The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 2

2

Marcus stared at the coffee machine. He imagined it blew up and killed him right where he stood. Instead of doing what he wanted, the old machine made a gurgling noise and spat out a sputtering stream of black liquid. He curled his lip in disgust.

When the machine stopped dispensing, he grabbed a packet of sugar and headed back to his desk. Though, calling his desk a “desk” would be exaggerating. It was a repurposed side table wedged into the corner of the bull pen.

There hadn’t been enough room for him to have a real desk so the janitor had pulled this up from the basement and thought it was adequate. He remembered everyone laughing at it while he tried to find a folding chair to go with it.

Marcus had thought about quitting many times throughout the fives years on the police squad. Most of it had been through training. The academy had been worse than high school. He was one of one “Mexican” to attend that year (Mexican being broad because not even his grandparents were Mexican. They just happened to be brown).

He sat his coffee down on his small desk. He was about to sit down when someone slung their arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, I didn’t catch you this morning. I saw the feds turned up.”

Medical examiner Patrice Maguire was the only person besides the chief that didn’t treat Marcus like he had leprosy. He was also the only person Marcus would call a friend.

Marcus smiled though it was weak and didn’t reach his eyes. He was exhausted and he felt like shit. “I got an early call. I’ve been out there all day. It’s the Butterfly Killer.”

Patrice’s eyes widened. “No way! He’s back?”

Marcus looked around the room. “I don’t know if they’ve officially announced it, but it looks that way.”

Patrice took the hint, nodding as he looked around the room too to make sure no one had heard his little outburst. “But you got close to the case, right? Are they letting you work on it?”

Marcus gave him a look. “Does it look like anyone is going to be asking me to help them out? I don’t even have my own computer.”

He waved his hand to his desk where he tried to make it more homey. The picture of him, his sister, and mom was tucked in the corner. He had the original in his wallet, but even the copy looked like it had seen better days. He smiled as he remembered when hard times seemed like the best of times. If he could, he’d take back the starving nights to see his mom again.

Patrice let out a sigh. “I wish you’d let me talk to someone.”

“No,” Marcus lifted his finger as he grabbed his coffee. He decided he didn’t want to sit in his sad corner after all. He’d rather sit in his police car that didn’t have air-conditioner. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on. Rosanne is nice and she might be able to sway the Chief?—”

“You want to take advantage of an old man that just lost his wife.”

“It’s been ten years. It wasn’t like it was just last week.”

A silence fell over the two of them. Marcus took a sip of his coffee and winced when the bitter flavor almost took him out.

He looked down into the dark liquid. “I think some grounds got in.”

Patrice shook his head. “I told you I’d pick you up some coffee and not to use that nasty communal coffee pot.”

“I’m not going to be a leech.” He picked up his paper work and started toward the doors. Patrice started to come along when Marcus stopped.

“Actually…are you using your office?”

Patrice cracked a smile. “How about you use my desk and I grab us coffee? My treat.”

Patrice pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them at Marcus. Marcus caught them just barely with his hand holding his paperwork.

Marcus’s shoulders sagged. “Alright. But I’m paying you back.”

Patrice waved his hand as he went out the front doors. “Yeah, yeah.”

Marcus did crack a smile. He was about to take another sip of the coffee but didn’t. The smell was pretty awful as well. He thanked Patrice for stopping him from downing that shit.

He went back to the small kitchenette in the building to the pour it out. He tossed the cup in the trash on his way out. As he headed toward Patrice’s office, the dark and dreary hallways started to turn more modern and cleaner. This part of the building had been expanded on.

Patrice was a high ranking examiner in the building and had an office of his own that Marcus was very jealous of. Patrice was five years older than Marcus and had been in his respective field for that much longer so it was expected he’d be further up in his career. But it still made Marcus depressed about his own which was stagnate.

He thought about Agent Mercer questioning Blevins earlier that day about how he was a detective already. It was no secret that Blevins had money. His family was full of politicians. While it went unsaid, it was quite obvious his dad—who was friend’s with the mayor—had some influence in the decision that made Blevins one of the few detectives in the city.

Marcus knew he shouldn’t compare himself to Blevins at all either. They were two sides of a coin—two sides of the tracks. Blevins had been raised in wealth and socialite heaven while Marcus had barely scraped enough loans to get through the academy. He’d be paying those back until the day he die.

Marcus once again got lost in his head. He walked right by Patrice’s office. He had to backtrack. Marcus used the key and got in, leaving the door unlocked.

