Girl With The Origami Butterfly

by Linda Berry

  Discovered approximately five days after the time of death, Satoshi’s body was in an advanced stage of putrefaction—bloated, discolored, with insect and rodent activity present. Releasing a slow breath, Sidney placed the photos back in the file, twisted the cap off her water bottle, and took a long, cool sip.

  She turned back to McKowski. “Have you ever investigated a murder, Dan?”

  “No… but if you’re suggesting we did sloppy police work…”

  He straightened his shoulders and sat taller in his chair, a posture of machismo that didn’t disguise his nervousness, and possibly, his resentment at being questioned by a woman. Sidney had noted from her research online that only one woman was employed with the Sand Hill police force, a rookie, and the first hired in the entire history of the department. Nearing retirement age, McKowski most likely was entrenched in the ‘old boys club’ mentality, where the concept that women were the weaker sex was pervasive, and men seldom looked at women as peers.

  “I’m not suggesting anything, Dan. Just trying to gather facts. Satoshi’s death was brought to my attention because it resembles two murders we’ve had in Garnerville, and we have evidence linking her to both crimes.”

  He blinked several times. “Two murders? You think you have a serial killer in your area?”

  “I’m convinced we do.”

  “What connects your homicides to Satoshi?”

  “The women were carefully staged. Propped against a tree in a seated position. One ankle crossed over the other. Barefoot. Wrists slit.”

  McKowski’s face paled. The photos in Satoshi’s report showed the same body positioning.

  “I’m investigating quietly. Please keep this under wraps.”

  “Of course.”

  “It says in your file, Dan, that high school boys found the body in the old historic lighthouse.”

  “Correct. They broke in around midnight. They wanted to drink beer and smoke pot up on the top story, see the great views. If they hadn’t been blasted out of their minds, they would have been warned off by the smell. But they went in. Got the shock of their lives.”

  “It says no autopsy was performed. No tox screen. No pathology test of any kind.”

  “Her body was melting in its own juices, Chief. The whole lighthouse stank to high heaven. We needed to dispose of the body quickly. She was cremated.”

  “A pathologist should have been notified,” Sidney said coolly.

  “The M.E. made the final decision.”

  “If you had deemed the death suspicious, Dan, the M.E. would have performed an autopsy. Now vital evidence has been destroyed.”

  His face flushed red, and he blustered, “The death wasn’t suspicious. She lived like a hermit, holed up in her little house up on the bluff. Loneliness and isolation lead to depression,” he argued with an air of authority. “Depression can lead to suicide.”

  His convenient theory based on pop psychology angered Sidney. She stared at her hand, gripping her water bottle, and slowly counted to three before she said in a controlled voice, “It says a blade was found at the scene. I don’t see a picture of it in the report.”

  His face colored. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Do you have the blade in the case file?”

  “We don’t store unnecessary evidence. Everything we have regarding her case is in that folder you’re holding.”

  “No photo. No blade.” Sidney gave him her deadly stare. “Do you remember the make, the brand of the blade?”

  McKowski picked at the paper on his water bottle. “I believe it was a barber’s straight edge razor.”

  Sidney resisted the urge to throw the folder at him and handed back the file. “Was anything found with the body? Jewelry? Any of her origami pieces?”

  “No. Only the skirt, blouse, and underwear she had on.”

  Sidney was disappointed there was no butterfly, but every other aspect of the crime matched her two homicides. Except the blade. Why did the killer leave the blade? To avert suspicion of a murder? If so, he succeeded. But that begged the question, why was he now contacting the Daily Buzz, seeking attention, taunting law enforcement over his latest victim in Garnerville?

  Sidney was certain the perp felt threatened by women—the likely reason he injected the neurotoxin—so he could exert full control over each victim for hours before the deadly finale. Was he taunting Sidney because she was the first female police chief in Garnerville’s history? Did he need to show her a man had the upper hand?

  McKowski’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Why Satoshi? Why here?”

  She met the officer’s eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Did you talk to her friends? See if anyone was threatening her?”

  “We spoke to a few people. Mostly to inform them of her death. No one mentioned anyone suspicious. She didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “I’d like to see the crime scene.”

  “I can arrange that.” He hesitated for a moment, watching his fingers drum the table before meeting her gaze again. “Do you mind if another officer takes you? It’s my day off. I have an appointment.”

  “No problem.” Preferable.

  Looking relieved, McKowski slapped his armrests and heaved himself out of his chair. “I’ll send in Officer Megan Conner. She was with me the night we found the body.” He stretched his arm across the table and shook her hand. His was damp. “Please keep me notified of any updates.”

  “Will do.”

  He hurried from the room, and Sidney wiped his sweat from her hand on her jeans. A few minutes passed before the door opened, and Officer Megan Conner walked in. She was a slender black woman with striking hazel eyes, and a crisp, professional manner. Dressed in the standard blue uniform of the Sand Hill department, she wore her hair slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  She reached out her hand to Sidney. “I’m Officer Conner. I hear you want to go up to the lighthouse, Chief Becker.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  PERCHED ON THE FURTHERMOST tip of a rugged peninsula, the historic lighthouse could be seen from almost anywhere in town. Sidney remembered once viewing it from a sailboat, miles out in the open sea. The design was unique; a cylindrical tower that housed the fog signal equipment, attached at the base to one side of an octagonal room.

