TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  No more than fifty feet, behind the trees and cast iron Parisian style street lamps which cast a low romantic light was the café, bright red awning flapping in the breeze, no-one sitting outside. Almost as if the gods had intervened, removing all other life from the square, I felt nothing but loneliness and fear surround me. With fresh lung of air, I tried to embrace courageous hand and step towards that place, towards uncertainty. Drawing closer I could see the two barista’s behind counters top, accompanied by the solitary figure of a man, his back towards me, trilby upon the table by his side.

  Pushing the door free, I could feel the warmth invite me in with open arms, as I did the man still sitting with his back towards me ordered two café cognacs with the simple raise of a rabbits hand. The taller barista acknowledged his order, then set about making the place come alive with the sounds and smells of a Parisian coffee house. The atmosphere within was welcoming, offering no sense of danger as I walked towards the mystery ahead, within four or five feet I came before the man stood, then turned.

  My eyes aroused whilst mind shocked by a familiar face of times gone by, Silvan now stood before me. A mixture of emotions took control, I’d enjoyed a wonderful Christmas with him, but I’d also discovered he was as much a criminal as the others. Raymond took great pleasure informing me of Silvan’s role in the manipulation of my Laura, not to mention being on the payroll of the sickening and dammed. Almost certainly I couldn’t trust him? I desperately wanted to find solace in someone, I really wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t. With arms stretched out, he welcomed me as if we were long lost lovers, his face wearing a full, genuine smile. Without realising I’d stopped, slowly I backed away as adrenaline pumped and senses awoke.

  “Ahh, so Raymond told you about me. You shouldn’t believe all you’re told Mademoiselle Elizabeth.” “You used Laura, what do you want from me.” In no mood to exchange pleasantries, I spat my words, this man, as far as I was concerned formed part of an organisation responsible for the rape and murder of innocent children, my only emotion was a loathing contempt at his very existence.

  “Elizabeth I loved Laura as much as you did, why do you think I discarded with Raymond’s body after your little fireworks display?” Not knowing what to say, I stood there, I’d assumed the authorities had found his body, but maybe they hadn’t.

  “What do you want Silvan?”

  “First Elizabeth, my name’s not Silvan!”

  “That much I know!”

  “Please allow me to introduce myself; my name is Charles Poussin.”

  His surname I knew, Raymond had spat that name at me with great glee the last time we met, his Christian name Laura had told me all those days ago, it didn’t take a genius to unmask who he was. Turning he held his hand offering a seat opposite him; two large hot café cognac’s now sitting upon the table awaiting our attention. “Run Elsbeth, run. Can’t trust this cunt, go now.” Ubel’s thoughts sounding out in my mind, but Lilly’s curiosity and Machiavellian nature won over, as I took the seat, staring sceptically at the coffee, Charles let out a genuine laugh.

  “What Elizabeth you think I’m trying to poison you?” As serenely and regally as any man his hand glided across the table, finger penetrating loop of handle, to his mouth the cup perched as his eyes locked upon mine. Not breaking his trance-like gaze he took a sip of first my coffee and them his own. “See, no reason to be cautious.”

  For the next ten or fifteen minutes, he set about telling me that he only worked with Raymond as a buyer and distributor for the organ harvesting business. He had nothing to do with the child abuse. He’d only discovered their hidden depravity through the underground channels. Raymond’s body was offered to him with substantial reward an hour or so after I’d killed him. The deal was good as long as the corpse was removed quickly, all evidence to be cleaned away. Apparently, Monsieur Poussin was the most powerful removal and cleaning contractor in the Parisian underworld.

  “If you don’t believe me Mademoiselle Elizabeth, go take a look for yourself.” Not ready to hold jesters hand once more I sat there with fix expression through furrowed brow as he continued his heroic tale. Weaving his words of how he’d not only removed the body of Raymond but in the process liberated the parts of three Russian owners for allowing paedophiles to frequent their club. Crowning his triumphant tale with hollow words of innocents saved, evil defeated, eight boys, five girls, was his tale, from the back rooms he said, with happy ending his deception concluded of all young now home and well.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “They asked me to keep an eye on you, Raymond said you were thinking of retiring, I knew nothing about your disagreement with Mike or Lance. Well, until last week when Raymond turned up.”