The office was decorated like Patrice’s personality: boldly. The rug alone was an eye-catcher. The tie-dye print popped out along with the hand-painted art hung up on the walls. When Marcus had first walked into the room fives years ago, he’d been god-smacked by the dark art Patrice had picked to put in his office.

He’d asked Patrice why he’d want to be surrounded by more depictions of death when he was already around it most of his day.

“Because it’s a different depiction. The death I see on my examiner table is grotesque and full of anger. The death in these paintings are joyful—it’s natural.”

Marcus could never understand what Patrice meant. Death was death to Marcus—whether it was murder, sudden, or as like Patrice liked to call it, natural.

He sat his things down on Patrice’s desk. He avoided the incense burner and the open journal graced with Patrice’s messy penmanship. He cracked a smile as he closed the journal and pushed it away so Patrice didn’t think he’d gone snooping around his things.

Marcus would never do that. He knew once you started looking for something, you usually found something worse than expected.

He sat in the large comfy chair. He let out a sigh as he tipped backwards, gazing up at the ceiling that wasn’t covered in water stains from the leaking pipes through the years. He wondered if he’d gone through the wrong field searching for his mom’s killer. But no, this was the closest he would get to the man that had taken her away.

After day dreaming for a couple minutes, he got down to work. The stack of papers wasn’t going to fill themselves out.

Marcus’s neck was starting to ache and his hand was cramping when Patrice walked through the door. He held a drink carrier and a bag of food.

Marcus just opened his mouth when Patrice raised his finger. “Don’t say anything! I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

Marcus clamped his mouth shut. Patrice was right. And Marcus’s rumbling stomach agreed.

Defeated, he let Patrice push a turkey wrap and a warm caramel latte his way.

“Thank you.”

“I even asked for an extra shot for you.”

Marcus snorted. “Thanks. I know I’m going to need it.”

He started to get up so Patrice could have his desk back. Patrice didn’t finish taking a sip of his mocha frap before he started complaining.

“Sit back down. I’m going to be in the morgue for the rest of day. We have a backlog of examinations that need to be done this week.”

“Really? What happened to all your help?” There were usually a lot more examiners on staff.

Patrice winced. “Pam retired last week and Ryan took a leave since his third kid was born.”

“Wow. He’s young too.”

Patrice nodded. “I know. Makes me feel self-conscious. And I don’t even want kids!”

He took a long drink until there was half of his drink left. He sat it on the table. “Hold that for me.”

“You’re going to drink it when it’s half melted? We do have a fridge.”

“And let some asshole steal my drink? No thank you. Have fun!” Patrice waved as he exited, leaving Marcus to finish what he started.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus ate the rest of the turkey wrap. Once he got finished with his paperwork then it would be back on the road—far away from the real investigation he was interested in.

As filled out the forms, he wondered what he could do to get closer to the case.

Marcus was on patrol the next day. It was the same thing over and over. He worked the morning shift—from 4 AM to noon—and then waddled to his corner desk to do any paperwork. Paperwork was a broad term around here and especially pertaining to him. It usually meant anything no one else wanted to do.

“Hey, Marcus!”

He was flipping through pages, muttering to himself when Officer Larry Greene slapped him on the shoulder.

“Can you run these down to Sally for me? I’m running late for my shift.”

Larry shoved a stack of papers an inch thick into Marcus’s face. They were haphazardly put together. A paperclip as old as Marcus held the stack barely together. It was old and rusted like Larry had plucked it out of a sewage drain.

“Sure.”

Marcus went to grab the stack, but Larry let it flop onto the desk. Larry let out a laugh and smacked Marcus hard on the back again.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Marcus bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not your fucking buddy.”

“What’d yah say?” Larry had started to away and turned around.

“Nothing,” Marcus replied as he stood. “I’m going there now.”

Larry started talking to his partner who was as old as he was. Marcus glared as the two walked away.

If he had a hit list…

He shoved the thought aside, grabbed his finished paperwork (and Larry’s) and headed to the filing office. He was done for the day. He just needed to turn these in. And then it would be another day over with.

Another day he didn’t get any closer to finding the Butterfly Killer and getting his revenge.

Sally gave him the stink eye as she flipped through Larry’s stack of papers.

“None of these are in date.”

She pulled a couple from the bottom of the stack. They snagged on the old rusty paperclip. She ripped them out with a good couple tugs. The paperclip went flying and landed somewhere behind her.

She gave him another look over her turquoise blue reading glasses. “And these are several months old.”

She scanned the page.

Marcus shuffled on his feet, still holding his paperwork he’d done today and would definitely meet her strict criteria. However, it would mean more work for her.

