Page 17 of The Butterfly Killer

She shook her head. She pulled out a cell phone.

“Okay. Make arrangements. We’ll just need your statement before you go.”

Marcus closed the door. He called the station on his walkie-talkie. They were a few minutes away with first responders, but Marcus had a feeling they weren’t needed.

The house was standard. No flares or anything. It was new. Or at least it appeared to be retouched in the past couple years. He tried the front door, but it was locked. He walked down the side of the house, following the driveway that wrapped around to the back garage.

He jogged to the back. It was unlocked.

As he pushed the door in he smelled it. Death. But there was something else mixed in it. It was a stench he was familiar with. It sometimes lingered on Patrice’s clothing.

Formaldehyde.

He had to cover his mouth as he walked deeper into the laundry room. There was a neatly folded pile of clothing sitting on the dryer. The washing machine chimed as it finished its last cycle.

Marcus left the door open to let the fumes out. It was so thick it was hard for him to breathe. It had been the same when he found Miss Calloway.

He took a step inside the laundry room. The floor creaked beneath him. As he moved toward the archway, he saw a peak of pink sneakers.

Marcus moved forward. He was prepared to do all that he could until first responders could get there, but it wasn’t needed.

The young girl lay pinned to the floor by the same needles pushed into Miss Calloway’s hands. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. Her chest was cut open, her skin pulled back to show off her ribs and organs.

The killer had learned from last time. It was freezing inside and they’d doused her in formaldehyde to keep the bugs away.

However frightening as the murder was, the more frightening thing to Marcus was the fact that it hadn’t been more than a couple days since the last murder.

This killer was hungry for a fix and they were going to be looking for another hit.

Soon.

5

Agent Burns tappedthe tip of his pen to his notebook.

“It’s interesting that you were the first at the scene in both cases.”

Marcus leaned against his cruiser, his arms folded over his chest as he watched the forensics team do their job from the street. Chief had made it clear he wasn’t even allowed to guard the yellow tape line.

He turned to look at Burns. “Am I being interrogated?”

Burns popped a smile. “Nah. Just observing.”

Marcus hadn’t noticed how boyishly handsome Burns was until then. He was probably a ladies’ man.

Marcus shrugged. “Interesting or cursed?”

“Maybe intentional?”

His stomach twisted at the implication.

Burns continued on, not noticing how much Marcus didn’t like what he was suggesting. Even if it was just a theory or a joke.

“Taking into consideration your idea this is a copycat, making you the first one to find the bodies would almost be an homage to the original Butterfly Killer. The copycat is making you part of the ritual.”

A chill went down Marcus’s spine. What Burns was saying made sense and he didn’t want it to. Now he wished there wasn’t a copycat and the original killer was just changing his routine.

Agent Mercer came out from the house, ending the uncomfortable conversation they were having. Marcus had never felt so compelled to leave a scene that was connected to the Butterfly Killer in his whole life.

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