Page 3 of The Butterfly Killer

“—he’s changed his type.”

“Were we really sure about his type in the first place?”

“He only went after young single mothers. This woman never had children.”

Marcus walked past the living room.

“He might have picked his victim out of desperation. She lived alone and she has no alarm systems.”

The small hallway lead toward the just as small bedroom. There was a twin bed pushed against the wall. The curtains were closed.

Something egged him. Something he didn’t first notice when he saw the body. He turned around, surveying the room once more to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

He took another long look at the bed. He turned to look at the small closet. The door was left ajar. He crept over to it. With no fear he’d be contaminating evidence since the forensics team had already been through, he pushed the door open with the tip of his pointer finger.

The door made a creaking noise as it opened slightly more. The closet was stuffed with clothes. It was a mess. Again, something tickled the back of Marcus’s thoughts.

He turned around. The room was clean. The sheets looked like they hadn’t been slept in. In fact, the corners of the sheets were tucked in neatly and perfectly aligned. The curtains too, he noticed now, were perfectly pulled back so they were symmetrical.

He left the bedroom. The voices were faint from the living room. He didn’t care to listen in. He felt far removed from what was happening now—his mind was drifting to what had happened last night when the killer had been here.

Someone was standing in the hall. They might have been calling his name, but he was too lost in his head to hear it.

He moved to the bathroom like he was being lead by a string. It was spotless. Another thing that tipped him off that something was wrong. The tiles looked new—brand new. Which couldn’t be possible because this house was at least from the mid-century.

Someone must have scrubbed them really good. The same was for the shower walls and the shower glass. The toilet and sink were shining with no dirt to be found anywhere.

But, as he expected, when he opened the bathroom cabinet, he found dirt and grime that could have been there for years. The build up was almost as gross as the death. However, he wasn’t scared of dirt like he was of death. His nose didn’t even twitch.

“What are you doing?”

He almost jumped out of his skin. He looked at Blevins through the mirror. He swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly turned to face the detective.

“I was just…” Poking his nose into something that didn’t concern him. He knew he was already getting close to the case and he wasn’t even officially on it. Too much of it was like his mom’s, but almost different that it made him eager to put the pieces together.

Blevins narrowed his eyes as he leaned his arm on the doorframe. “This isn’t your investigation. Get back to guarding the tape.”

Marcus was too embarrassed to even think about muttering a remark. He squeezed between the small space between Blevins and the doorframe to get out. Blevins glared at the back of his head as he walked down the hall and made his way to the front door.

The agents stepped out from the living room just as he was passing by. The tallest one who also looked the oldest of the two, stuck his hand out.

“I believe you were the first one called to the scene.”

Marcus was stunned he was even acknowledged, not to mention offered the man’s hand. It took him an awkward second to get his arm working. He grabbed the agents hand and fumbled to shake it.

“Uh, yes. I’m Officer Palmer, but everyone calls me Marcus.”

The agent made a pinched face that looked like he’d sucked on the most sour lemon in the world. “I see. I’m Agent Mercer and this is Agent Burns. Can you tell us anything that stood out to you when you saw Miss Calloway?”

Marcus turned his head to look into the living room. She was still there. They were waiting for the detectives and agents to be done so they could take her to the morgue.

Seeing her now, it felt worse. His stomach twisted and he had to look away after just a second.

Mercer gave him a strange look. “Are you going to be okay? I didn’t know you were new.”

Marcus couldn’t speak. His mouth had gone dry.

“He’s not,” Blevins chimed in.

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