  “Oh and no I’m not married anymore, She couldn’t handle my occupation, she left years ago. But I do have two young boy’s.” His mastery of the truth was blinding me to believe him, I needed to trust, but I still couldn’t let go of fears firm grip. He answers all told with the sincerity of an innocent man.

  “Maybe he’s telling the truth Elizabeth,” Lilly whispered, the manipulative mistress inside was warming to his words, alleviating my concerns further still. “So was Laura just another favour?” With a sigh of lovers lost he lowered his coffee, looking at me through eyes of pain and heavy heart.

  “Actually I loved Laura, as you did. Elizabeth, I didn’t know she was your sister, and I didn’t know about her other life. News of her death tore me apart Elizabeth.” His eyes and body confirming the authenticity of his last statement.

  “So what do you want from me?” My questions now turning towards the future, starting to believe his tale, although truth holds tight to lie in my world, I wasn’t about to jump back into bed with him, but I was curious as to his intentions.

  “Your recent activity has caused a vacuum in the UK market; my associates require that position filled.” Reverting to a more businesslike approach his words now came.

  “And how does this involve me?”

  “Elizabeth, you have the skills, the reputation and abilities to assume control. We need a face we can trust.”

  With raised brow and empty mind, I sat there, taken aback by offer, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be the regional boss of an international criminal syndicate. Before reason had chance to reign once more his soft calming Parisian accent broke the silence all round. “If you would prefer just to enjoy the one hundred and thirty-two million you liberated from Raymond, then I will bid you a long and happy life Mademoiselle Elizabeth Norton.” His word’s and approachability all rang true of a ruse to pull me into something too deep to escape from, his carrot of opportunity dangling rousingly in the air as I mused over his proposal.

  In silence I sat as the clock marched on, its hands no longer holding meaning. My apparent indecision was the cause for coffee to be consumed; cup placed neatly upon crisp blue tracery of Euro note. Standing tall, offering a simple smile before turning, heading for the door with stride of a meaningful man. Before hand and handle mated my voice rushed out to him, ‘Charles wait.’ Smile grew upon reflections face as he turned towards me, his eyes a deep vibrant green, penetrating deeply, as he awaited my words. With flicking eyes I looked towards the barista, before returning to his, he just smiled deeper then nodded towards her. As questions eye returned to her, she simply said. “Thank you Mademoiselle Norton; my baby brother was in that club; you will find nothing but friendship here,” the reason for the strange location now apparent, her story building credibility to Charles’s narrative.

  “Da fucking boss lady Elsbeth,” Ubel’s only interaction of the evening, Lilly suggesting a test prior to acceptance. “Charles, prove you’re what you say you are.”

  “How can I?”

  “Tell him to purge all Paris of the paedophiles.” Lilly’s idea floated into my ears, as I repeated them to Charles. With kind eye and intense gaze, he looked at me before a small single sided smile rose high upon now angelic face. “OK Elizabeth, keep an eye on the
news, if I impress, just ask Mademoiselle Jacqueline here to contact me.” The seconds hung high as tensions lifted and lines were drawn, in the blink of eye he turned and slipped effortlessly through the door, off into the coldness of the Parisian night.

  “Monsieur Poussin’s a very well respected man Mademoiselle Norton; he means you no harm.” The calming, southern French accent of Jacqueline filled my mind with her words of respect as I looked at her, then assistant, almost questioning her intentions, her loyalty. Jacqueline simply smiled, handing her a pair of little pink hearing aids. “Don’t worry Mademoiselle my sister won’t tell anyone; she’s too many problems of her own to care for yours.” As her words floated across the counter, hanging in the air, I could see the reason for her comment. Upon entering I’d not taken much notice, too interested in my mysterious caller, but now I looked. The distinct features of down syndrome hiding behind an enormous loving smile greeted me, the kind of smile it’s impossible to forget, more impossible to not warmly respond to. So infectious her smile not even Ubel offered a comment of sarcastic tone. “Why can’t we be that happy Elsbeth?”

