Butterfly Girl Read online

  “I’m on it,” Zaki said. He called an officer over. “I want photographs of the crowd. Every face captured, Got it? Our suspect could be here, watching. Maybe the perv gets off on all the attention. Canvas all the local businesses too. It looks like they all have cameras. Maybe we got lucky.”

  The alley was a blind spot, surely the field was unwatched. Still it was worth a shot. Zaki led me to the body. “What have we got?”

  “It appears to be a male-to-female tranny,” the coroner said. He was a stout little man with a shock of white hair surrounding a balding pate. His lip was buried under a willowy, nicotine-stained moustache. An ID tag hung around his neck by a lanyard stating his name was Cooper.

  “You mean a transgender person,” I said.

  “That’s what I said,” Cooper. He placed his hands on his hips.

  “No. You called her a tranny. This is a dead person, but still a person. Treat her with the same respect you would give your mother or sister,” I said.

  “Who the fuck is this guy?” Cooper asked. He was red faced and his chest was puffed out. I was making friends all over the place.

  “I called him in. We were partners in the military police,” Zaki said.

  “I don’t give a shit. I don’t need any morality lessons from this libtard snowflake. A chick with a dick is no chick.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry. I’ve got a sore spot when it comes to transgender people. Bad case back in the army. I had a case about ten years back. I didn’t understand her. Called her by the wrong pronoun and didn’t give her the dignity she deserved.”

  “It’s not to hard to figure. If he’s got a pecker then he’s a male.”

  “I’m don’t pretend to understand it. All I know is that if you wake up every morning trapped in a body that doesn’t feel like yours, well, that must be hell. People should feel at home in their own skin, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t have to go along with it. Just because someone says they’re something doesn’t make it so. I could say I’m a fucking walrus. You don’t have to agree with it.”

  “That’s true. But what does it cost you? You’re offering a kindness to someone that needs it, but where’s the downside? If I can give someone a little bit of dignity, and it doesn’t hurt anyone, why wouldn’t I do that? Name’s Heck Collins.” I put out my hand. He stared at it as if it were covered with open sores. Etiquette got the better of him and we shook.

  Cooper glowered but the colour returned to his face. “Okay. She’s a…transgender person…cause of death appears to be strangulation-”

  “Was there any mutilation?” I interrupted.

  Cooper startled. “Yes, but how-”

  “Show me,” I said. Cooper produced a box of latex gloves from his bag. Zaki and I each put on a pair. I stepped over to the body and gasped. She looked like Gracie. Just like Gracie. She was wrapped in two blankets that were sewn together, but Cooper unwrapped it before I’d gotten there. The outer one was a drab, earthy brown while the interior was a bright blue with yellow polka dots. She was sprawled out, like DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man, eyes still open, fixed on nothingness. The corners of the blanket were attached to her wrists and ankles, forcing her to splay out. Whatever clothes she was wearing were gone and she was completely naked.

  Her breasts were clearly implants. Even laying prone on her back, they kept their perfect round forms, like tiny celestial bodies adrift in their own surreal cosmos. Around her slender neck, I spotted the bruises, that seemed to accentuate her Adam’s apple. Whoever killed her did it barehanded. That spoke to an intimate rage. She had known her killer. I continued my examination, my eye drawn to the gory mess below her waist. She was covered in blood.

  “Where’s the penis?”

  “We don’t know. The twig and berries are missing,” Zaki said. Just like Gracie. He didn’t say it, but the words hung there heavily. I scanned the field as if the disembodied tackle would miraculously appear, but it wasn’t to be seen. I took a pen from Cooper’s breast pocket. He protested mildly but didn’t stop me. I stooped over the body, lifting the blanket.

  “She was wrapped up in this?”

  “He…she was swaddled like a baby,” Cooper said.

  I continued with my examination. It had been ten years since I last attended one, but I felt it all coming back. “No rigor mortis. She was killed within the last couple hours.”

  “That’s right. Rigor takes about four to six hours to set in and could last anywhere up to 48 to 60 hours. This is a heavily trafficked area. I don’t think its possible that the body lay here that long without anyone noticing,” Cooper said. “What do you make of the blankets?”

