The Butterfly Murders

by Jen Talty

  “No days off for a while,” Shane said.

  She sucked in a breath as she scanned the body, which was belly-down, face turned to the side. Arms over his head, tied together with duct tape. That was different than the Cleary girl, who had been tied with rope, though over her mouth the killer had used duct tape. His legs were also held together with duct tape at the ankles. There were two open wounds on both sides of his lower back. “Any idea how long he’s been dead?” She knew the question had been asked, but no harm in asking again.

  The M.E. didn’t look in her direction, but answered the question. “I can only estimate at this point as being over a week, based on the decomposition, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Fair enough.” Kara looked around the kitchen in search of clues. Anything that might tell her something about the victim. She always started with the victim. She truly believed the dead could still communicate if only the investigator cared enough to listen. To get to know the victim.

  The kitchen sink was filled with dishes. There were crumbs left out on the counter in front of an ancient toaster. The kitchen floor, however, was clean. Spotless, actually. A sharp contrast to the rest of the apartment.

  “The name on the driver’s license is Gregory Donagen,” Shane said, standing behind her, his hand on the small of her back, his thumb gently rubbing, as if he sensed her need for comfort. “The tenants of the other two apartments in the building say he was a student at the U of R, studying medicine.”

  “So, what does a student at the U of R have to do with Cleary or his daughter? How is he connected to Haughton or our new suspect, Doug?” The questions that filtered through her mind came at her at high speed, and she couldn’t keep up with her own brain.

  “Damned if I know,” Shane said, tugging at her arm. “Detectives Pollock and Benster have the other tenants in the backyard, ready to be interviewed. I don’t know about you, but I need some fresh air.”

  “Hell yeah,” she said. As soon as they left the building, they were bombarded with shouts from news crews asking for a statement. “This is your investigation. Your call.”

  “I don’t make statements.” Shane kept his hand firmly wrapped around her arm. His other hand waved off the reporters. “I’ve never made one in my career and I don’t plan on starting now,” he said.

  Two men stood on the driveway near the back of the house. They both wore fleece coats with Rochester PD on the back. One was well over six-feet, and the other was closer to Shane’s height at five-eleven.

  “This is Pollock and Benson,” Shane said. “This is Special Agent Martin.”

  “Call me Kara,” she said, stretching her hand out.

  “The other downstairs apartment is rented by another student,” Pollack said. He was the taller of the two and well-muscled. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Young-looking. Maybe in his mid-twenties, which would be young for a detective.

  “Same major?” Kara asked.

  “No. This one is education,” Benster said. He had to be closer to mid-thirties. He was broad and bald. Reminded Kara of Kojak. “The two young girls live in the upstairs apartment. One is probably a hooker. Says she’s a dancer. We don’t have many nightclubs around here. The one we do have; the dancers are hookers. The other is a hairdresser.”

  “That’s an eclectic group.” Kara felt the snow wiggle its way into her shoes, hitting her socks. The heat from her foot melted the snow, which would only turn to ice in a matter of half an hour, or less.

  “None of them seem to be friends,” Benster said. “Except the two girls.”

  “Got the sense,” Pollock continued, “that the education major isn’t thrilled with any of his neighbors.”

  “Good to know,” Kara said. “Divide and conquer?” she asked Shane.

  “I’ll take the girls.”

  “Ah, no,” she said. “You’ve got the young man. I’ve got the girls.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Shane said, then headed to the young man who was standing in the backyard, leaning against the tree. The girls were also in the backyard, but they were by the garage, huddled together, wrapped in a couple of blankets. “Hello,” Kara said. “Mind answering a few questions for me?” Kara opted not to introduce herself, though she made her weapon visible. There was enough speculation about why the FBI was involved. They didn’t need more.

  The girls were both blondes, but one had fine straight hair, shoulder-length. She was on the chubby side, probably the hairdresser. The other had thick, wavy hair that was waist-length. She was tall and skinny, so Kara assumed she was the dancer.

  “Did you know the victim well?”

  Both girls looked at each other and then shrugged. The taller one said, “Not well, but he always said hello. A couple of times we sat out on the front porch and talked, but not often.”

  “I work nights,” the other one said. “I’m a dancer. Going to make it on Broadway.”

  So, Kara’s assumption about who was who had been wrong. Never assume. “Good for you,” Kara said. It was always worth validating a witness. “What can you tell me about the victim? Did he have a lot of friends over?”

  The girls shook their heads, then the dancer said, “We never really saw him with anyone. He was kind of private, you know?”

  “I offered to cut his hair,” the other girl said. “But he said no. He was happy with the guy he went to, who, by the way, did a horrible job.”

  Kara’s fingers were turning white as she scribbled in her notepad. “I understand it was one of you who called about an odor?”

  “Yeah,” the hairdresser said. “That was me. I banged and banged on the door, but he never came. Thought he went to go visit family and left food out. Or that maybe it was some weird experiment. He’s done that before. Once he started a small fire in his living room. We had to have the fire department over. The landlord was so pissed that we thought for sure he’d toss him out, but he didn’t.”

  “Do you know what started the fire? Maybe candles?”

