bobby Lee muttered.

  “No, sir, but you know the rumors about him. He didn’t come to Texas often, but when he did, he was almost a recluse. People said he was into a lot of weird stuff… perversion… things like that.”

  Bobby Lee shrugged. “I was taught never to speak ill of the dead, so just drop it. By the way, where’s that EPA file on the Ellis Fishery? Damn agency, always meddling into hardworking people’s business. Find it for me, will you? I promised Edward Ellis that I’d see to it they didn’t shut him down.”

  “Yes, sir,” Duffy said. “I’ll be right back with it.”

  As Duffy left, Bobby Lee’s frown deepened as he glanced back at the television screen. He hated surprises, but he hated turmoil more. With a muffled curse, he aimed the remote at the television. When the screen went black, he tossed the remote aside and stalked to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

  Eight

  The information Ben received from China set Homicide into an uproar. Now the forty-five names on the original list had to be looked at from another angle, and within the space of three days, the investigation had Dallas society into an uproar. The media had been told nothing, but it was inevitable from the number of people involved that something would eventually leak. China Brown had been moved from the ICU into a private room with a guard posted outside her door. No one went in or out who wasn’t on the list, and Ben’s anxiety grew. The longer it took to find the killer, the more difficult it would be. And if word got out that the Dallas police had an eyewitness, China’s life wouldn’t be worth a dime.

  The men who’d been eliminated earlier were still in the clear, but now their wives were not. Before, the women in Finelli’s pictures who were without good alibis had been put more or less in the background of the investigation. Now they were prime suspects. Four teams of detectives from Homicide were working the list, going from one household to the next and raising more hell in Dallas than the annual rivalry of the Texas A and M—Oklahoma University football game.

  High on the list of suspects were anchorwoman Connie Marx, Shelly Milam, a local real estate developer’s wife, and televangelist Ariel Simmons. Their alibis were vague, and they had no one to corroborate their whereabouts on the night of the shootings.

  After learning she was a suspect in a double homicide, Connie Marx had been put on temporary leave by her boss. She was so angry at the Dallas P.D. that she was threatening to hire a lawyer. The fact that Larry Jackson claimed she was with him was tainted by the fact that there was no one else to verify their story. In the eyes of the police, being lovers and suspects more or less negated whatever truth there might be between them.

  Two other detectives were trying to find Shelly Milam, who’d served her husband with divorce papers after he’d been interviewed the first time around. All they knew at this point was that she’d flown to Alabama to be with her family and wouldn’t be back in Texas until next week. They were in the process of notifying the Selma, Alabama, police department that Mrs. Milam was wanted for questioning in two murders and asking their help in locating her.

  Since Ariel Simmons’s earlier claim that she was broadcasting her show had been disproved, Red and Ben descended upon the woman’s home with renewed fervor. Only this time, Ariel’s lawyer was present.

  ***

  “Looks like she’s got company,” Red said, as he parked in front of Ariel Simmons’s door.

  The black Jaguar already in the driveway spelled money, and the vanity plate below the bumper, ILUV2SUE, was a mobile advertisement for the lawyer who owned it.

  “More like reinforcements,” Ben said. “Let’s get this over with. I promised China I’d come by this evening before I drove out to the ranch.”

  “Going to see Mattie?” Red asked.

  Ben nodded, then grinned. “Yeah, tomorrow’s my day off, and Mom’s been giving me heck about how long it’s been since I’ve been home. Thought I’d better check on her and the place while I’ve got a chance.”

  He rang the doorbell.

  Within seconds, a man answered. From the cut of his suit and the Rolex on his wrist, Ben assume
d this would be the lawyer.

  “Detectives English and Fisher to see Miss Simmons,” Ben said.

  “This way, gentlemen. And for the record, I’m Herb Langley, Miss Simmons’s lawyer.”

  “For the record, she’s going to need one,” Ben replied, and was satisfied to see the back of Langley’s neck turning red as he escorted them down the hall.

  As they entered the library, it was obvious that Ariel had been awaiting their arrival. She was in character, from the long blond hair to a soft, white flowing dress. At their approach, she looked up from the chair where she was sitting and laid her hand on her Bible, as if to hold her place while she greeted them.

  “Do sit down,” she said softly, and then bent her head and closed her eyes as she murmured a quick, silent prayer.

  When she looked up, her face seemed illuminated, her eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. She sighed, then closed her Bible and laid it aside, giving them her full attention.

  “I was told you have some more questions for me, so I’ve asked my lawyer, Herbert Langley, to sit in. I’m sure you understand.”

  Neither detective seemed impressed with her change of manner or appearance, and it aggravated Ariel greatly, but she didn’t let it show.

  “Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?”

  Ben pulled out his notebook and went straight to the point.

  “When we where here before, you told us that on the night Finelli was murdered, you were doing a live broadcast. We have since found out that the show that night was taped at an earlier date.”

  Ariel’s hands fluttered up from her lap in an awkward sort of way, as if they were connected to the strings of an apprentice puppeteer.

  “You are so right, and I apologize for the mistake. You see, I rarely air anything that’s not live, and I suppose in my shock at that horrible photograph you showed me, I just forgot. Of course, when I checked my calendar, I realized what I’d done and told Langley immediately. Didn’t I, Langley?”

  “Yes, you certainly did,” he said. “And, as you know, before I could contact the police department and inform them of the error, your people contacted my client instead. The accusation that she is in any way connected to that horrible woman in the photograph, or to the murders, is absurd.”