  This was puzzling. Whoever did this had to have the blankets prepared ahead of time. They were stitched together, dark on the outside, light on the inside, and with loops attached on the corners. The process of wrapping the body up so that she would be spread eagle once unwrapped also seemed like an unnecessary risk. There was some sort of pathology involved, but I couldn’t see it. It may have been done to taunt the police, a ‘fuck you, look what I did, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

  “Could have been used to move the body after death. Make it easier to transport,” Zaki said.

  But why bring him…her…here just to mutilate her?” Cooper asked, correcting the misuse of the pronoun. Against my will, I was beginning to respect the man. “It doesn’t add up.”

  “I agree. She was killed here and then mutilated.”

  “How can we be sure she was killed here?” Zaki asked.

  I pointed to the blood pooling around the void between her legs. “If she was alive when the penis was taken, there would have been arterial spray. Her heart had already stopped beating. The blood just poured out rather than spurt.”

  Zaki looked at Cooper for confirmation. “That’s right. I’ll conduct more tests, of course, but I’d say the preliminary report will bear that out.”

  “That’s brazen. Like you said, Heck, this is a busy alley. There’s lots of people passing by at any time. It’s a risky move,” Zaki said.

  “She had to know her victim. Felt comfortable enough around him not to call for help. By the time she knew she was in trouble, his hands were already clamped around her neck, cutting off her air supply. She couldn’t have called for help then.” I pointed at a used condom on the ground. “Anyone passing by might have assumed that they were lovers meeting for a quickie. Looks like that happens often.”

  “We’re going to tag and bag all these rubbers. Maybe they’ll come up with a match to our victim. That could lead us to the killer,” Zaki said.

  “It’s worth a shot, but I don’t think you’ll find one. This killer was confident and has done it before. I can’t imagine him being so careless as to leave trace evidence behind,” I said.

  “Were there any visible traces of semen on the body? Any signs of penetration?”

  “None, but we’ll know for sure once we get her back in the lab,” Cooper said.

  “Any idea who she is?” I asked.

  “Not yet. Her purse is empty. The wallet gone. We’re canvassing the bars. Someone knows her. What are you thinking?” Zaki asked.

  “My first thought is that this is nearly identical to Gracie Telford. The murders are practically identical, the strangulation, the blankets, and the removal of the penis. Gracie wasn’t a transsexual, but she was headed that way. Except it can’t be the same killer, can it?”

  Zaki wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “You got your man, didn’t you?”

  “C’mon, Heck. Don’t bust my balls.”

  I want to bust his jaw. I knew they got it wrong. I told them, but no one would listen. All I got for my troubles was some shrapnel in the eye and a dishonourable discharge. “Where’s Frank Bello?”

  “I already checked on him. He’s in Millhaven, serving 5 years for a violent rape.”

  “It can’t be him then,” I said.

  “Did you have any other suspects for Gracie’s murder? In Ka
ndahar?”

  I responded with my very best Gorgonesque glare. It should have petrified him. He didn’t blink. “I didn’t get the chance to conduct my investigation. My ruined eye throbbed, as if the mere mention of Afghanistan reopened the wound. “Why did you bring me here, Zaki?”

  “I need a fresh set of eyes, “he said. Thanks to him, I only had one eye. I let the insult slide. I’m sure it was just a slip of the tongue.

  I was tempted to say fuck it. This wasn’t my problem, but then I thought of Gracie. She deserved better. “Fine. I’ll go home, Check my notes. See if there’s anything to jog my memory. What about you?”

  “I’ll pay a visit to Cutler. Last I heard he was stationed at Denison.” The Denison Armoury was a base where the reserve unit trains, meets, and parades. It also housed the 4th Canadian Division, which was where Colonel James Cutler was currently assigned. Cutler was a respected officer. He’d given his life to service. By all accounts, he was a decent, honourable man. He was also the sonuvabitch that drummed me out of the service. He stripped me of my reputation. My honour. My career. He was high on my shit list. Higher than Zaki, even. Zaki, for all his faults, was just following orders. Cutler was the man behind those orders. The grandmaster moving the pieces on the board.