  “We shouldn’t go tonight Elizabeth; it may be a trap, let us see if Mr Poussin adheres to his part of the agreement first.” Lilly’s words restored clarity to the situation. Politely I thank Jacqueline for her hospitality, smiling happily at her younger sister, now full of chatter. The Parisian night's air is still and calm as I leave, the breeze of earlier gone, but for a few light arctic gusts dancing their icy waltz. Only a few solitary gallons of the sky sailed by as Vincent’s Starry night grew bright above French sky’s once more. The rest of the evening was a blur of thought and conspiracies. My little trinity and I found a discreet little bar to contemplate over a bottle of red velvet, artisans of the day discussed new theories and ideas, before plunging into the realms of carnal desire and drunkenness all around.

  -2-

  The hotel's reception was busy as I crossed it heading towards the dining room for breakfast. Frédéric, the concierge, called for my attention. “Mademoiselle Norton, have you not heard?” His only question prompting a simple, shake of head wearing questions brow. “Please be careful mademoiselle; it appears the killer is back in Paris.” His words causing jubilation to stand tall as he handed me a freshly ironed copy of Le Parisien, the only headline read.

  “TBK strikes again, international condemnation.”

  The warmness of newspaper enveloped my fingers as I took it from him, thanking as I took charge, almost skipping my way to the dining room to indulge the story in greater detail. It would appear Charles’s connections are far and reaching. In less than twenty-four hours the Seine had become the hottest new aqueous accommodation for five middle-aged men. The article mentioned the police had found no connection as yet, but investigations were ongoing.

  “So they don’t have a fucking clue then Elsbeth girl.” Ubel was right; the police always use the phrase ‘investigations are ongoing,’ when in reality they mean, ‘sorry we haven’t got the foggiest.’

  My appointment with Monsieur Bouteillier regarding the final designs for my apartment loomed, by the time I’d eaten, dressed appropriately, then managed to survive a most treacherous taxi ride the body count had risen. My apartment was now a fever of works, painters, electricians, plumber’s and a million other trades, all discussing one topic - murder. The radios all sounding out in unison, apparently two more inhabitants of the now fashionable river apartments had been found, this time identified. One a judge, the other a high ranking minister, both well known, both recently indicted for child abuse claims.

  As information grew the world changed, now people were joining the dots, asking the right questions, not settling for cover-ups, social consensus now making a tectonic shift to the right, gone the apathy for the dead, now a wave of national support for the actions of the new ‘defender of the innocents’ as one painter referred to him. Monsieur Bouteillier was as gracious as ever; his plans were spectacular, as grandiose as I’d come to expect, signing off on all his ideas I bid farewell to all before making my way to a local cafe for a much-required caffeine kiss whilst enjoying the news.

  “Well, Monsieur Poussin is very efficient Elizabeth, I like him.” Lilly, very impressed with Charles’s efforts so far, his work ethic was growing on me too. By the time I’d sipped the last of the cappuccino from the huge white porcelain bowl, the conversation inside the cafe was of the murderous plague now beset upon Paris. The TV screen reflecting in everybody’s eyes transfixed like a mob of Meerkats we stood tall, staring as the body count escalated, and significantly. A warehouse just north of Paris had been investigated by police following an anonymous tip-off, inside they found the tortured and decapitated bodies of another twelve registered sex offenders from all walks of life and ethnicities. The cocktail of emotions flowing through the streets of Paris was electrifying, the international killer, yesterday’s beast was today’s hero. A cosmopolitan shepherd of the weak and innocent, healing division and past wounds, Parisians united, a shared ideology ruled once more.

  Alive with praise and appreciation were the streets for this mysterious entity and their works. The government tried to pacify the open approval of the people, insisting vigilantism was a dangerous path which led to many dark places, but still the masses ignored them. “Let’s take a stroll to the river Elsbeth, watch em fish out a few.” Ubel’s suggestion met with high approval from both Lilly and I. But a second upon mobile life did it take to find the best spot, social media was whipped into a frenzy, photo after photo of bodies floating and being recovered flashed upon the tiny screen. #Vive les enfants was trending; the authorities had no way to stop the public outcry of support. Throughout the day, more bodies floated their way to notoriety, by the time I’d arrived at the little red cafe in Pompidou square the count was now just being estimated. In fact, they’d stopped communicating altogether, no doubt the French police commissioner and my English inspector were having dreadful days.

