Page 18 of The Butterfly Killer

Except for maybe the first one.

Mercer nodded to Marcus. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He left out the part where he puked in the next door neighbor’s bushes. At least he’d been able to hold it long enough to not damage any evidence.

“Burns.” Mercer tilted his head, signaling that he wanted to speak to Burns alone.

Burns walked away from Marcus’s cruiser with Mercer. Burns would glance at Marcus a couple of times which made Marcus feel like he was maybe going to be questioned. He was fine with it, but he didn’t want to be close to the case in this way.

His life and family had been upturned by the Butterfly Killer. He didn’t need to be dragged further into it. And he definitely didn’t want this copycat killer roping him into their “plans” either.

Marcus turned his gaze away from the agents and looked at the quiet and deceiving house. If it wasn’t for the yellow tape or the police cars it would be unthinkable that such a gruesome murder had taken place there.

The young girl’s face flashed in his mind. He winced, closing his eyes which only made the haunting image worse. He covered his face, pressing the pads of his fingers into his temples as if it was going to give him any kind of relief.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Jesus!” Marcus opened his eyes to find Mercer staring back at him.

The man was wearing a pensive look. “I’m serious. If this is too much for you, you should go home.”

Marcus shook his head. “I’m fine. Just haven’t been getting a lot of sleep.”

He yawned, starting out fake but then morphing into a real one. He wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t getting the best sleep. That wasn’t anything new. With how much death he’d seen, it was a surprised he could sleep at all.

Mercer didn’t believe him. Marcus could tell that much by the look on his face. But the man didn’t have any authority over him. He could tell him to fuck off if he was messing with the investigation, but something told Marcus that Mercer wasn’t that cold-hearted. He understood this meant more to Marcus than anyone.

“I was going to ask if you’d want to look at the body?—”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Yes! Absolutely.”

Mercer narrowed his eyes. “—but if you’re not feeling good?—”

“I’m fine. Seriously. I know this might sound strange, but I know this killer like the back of my hand. I’ve studied him for years?—”

“And that’s why I’m letting you. But make no mistake, if you get too latched to this and I think you’re letting your bias sway you, I will make sure you never get an inch close to this case again. Got it?”

Marcus nodded. He felt like a cat and Mercer had stepped on his tail. But he was fine. He wouldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t.

Mercer watched him little longer. He was probably searching for an ounce of doubt on Marcus’s face. He wasn’t going to find it because this was the most sure Marcus had ever felt in his life. Even more sure than he’d been when he promised himself he’d find his mom’s killer.

“Come on.”

Mercer turned and started toward the house. Forensics was still out and about. The guy with the camera was taking pictures. It seemed so routine that no one was phased by any of it. However, if Marcus turned away from the house everyone was focused on, he’d see neighbors on their porches, kids staring out their windows, and random passerbyers filming.

They all were entranced by this new spectacle. Because that was all this would be to them. It didn’t mean anything to them. But to the woman who’d found her babysitter dead on her kitchen floor—to the kid who might have witnessed the young girl’s murder—and the girl’s family—this would mean everything. It would mean for the rest of their lives they would wake with night terrors of the girl’s murder playing out with no way in stopping it.

The agents and Marcus ducked under the tape. They were about to enter the house through the front door when Blevins stepped out from the shadows—again like a villain from a cartoon.

“He’s not supposed to be here.”

Mercer didn’t even look at Blevins as he passed him by. “I said he could.”

Blevins went red in the face. “Who gave you the authority?—”

“I did,” Mercer said with finality. “I’m in charge of this case. I decide who works on it and I say he’s allowed in. Do you have a problem with that?”

A moment of silence passed. Blevins’s eyes darted to Marcus’s. He looked one second away from punching Marcus in the face. Instead of doing that, he marched away to his flashy car where his partner was waiting for him.

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