“Officer Greene asked me to?—”

“File these for you?” She looked at him like it was his fault the paperwork wasn’t filled in correctly. “Next time follow the rules. You know it’s restricted to file someone else’s paperwork for them.”

She tutted as she looked over more of the papers. “Sit down while I try and get this sorted. I hope you don’t have anything planned for tonight.”

Before he could ask her what she meant by that, she walked off to the backroom where the files were kept.

He let out a defeated sigh as he listened to her kitten-heels click on the floor. The sound drifted away and he turned to look at the waiting chairs. The ugly brown pleather made his skin crawl.

He sat in them anyway. He pulled out his phone and started to browse instagram. He was following a few people from high school though he wasn’t really friends with them. He hadn’t been friends with anyone since middle school, but that was years ago.

He laughed at some dumb posts. They made him forget about work and the dark real world things he had to witness day-in and day-out. He got swept in it so fast it felt strange when he had to look away when Sally came back.

He shot up toward her desk. She handed him newly printed paperwork.

His brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

“The paperwork was late. Now you have to fill out late forms for it.”

He inwardly groaned. Now he knew why Larry wanted him to do this.

He handed over his own paperwork. She held up a hand.

“Oh no,” she said while checking her watch. “I’m off the clock. You’ll have to turn those in tomorrow.”

She grabbed her small purse and started toward the door. “Come on. I’m closing up.”

Marcus was dumfounded that not only did he have more work to do tonight, but he would have to fill out late-forms tomorrow.

Fuck this whole place.

The station was empty except for a couple officers that worked the night-shift. He was back in the sad kitchen, watching the old coffee maker spit out a large cup of black liquid. He wished Patrice was here. Not just so he’d force another cup of his delicious coffee on him, but also so he’d keep Marcus company.

It was nights like these that made it more obvious he was lonely. His sister lived states away with her family and while it made him happy she was living her life to the fullest, it made him sad he hadn’t found that kind of happiness yet.

“I wish you’d give this up. She’s gone. Nothing will bring her back.”

Lilianna’s cold words had given him whiplash. As much as they were true, they were also disingenuous.

“You can give up, but I’m not. I won’t ever forgive him,” Marcus had growled through the phone. He’d hung up in a fit of rage.

That had been two years ago. He’d called her drunk in the middle of the night. She’d just given birth but he was going through grief. Both of them had said things they regretted, but also meant.

They didn’t talk unless it was a holiday now. It was for the best. Most days Marcus wasn’t in the mood to reopen the sealed door he’d put on his family. Lilianna wanted to forget and sometimes that meant forgetting Marcus too.

The coffee stopped spitting. He gazed at his reflection in the liquid. His eyes drooped. He looked haggard. But he must continue on.

He turned and was about to start chugging away at the liquid of death when he spotted the FBI agents. They didn’t notice him as they passed by the kitchen and headed down the hall to the room they were using.

“—we just got the examiner’s report back.”

Marcus’s interest was peeked. He glanced around to make sure no one saw him as he followed the agents down the hall. He made it look like he was going to the bathroom.

“Official report?”

“It looks like a match. All signature details are there.”

They were about to close the door when Marcus glanced behind and caught agent Mercer’s gaze.

Mercer rose a brow. “Officer Palmer.”

“Marcus,” Marcus said breathily. It was beginning to get hot but he wasn’t sure if it was his nerves or because someone had turned the AC down. “Just going to the bathroom, sir.”

Mercer looked pointedly down at the coffee cup in Marcus’s hand. “Not with that I hope.”

Marcus flushed. He hoped his dark complexion covered it up, but his luck would have it that it made the blush more prominent. “No, sir. Not at all.”

He wanted to hide the disgusting coffee but it was too late.

Mercer opened the door a fraction more. “Are you still on duty? This late at night?”

Marcus blushed even more. “Late on paperwork.”

It wouldn’t have been his fault if Larry hadn’t ambushed him with shit.

Mercer smiled. It seemed like a rare thing to see. He didn’t look like the type of person who smiled often. “I know that too well.”

He seemed to remanence about something for a second. He looked at Marcus a little differently.

“If you aren’t too busy…” Mercer stepped inside the room.

Marcus perked up. He wasn’t going to be invited in was he? Holy shit. Was he ready for this? Could he possibly?—

“Copy these for us?”

Mercer held a bundle of manila files filled with papers.

Marcus’s hope sizzled away. His gut dropped to the pits of hell.

He gingerly took the bundle of files and tucked them under his arm. “Yeah. Sure.”

Mercer was back to being serious. “Great. Four copies if you will. Thanks.”

He closed the door, the shade on the window waving back and forth as if to mock Marcus even more.