  “You think he’ll see you?”

  “He doesn’t have a choice. This is a murder investigation. Its safe to say that our killer is someone in the army. There must be other incidents. He must have some insight. He may even have a name or two he can offer up.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I’ve brought you in strictly to consult. You cannot be any part of the investigation. Obviously, you aren’t police. You can’t act in any official capacity, and you cannot question any of the suspects or witnesses. I can’t stress this enough; you are a civilian consultant. Are we clear on that?”

  “Crystal. Can you text me the crime scene photos? I’d like to take a close look at them, see what I can see.”

  Zaki raised his eyebrows. “I’m giving you enough rope to hang me. Don’t show them to anyone else.”

  “Don’t worry partner. I’ve got your back. Send me the vic’s name once you get an ID on her too, would ya?”

  Zaki offered me a lift, but I passed. I needed to process what I’d just seen, to try and make sense of it. I took the Bloor night bus to Keele Street then waited for the Keele bus. It took a long time, but when it did, I boarded and sat at the rear, thinking. Something was nagging at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I got off at my stop and walked the last two blocks home. It had been a long night, and dawn was starting to break, streaks of purples and pinks lined the horizon, and birds began their morning chorus. I regretted not taking the ride from Zaki. It had been a long day and my eye grew heavy. When I finally got home, I fell onto my bed and into a troubled sleep, haunted by not one, but two, ghosts.

  3

  Hazel

  Hazel pressed the call button to the elevator in the lobby of her apartment building. The Fitbit on her wrist silently chastised her. She scanned the call button. The up arrow illuminated in anticipation of its imminent arrival. Hazel cursed the little nagging box strapped onto her wrist and its insistence that she walk her daily steps. It was only 10,000. She could do that in her sleep, but she was short today. Fine, she thought. You win. She turned on her heel and made for the stairs, climbing the five storeys briskly. The damn contraption was more a set of shackles than a piece of exercise equipment.

  The light in the living room was on and she knew that Jessica was still be up, probably reading by the old lamp. Jess liked these solitary moments, after Jaimie had been put to bed and before Hazel came home from her shift. This was her ‘Me Time,’ a chance to unplug and relax.

  “Hey, Jess,” Hazel said in a low whisper, so as not to startle her.

  “Oh hi, Haze.” Jess closed the book. It was a vampire romance, the ridiculous one where the vamps don’t mind the daylight so much. They didn’t disintegrate. They sparkled. They fucking sparkled. Still, Hazel knew she shouldn’t judge. She had a Gillian Flynn on her nightstand that hadn’t been touched in months. “How was your night?”

  “The same as always,” Hazel said, kicking off her shoes. “Shaking what my momma gave me.”

  “I don’t think I could ever do that. I don’t even like taking my clothes off for a shower. I could never do it in front of a bunch of creepers.”

  “It’s a living,” she said in a piss-poor Flintstones imitation. Hazel didn’t like it much either, the lewd stares, the crude propositions, the eye-fucks.

  “Why do you do it?”

  “I don’t have anything else.”

  “You could do anything!” Jess threw her arms up. “You’re so smart. You could do anything you wanted to.”

  “I can’t. I’ve done things…made mistakes. My body is my only asset. I get to control how it gets used.”

  “But you’re still being used. Don’t you feel debased?”

  “I’m capitalizing on my own body in a way that’s safe and consensual and I can do it in a way that doesn’t leave me feeling violated. I know what that’s like, and if I’m going to be debased, at least I’m getting paid for it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Hazel looked at her young friend with sadness. “I hope you never do. How was Jaimie tonight?”

  “She’s such a smart kid. We played chess. She was good. I mean, I won, but she didn’t make it easy.”

  Hazel beamed. Jaimie was the one thing in this world that she and Eddie had gotten right. The one thing she was sure about. “She’s a smart cookie. I don’t know where she gets it from. Not me or Eddie, there’s no doubt about that,” Hazel said.