  “A small propane thing, I guess,” the hairdresser said. “He told us later he was doing a lab for school. So, because of that, I decided to give it another day on the odor thing, figuring it would just go away. But it just got worse. So, I called a few hours ago, when I got home.”

  “What about the other tenant?” Kara nodded toward Shane and the young man who lived in the building.

  “He’s been gone for the winter break. Guess his family lives in Utica or something. He got back today, just as we were calling. Totally wigged out when he entered the foyer area we all share. He had some chick with him who got upset over the smell and where he lived, and left.”

  That’s convenient, Kara thought.

  “Does anyone in the building use candles or incense?”

  The girls shook their heads.

  “What about butterflies? Do you know if Gregory liked butterflies?”

  They looked at each other and shrugged. “Who doesn’t like butterflies,” the hairdresser said. “Are there some weird poisonous butterflies now in Rochester? I’ve heard there are some in, like, the rain forest or something and, you know, all these new diseases are showing up in mosquitoes and shit.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Kara said. “We noticed he had a picture of a butterfly in his room.” That was a bit of a stretch. There had been a book on insects in the family room and the cover had a butterfly on it. One way to broach the subject. “Ever hear the victim fighting with anyone? Did he fight with you? The other tenant?”

  “He was quiet. And weird. Nice enough to us, but we don’t know anything about his social life.”

  “Would you mind giving me all your contact information? Just in case we have more questions. We can use all the help we can get. Don’t want this happening to anyone else.”

  “Sure,” the dancer said.

  “Are we safe?” the hairdresser asked. “I mean, was he murdered?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Kara said. She didn’t want to freak the girls out, but there was a killer
on the loose. A killer they didn’t understand. Not yet anyway. “I do suggest you find another place to stay for the next few nights and use the buddy system. Always check in with each with other. And if you think of anything, call this guy.” Kara wrote Shane’s name down along with the precinct number, then ripped it out of her notepad. Kara heard a ruckus in the front yard and looked over her shoulder. The medical examiner was loading the body into his vehicle. The news crews were shouting all sorts of questions. They weren’t getting any answers.

  “And please, don’t talk to the reporters. It will only make our jobs harder.”

  The girls nodded. “Can we go?”

  “Yes.” She watched the girls scurry to a small beat-up hatchback, jumping in and avoiding the reporters as they drove away.

  Kara met Shane by his unmarked car. The same car they had come in. He folded his notepad and tucked it inside his coat pocket.

  “I can’t believe you still have that.”

  “I’ve been using it ever since I became a cop. Someone once told me I needed one if I was going to be a good detective.” He shrugged. “Have you noticed how our partners are behaving toward one another?”

  “I’ve never seen Foster with a man crush before.”

  Shane laughed. “Jones took Foster to get a Garbage Plate before they followed up on Haughton. Normally, Jones would be doing his best to ditch the Feds.”

  “Foster has never shared a meal with a local,” she said. “Are those gross things still a big thing here?”

  Shane nodded. “Want to go get one?”

  “God, no. I’ve always hated those. Made me sick to my stomach.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t good drunk food for you.”

  She smiled at the not-so-wonderful memory of puking behind a local dive. She checked her watch. “I think we have time to interview the young man in Emily’s diary.”

  “Let’s do it,” Shane said. “Then I want to go through everything we’ve gathered so far.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  “Why don’t we do it together? You can come back to my place. Jones and Foster can report back to us there.”

  “What about your son? Don’t think this would be a good topic for him to be around.”

  “He’s sleeping at my folks’ house tonight. I spoke with him briefly. He understands I’m working a big case.” Shane shook his head. “He’s excited that I went back to work, and he always enjoys a night at the grandparents, where they let him stay up late and eat as much ice cream as he wants.”

  “It has to be hard being a single dad.”

  “Sometimes, but my niece is moving in with me. Which reminds me, I need to call her. She’s a student at U of R and maybe she knows something.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In Albany, where my sister Anna lives now.”

  “Your family always intimidated me.”

  “I know,” he said. “But they loved you.”

  The words hung in the air for a long moment. She stared at her feet, unsure of what to say, knowing that they probably hated her now.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’re both turning into icicles out here.” He opened the car door and smiled.

  But it didn’t make her feel any better about the past.

  * * *

  Shane turned on to Rand Place in the Village of Pittsford and parked on the street in front of the McCauley residency. The house was blue, with a detached single-car garage. Currently, two vehicles were parked in the driveway. An old beat-up Jeep and a newer model CRV. A porch with seven steps, freshly shoveled, led up to the front door. He and Kara climbed their way to the top, then Shane rang the doorbell.

  “Yes?” A woman with brown, shoulder-length hair with a single streak of gray on one side, answered the door.

  “Mrs. McCauley?” Shane held out his badge. “I’m Detective Shane Rogers. This is Special Agent Kara Martin. We’d like to have a word with your son.”

  “Why?” Her eyes went wide. “Is he in trouble?”

  “We need to ask him some questions about Emily Cleary. The young girl who was—”

  “We know who she is,” Mrs. McCauley said, her eyes narrowing.

  “Can we please come in?” Kara asked.