  “I remember taking a tour of the lighthouse when I was a teenager,” Sidney said, making mild conversation, sitting next to Conner in her cruiser. “Quite an engineering feat for the 1890’s. Is it still open to tourists?”

  “It was condemned ten years ago,” Officer Conner said. “The historical society was gearing up to restore it, but Satoshi’s death put a damper on their plans. They’re only now getting back to the project. In another few weeks, you wouldn’t have been able to see it…” She glanced at Sidney and returned her focus to the road. “As it was that night.”

  Sidney heard a catch in Conner’s voice and glanced over at her. “You knew her?”

  Conner’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. “It’s a small town, Chief Becker. Everyone knows everyone.” She parked on the paved road and she and Sidney trudged along the shoulder following the contour of the cliff. The asphalt was riddled with cracks and cheat grass burst through the openings in verdant green tufts. The tall yellow grass in the surrounding fields shimmied and tossed in the brisk morning wind and voluminous clouds blossomed in a deep blue sky. Even behind sunglasses, Sidney’s eyes narrowed against the glaring sunlight.

  The structure loomed in front of them. Peeling paint and chipped stucco told of more than a century of punishment from gale force winds, brutal sun, and torrential storms, yet it stood solidly erect on a cliff of scoured granite. The waves below rushed to shore in great hunched mounds and crashed against boulders in showy explosions of spray and foam. The area around the dwelling was wood-planked, and a long walkway connected the lighthouse to the keeper’s home some six hundred and fifty feet away. A brick cistern and a dilapidated barn also stood on the barren property.


  Officer Conner pulled a jangling ring of keys from her jacket pocket and inserted one into the rusty lock. They heard it click, but the door resisted when she pushed against it. Both women leaned in hard with their shoulders, and finally, it groaned open.

  “How did the kids get in?” Sidney asked.

  “They climbed through a back window. All the windows are now boarded up.” Sidney noticed Conner’s face had paled. The young officer stripped a flashlight from her duty belt and handed it to Sidney, then stepped aside to let her enter. “Watch your step.”

  Sidney thumbed the switch and followed the beam inside. She noticed the smell immediately. Though faint, the stench of putrefaction still lingered in these close quarters deprived of sunlight and fresh air. The circle of light darted from floor to walls, illuminating scraps of wood and rusted debris strewn across the floor. Layers of peeling paint exposed the original stonework, and veils of spider webs hung like garlands from the ceiling.

  “She was found on the second floor,” Conner said behind her in a thin voice, her silhouette framed in the doorway. “If it’s all right with you, Chief, I’ll wait out here.”

  “No problem.” For most, viewing a crime scene once was enough to imprint grisly details in their minds for life. In Oakland, Sidney returned to the epicenter of violence several times, to get a greater understanding of the full scope of what took place, to try to understand a sick mind capable of conducting acts of depravity.

  Dark memories threatened to surface as she climbed the steel mesh spiral stairway. She forced them down and focused on the crime scene at hand. A man with above average strength carried Satoshi up these stairs, and if Sidney’s assumption was correct, the woman was trapped in an unresponsive body, but fully conscious. What had Satoshi been thinking those last minutes of her life? What was her killer thinking? Was he delirious with anticipation of some kind of emotional climax, just seconds away?

  She stepped off the stairway that spiraled upwards and flashed her beam around the circular room until she found the crime scene. The smell was stronger up here. Remembering the photos, Sidney’s pulse quickened, and a wave of nausea rolled in her gut.

  An attempt had been made to wash away the blood, but even under a dull coat of dust, Sidney could see a wide stain from each wrist embedded in the rotting floorboards. The arterial spray that fanned the wall was a fading ghost. Sidney envisioned the killer posing his victim with care, neatly arranging her clothing, crossing one bare ankle over the other, placing each arm at her side, and when all was perfect, slicing through each fragile wrist.

  Had the killer stood in this very spot watching his methodical planning come to fruition? Had he fixed Satoshi’s head in such a position that her wide-eyed stare was trained on his while her life ebbed away? Sidney felt herself sinking into the old familiar dread, with an awful gnawing in her gut. What had this poor woman done to warrant such a grisly death?

  A movement to her left spiked her adrenalin. She backed up quickly, and something brushed against her cheek. She gasped when her beam revealed a huge gray rat across the room, frozen in the light, eyes luminous red. It hissed and scurried into a hole in the floorboards, its tail slithering behind like a snake.

  Heart pounding, Sidney caught her breath and found she had backed into a thick strand of cobweb, which stuck to her face and hair like cotton candy. With impatience, she brushed it off and forced herself to move about the room slowly, examining every square foot of space. Aside from rodent droppings and numerous spiders disturbed in their webs, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, no further clues. She descended the stairs, her spirit stained with residual horror.

  Out in the open air, she inhaled a deep cleansing breath and heard Conner lock the door behind her. Their eyes met, and they shared a moment of understanding. “You never get used to it,” Sidney said. “That’s why I left homicide in the big city.”