  “Not Eddie, anyway.” Jess got up from the couch. Her carrot-coloured hair was tied into a pony and a generous smattering of freckles were spackled across the bridge of her nose like a Jackson Pollard painting. Her green eyes were tired with heavy bags pulling them down like an anchor and magnified by her thick glasses. “When do you need me next?” She said.

  “Are you available tomorrow? I know it’s a Friday. If you have a party or something planned, I’ll figure something out.”

  “I literally don’t have anything going on. School and you. That’s about it. I think Tom works anyway. You know where to find me,” Jess said. She gathered up her book and placed it into her over-sized purse. Hazel was relieved. She didn’t have anyone else. She felt bad for Jess. A college girl should be going out, having fun, but she was also glad that she was reliable.

  Hazel handed Jess a twenty. “Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver.” Jess folded the bill and slid it into the back pocket of her faded denims. Hazel didn’t have the heart to tell her that it been tucked into the waistband of her G-string scant hours ago. Hazel followed her to the door and locked it behind her. She lived two floors down. Jess was a student at York University and a part time barista, but she looked after Jaimie most nights to earn a few extra bucks. She was a pretty girl, if a little plain. She wore no make-up, which both garnered Hazel’s respect and horror. She couldn’t even buy milk without contouring her face first. Jess’s boyfriend, Tom, was also a student, but he spent most of his evenings smoking pot and playing video games. Jess could do better, but Hazel couldn’t criticize. Not so long as Eddie was in the picture, and Eddie was always in the picture.

  Hazel went into the kitchen and took the Dream Jar down from the top of the fridge. The Dream Jar was an old mason jar Jaime decorated with stickers, and glitter, and pretty things. When the jar was filled to bursting, they could go anywhere in the world. Do anything. Hazel dutifully added to it every night. Jaimie even added her birthday money. Jaimie wanted to go to Disney World, and meet Anna and Elsa. That was fine with Hazel. Jaimie deserved magic, and there was no place quite as magical for a little girl.

  Hazel quietly opened the door to Jaimie’s bedroom. Jaimie was sprawled out in her bed, wearing a pink unicorn onesie. Her blanket was askew. One leg was hanging off the edge of the bed,
the other was rooted into her mattress, keeping her from rolling onto the floor. Hazel gently took her leg and pulled her back into bed, and tucked her in. Jaimie stirred, and her eyes flickered open, like an old television set powering up, slowly conjuring an image from snowy static. “Momma?” Jaimie said, her tiny voice sleep drenched.

  “It’s okay, Pookie Bear. I’m home. Go back to sleep.”

  “Okay, Momma. G’night. Love you.”

  “I love you too. So much,”

  “That’s good, Momma.” Her head dropped back onto her pillow, and she was sawing tiny little logs in an instant. Hazel sat on the edge of the bed, taking in the perfect little creation she and Eddie had made.

  Eddie Cline was her college boyfriend. That should have been the extent of it. College romances aren’t supposed to last. They are meant to teach you how to love. You’re supposed to learn how to treat people, and how you want to be treated, but its not love. She didn’t deserve love. Not after what she had done. She met him at a time in her life when she was troubled. She was taking risks, sleeping with anything with a dick, older men who had no business with a young woman, one-night stands, unprotected sex. Alcohol and drugs became medication and nourishment. Her parents kicked her out. She had no friends. She was alone. Then, she met Eddie.

  Eddie was a something of a ne’er-do-well. He’d been in a little trouble with the law, even back then. Nothing major; theft, drugs, an assault. He was a bad boy, and what girl doesn’t love a bad girl? The only thing was that Eddie was bad at everything. He was a bad boyfriend. A bad friend, a bad son, really an all-around bad person. He was also the best that she deserved. The only thing he wasn’t totally bad at was being a dad. He was no Atticus Finch, but he had his moments,

  She couldn’t be angry with him. He was kind to her, in his way, more than she deserved, and he loved Jaimie. He was smart too, just not smart enough to see his own shortcomings. After her troubles, Hazel lost custody of Jaimie. Eddie became her sole caregiver. Afterwards, Eddie let her have Jaimie back, partly because it was too hard to be a single dad, but also because Eddie didn’t have the heart to take something so precious from her. Hazel would forgive him just about anything for that.