Page 62 of The Butterfly Killer

Though he said that, he didn’t remove the folder from where it was pressed to his chest. Blevin’s gaze lowered to it. There was a passing of an awkward moment which Patrice’s heart skipped and he held his breath. He realized that he wasn’t moving though he was thinking about doing so.

But he was also thinking about the agents. They should be here. For some reason, he didn’t want to leave the information with Blevins.

As if Blevins could hear his thoughts, he held his hand out. “I can take it. I’ll let them know in the morning.”

Patrice still didn’t move. He held Blevins’s gaze. “I’d like to call them if that’s okay.”

He didn’t have their numbers, but he was sure it wouldn’t be difficult to get them.

“Don’t bother them. They need to rest,” Blevins pressed, still holding his hand out.

Patrice felt like even if he took a step back, Blevins would come after him. Instead of holding the folder hostage like he wanted, he slapped the file down onto Blevins’s open palm.

Blevins smiled. “Would you like to give me the run down?”

He flipped open to the documents. He scanned them, but Patrice knew he didn’t understand any of it.

Again, he was hesitant. He really wanted to wait until Mercer and Burns were present.

He gave a little sigh, hopefully soft enough that Blevins didn’t hear.

“Initial testing found the two different sets of blood we found in the first string of murders and the recent ones are a match.”

Blevins nodded. “That’s great.”

The way he said it, gave Patrice the impression that it wasn’t “great” as Blevins said it was. Patrice ignored it, chalking it up to being his own aversion to the detective himself.

“Well, turns out they’re not an identical match.”

Patrice thought he saw a hint of a smile on Blevins face. He ignored it once more, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him.

“They are related though. I’m having Destiny do another test, this time checking how related they are.”

“So you think they might know each other?”

Patrice nodded. “You see this DNA marker? The more they share of it the more related they are. We might even be able to definitely say how related if the test goes well.”

Patrice had thought Blevins would be at least interested in what he had to say. This was a big break through in the case. Connecting the two murderers would definitely help them track down at least one. It might even give them a motive for the second killer.

“That’s awesome. I have some other things I need to finish for the night. Thanks for bringing this down.” Blevins all but pushed Patrice out of the way as he closed the door.

“But—”

The door closed and Blevins’s silhouette moved to sit at the empty table. Patrice could see the detective throw the folder down like it was a little more than a piece of trash.

Dishearteningly didn’t even come close to what Patrice was feeling. He stared at the door for some time, coming to terms as to what had just happened. He’d always known Blevins to be an asshole. Marcus had to take the man’s shit everyday, but Patrice had never been on the side of it.

Frowning, he walked back to his office. It was dark now. It was a long drive home and now that his hope had been swatted like a fly, he was ready to lay in his bed to wallow. Crying never helped, but it was all he seemed to be able to do. He couldn’t even help in the investigation like he wanted. That wasn’t a skillset his possessed like Marcus.

He gathered his things and locked up for the night, saying goodbye to Destiny before he left.

He hoped tomorrow would bring about some better news.

Across town, Agent Mercer and Burns poured over newspaper clippings until the next beginning librarian shift started. Mercer had left to pick up coffee and food to tide them over another couple hours when it became apparent Burns wasn’t going to budge until they found something revolutionary.

Mercer wouldn’t say he didn’t get sucked into a workload here and there again. However, Burns was doing it out of guilt, something Mercer had never experienced. He didn’t understandthe emotion—not when he didn’t believe anything could be his fault—and he definitely didn’t understand it when it was directed toward a stranger.

Burns was the good-to-the-bone type of agent presented in media. He was an empath to the point of not recognizing when it was draining him.

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