  “Even in a small town, death follows you.”

  “True. But at least now I don’t have it served up with my meals three times a day.”

  They both smiled. Gallows humor.

  Sidney stood gazing at the stunning view, letting the warm sunshine dilute the crime scene images. Billowing clouds drifted in a deep blue sky that merged with the blue of the sea. “How well did you know Satoshi?”

  Conner’s posture stiffened, and her lips tightened into a seam. Almost immediately, her eyes turned glassy, and her tough expression collapsed. She jammed her hands into her pockets and stared out to sea. “We were close.”

  Sidney said gently, “Anything you tell me, Megan, is off the record. If you want her killer found, talk to me.”

  Officer Conner blushed with the realization her secret was exposed. “We better head back.” She turned abruptly and headed for the cruiser.

  Sidney followed several feet behind to give the officer space and time to think. When they were both strapped inside the vehicle, Conner sat for a minute, contemplating the steering wheel with her dark brows drawn together.

  “You know it wasn’t suicide, don’t you?” Sidney said.

  Silence.

  “Confidential,” Sidney said. “I promise.”

  “Satoshi didn’t kill herself,” Conner blurted, and faced Sidney. “She was happy. She loved her life.”

  Sidney took a chance. “Satoshi loved you.”

  Conner nodded, said in a shaky voice. “We were going to move in together.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sidney said quietly.

  A strained look tightened the officer’s face. “It’s been tough. Not being able to talk about it. I’ve been openly gay for years, but Satoshi was ashamed of being a lesbian. We saw each other in secret. I was slowly easing her out of the closet.”

  “She was a beautiful woman.”

  “And a beautiful person. Gentle and kind.”

  “Her work is stunning.”

  “She was totally committed to her art.” Conner half smiled, and pulled onto the road, tires bouncing over ruts and potholes. The smell of brine and sweet grass filtered in through the open windows.

  “Tell me about Satoshi.”

  “Where do I start?” She paused. “She lived a very sheltered life in Japan. Upper middle class. She came to Oregon seventeen years ago on an art grant, and stayed. After she bought her cottage ten years ago, she focused obsessively on her art. Her agent conducted all her business transactions. That isolation made her incredibly naïve, and oblivious to the dangers of the world.”

  “Did she ever mention anyone taking an unhealthy interest in her?”

  “She wouldn’t have noticed. Satoshi didn’t have a clue how pretty she was or the interest she stirred in men. They flirted shamelessly, but she ignored them.”

  “That must have pissed off some men.”

  “Yeah. I witnessed it a few times when we were out together.”

  “Did anyone show signs of stalking her?”

  “It’s a small town. I think I would’ve known.” She lowered her voice and added in a conspiratorial tone, “After she died, I did find something.”

  Sidney’s antennae shot up.

  “When it became clear her case was going to be dismissed as a suicide, I started investigating on my own. I have a key to her cottage. I went up there one night and copied all the business files from her computer.” Conner swallowed, her eyes trained on the road. “I spent days combing through her records. Two men flagged my attention. Both had sent her several emails. Both were collectors who owned several of her pricier pieces. There had never been any problems with their payments. That’s why she didn’t direct the business through her agent. To reward their loyalty, Satoshi dealt with them personally. Gave them the red-carpet treatment.”

  “Why did you find them suspicious?”

  They had reached the edge of downtown. Conner pulled up at a traffic stop where children on a field trip, walking two-by-two, were ushered across the intersection by three adults. Conner met Sidney’s gaze. “They wanted to meet Satoshi i
n person. And both picked dates close to the time of her murder.”

  “Did she meet with them?”

  “Yes.

  “Here in town?”

  “Yes. In her studio.” Conner blew out a ragged breath. “I wish to God I’d been with her for those meetings. Maybe I would’ve picked up on something she couldn’t. But she wouldn’t let me. She was fiercely private. She insisted on keeping her business separate from our personal time.”

  “Do you know the names of these men?”

  The last of the children scampered to the sidewalk, and Conner carefully crossed the intersection. “One man always signed his first name. James.”

  “James Abbott?”

  “I don’t know his last name, but he was from Portland.”

  Sidney began pushing bits of information together. The Abbotts were from Portland. James worked in Portland. He had an intimate relationship with Samantha, and he had given her one of Satoshi’s butterflies. He also was a highly disciplined man who appeared to have an addiction to extramarital affairs, a desire to control women, and an animosity if they didn’t bend to his will. A lot of puzzle pieces fitting together. “Who was the other man?”

  A look of fear flitted across the officer’s face. “He called himself ‘The Collector.’”

  Sidney’s scalp prickled. In light of what happened to Satoshi and the other women, a man calling himself “The Collector” had a sinister ring. “Where is he from?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t in the files, but I instinctively didn’t like him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “His fussiness. Calling all the shots, insisting she bend her schedule to accommodate his. His payments had to be in cash instead of PayPal, which made her feel like a bank clerk.”

  “He didn’t want a paper trail.”

  “Yeah, like he was already planning her murder.”

  Sidney nodded. “Where were you the night of the abduction?”