  “Bonsoir Elizabeth” The happy and smiley welcome from the younger barista danced its joyful way to me as I entered the cafe. “Bonsoir Mademoiselle, is Jacqueline in today?” The delight evident in my voice, “Oui Mademoiselle,” came her reply in a joyous girly voice. Turning innocently she let out a most ear damaging shriek, her voice ricocheting from wall to wall, the few customers and I, all ducking for cover, almost as much coffee was lost to table and floor as years from my life.

  “Jacqueline!”

  The bellowing of her voice echoed out once more, followed a second later by the sound of rushing feet coming from the basement below, up steps they came as a panicked Jacqueline flew through hole in floor, her face a Picasso of panic. Past me, she flew, straight to the assistance of her little sister, “What is it Aimee? What have you done?” She raced her words, expecting to be greeted with injury or damage. A big infectious smile rebuffed her anxiousness as she pointed towards me before tiptoeing as she whispered “Elizabeth is here for you,” through cupped hands and mischievous eye.

  The weight of a thousand years lifter from Jacqueline’s shoulder’s as the words defeated her panic, allowing relief to reign once more. “Bonsoir Mademoiselle Elizabeth, join me for a cafe cognac to celebrate Charles’s success?” How could I resist such an offer, finally it seemed my world was growing brighter, like the rise of a new-born sun, burning away the darkness. We sat and enjoyed a most potent coffee Aimee had prepared for us, still unsure of the measures required, Jacqueline suggesting she add the cognac to the coffee next time. Her suggestion again rebuffed by a huge smile, this time hiding a glimmer of mischief, suggesting her little mistake was intentional. “Tell Charles his efforts are appreciated, and I would like to accept his invitation.” Jacqueline smiled while nodding, flipping open her phone, her finger a blaze as she informed Charles of my answer. “Monsieur Poussin will contact you, mademoiselle.”

  -3-

  The hotel was quiet when I arrived back in the early hours; my curiosity had beaten my paranoia, I’d been back
to the club against Lilly’s better judgment. The same goliath stood upon door once more, this time he offered a smile of pure gratitude accompanied by a nod of appreciation as I walked by. Gone was the tiny little metal and glass kiosk at the foot of the stair, now an open and inviting adult cinema, at least as open and inviting as one could be. Patrons now all enjoying the visual delights as well as each other, this time all consensual and of legal age. The barman recognised me, sliding over a double bourbon, his acknowledgement and gratitude apparent.

  Taking a seat to enjoy my drink, I sat there enjoying the transformation, a myriad of working men and women offered their services, some more tempting than others. “If you pay for sexual favours Elizabeth, you can find yourself a new apparition to talk to.” Lilly’s never been a fan of the adult industry, Ubel, on the other hand, was more than encouraging, towards some at least. As one older lady offered her services, Ubel’s voice barked into my ear, causing another internal argument to erupt.

  “Drag queens are more convincing than she is.”

  “Well, I’m sure between you and Ebola Ubel, she’d take Ebola.” Lilly not impressed with Ubel’s comment, but she should know by now Ubel has a way with insults she hasn’t quite mastered.

  “Thank God, I’d rather masturbate with a cheese grater. But she’s a pro, so I bet she fucks like she’s having a fit.” Now I’m left to stem the laughter from escaping as Ubel's latest insult forms itself into a vibrant image in my mind, before politely I turn down the ladies offer.

  -4-

  The depressing sound of mobile alarm was what woke me; I must have slept in, it was almost ten in the morning when the ringtone punched out, forcing my head to retreat beneath the covers in futile attempt to seek solace. My hand, the only part of me outside of duvet, flapping about like a newborn chick learning to fly. Eventually, my hand found the offending little device, its screen blinding as it grew ever brighter in hand. “Bonjour Elizabeth, noon by the glass pyramid, please don’t be late.” Charles’s voice was happy and full of life in the voice message he left. What I thought was an almost immediate response to his call, was in fact, a rather pathetic five minutes post call response. The little red news app button started to fall into focus. My conscious dragged into the moment as the words fell from the screen, there meaning exploding in my mind.