  “Who’s at the door?” a deep voice barked, then a tall man with an untamed beard appeared. “What do you want?” He looked Shane up and down, stopping to glance at the badge Shane pulled out again.

  “We need to talk with your son,” Shane said. “About Emily Cleary.”

  “Christ,” Mr. McCauley said, then turned. “Doug, get your ass down here!” Mr. McCauley pushed open the door. “Take a seat in the sunroom.”

  Shane exchanges glances with Kara as they made their way to the front room, which wasn’t well insulated. The furniture was dated, and the couch sagged as Shane sat down, making sure he had a good view of the foyer. A young man wearing low-hanging jeans and a black sweatshirt, sporting a buzz cut, scuffed into the room.

  “This is my son, Doug,” Mrs. McCauley said. “You tell them you haven’t seen that Cleary girl since we found out she was only fourteen when her father showed up.”

  Shane exchanged a glance with Kara, who arched a brow.

  “When did you speak with the congressman?” Kara asked.

  “A couple of months ago,” Mrs. McCauley said. “He followed our son home after dropping Emily off at the corner of her street. He yelled horrible things at Doug, but once I heard her age we made sure he understood she was off-limits.”

  “Have you heard from him since?” Kara asked.

  “No,” Mrs. McCauley answered for her son.

  “So, Emily was your girlfriend?” Shane asked.

  Doug shrugged. “We were friends,”

  Mr. McCauley stepped onto the porch, but didn’t sit down. “My son had nothing to do with what happened to that girl.”

  “Doug,” Kara started, “when was the last time you saw her?”

  “A few weeks ago,” he said.

  “What?” Mr. McCauley shouted. “We told you to stop seeing her. That girl could get you in some serious trouble.”

  “She showed up here after school, all upset over something. Asked if I’d give her a ride home.” Doug shook his head. “What was I supposed to do, let her walk home? She was crying. Upset over her dad and what an asshole he was being.”

  “What do you mean?” Kara asked.

  “He wouldn’t let her do anything. Go anywhere,” Doug said. “He basically kept her a prisoner.”

  “How did you meet her?” Shane continued.

  “Last summer at the Museum and Science Center. We both took a class there.”

  Shane studied Doug’s face. When he talked of Emily, his right eye twitched and he constantly picked at his fingernails. “I have a thing for insects. So did she.”

  “Why insects?” Shane asked.

  “He’s always been really good at science,” Mrs. McCauley said proudly. “He’s won a few science contests. Even has a full scholarship to college because of it.”

  “That’s cool,” Shane said. “So, you and Emily shared a passion for insects. Like butterflies?”

  “She was fascinated by butterflies,” Doug said. “More like obsessed with them and ladybugs.”

  Shane couldn’t tell if it was difficult for Doug to repress a smile at the memory, or if he was smirking.

  “How long did you hang out before her father intervened?” Shane asked.

  “A couple of months,” he said.

  “You text with her?” Kara asked.

  “Sure,” Doug shrugged.

  “We’ll need to see your phone,” Kara said.

  “No, you don’t,” Mr. McCauley said. “I know my son’s rights and you need some kind of search warrant for that.”

  “We’d rather not go through the red tape,” Shane said, then turned his attention back to Doug. “Is there something on the phone you don’t want us to see?”

  “No,” Doug said, “but I’m not giving it to you unless it
’s some kind of law.”

  “Did you text her the day she died?” Shane asked.

  Doug shifted on the sofa, looking down at his feet. “No.”

  “Agent Martin here was my girlfriend all through school. We didn’t have access to texting back then like you do now, so we used to pass notes to each other.”

  “So?” Doug scrunched his nose, and looked at Shane as if he had five heads.

  So much for winning the boy over. “I’m just saying that we don’t care that much about the context of the texting, but more the time frame of them.”

  “We said no,” Mr. McCauley said. “Anything else?”

  “Where were you the day Emily disappeared?” Kara asked.

  “We spent the day with family in Toronto,” Mrs. McCauley said. “We’re sorry about what happened to her, but t Doug had nothing to do with it.”

  “We’d like to speak with Doug alone,” Shane said.

  “Not going to happen.” Mr. McCauley crossed his arms.

  “Eighteen is an adult,” Kara said. “We don’t need you present to talk to him.”

  “This is my house,” Mr. McCauley said. “And we have an entire family that can vouch for where our son was on the day that girl died. My son did nothing wrong. I’d like you to leave now.”

  “Doug,” Shane said, ignoring the father, “did you have sex with Emily?”

  “No!”

  “Please leave,” Mr. McCauley said. “We’ve told you everything we know. If you want a list of our family members’ names, our EZ-Pass records, where we got gas, whatever, we’ll give it to you. But the short-lived friendship my son had with Emily has nothing to do with her murder.”

  Shane knew they weren’t going to get anywhere with the parents around, but he also knew that they didn’t have enough to take Doug in for any kind of questioning. Not yet anyway. “Last chance to give us access to the phone voluntarily. Otherwise, we will be back with a warrant, and I’d recommend not deleting anything because it won’t help your son at all.”

  Mr. McCauley stepped aside. “I’ll see you to the door.”