Butterfly Assassin Page 7

  Which was so wrong, it was laughable.

  Sam was gentle when he needed to be, and he had a great sense of humour, but as far as the welfare of his pack was concerned, he was as loyal and as fierce as any alpha Aaron knew. He commanded the respect of the whole pack without question, and anyone who thought otherwise only made that mistake once.

  He met Aaron’s gaze. “Are you nervous about what we might find there?”

  Aaron sighed. Honestly, he hadn’t given much thought to where they were going. “Not really. I’d be happy if we found a scent we could identify. Whoever it is, they’re doing us no favours, and they need stopping.”

  Sam hummed in agreement. “What then?”

  “I don’t know what the detectives are going to do about the other stuff,” he confessed. “They could charge me with more than one crime and report me to the council. And that’ll reflect badly on the pack, on you, and—”

  “Aaron.” The slight alpha tone in Sam’s voice settled him. “If that’s the route they decide to take, then we’ll deal with it when it happens. And let me worry about the council.”

  “If?” Aaron frowned in confusion. “You don’t think they will?”

  Far from looking happy, Sam appeared resigned. “I suspect Detective Archer has something else in mind.” He sighed and shook his head. “But let’s try not to think about that for now.” He pointed to where the two detectives rode in the car in front. “We’re almost there. One thing at a time.”

  When Sam faced forwards again, Aaron closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the seat. They were about to pass the building where he’d fought Charlie, and he had no wish to see it again. Everything had been going fine—coming clean to Sam had been liberating in a way he’d not expected. His and Harry’s activities had been weighing on his mind more than he’d realised. Being on probation was the best outcome they could have hoped for, and Aaron had been so relieved. He hadn’t expected to find himself driving towards a crime scene, following two SCTF detectives the very next day.

  The detectives parked on the road next to what looked to be an alleyway or narrow road between buildings, and Isaac pulled up just behind them, the police crime scene tape clearly visible from their position.

  Along with his nerves, Aaron felt a frisson of excitement.

  Ignoring everything else going on and the fact that Aaron had kind of known the victim, they were about to visit an actual active crime scene—a dead body had been found a little over forty-eight hours before in that exact spot. It was probably in poor taste to feel that way, but he couldn’t help it. Judging from the way Harry craned his neck to get a better view, he wasn’t the only one itching to get out and take a look.

  “Might as well get this over with.” Isaac turned off the engine and followed Sam out of the car.

  Aaron reached for the door handle, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you before, but thank you for trying to keep me out of all this.”

  “Didn’t do any good though, did it?” Aaron reached for Harry’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for telling them you were at the club.”

  “Of course. I couldn’t sit there and listen to them doubt you.” He smiled, and Aaron returned it.

  “Come on. Let’s see if we can get this whole thing wrapped up and sorted.”

  Aaron got out of the car and joined Sam and Isaac on the pavement.

  Immediately the stench of rubbish hit him, and he grimaced as he spotted the two bins further behind the tape.

  Archer was on the phone, talking to someone about the alleyway by the sounds of it. When he was finished, he waved them over. “They’re done with the crime scene. Deliveries are due early tomorrow morning, and Miller’s keen to get things back to normal as quickly as possible. We can get rid of it.” He waved at the tape behind him, indicating what it was.

  “Miller?” Sam asked, following Archer as he headed towards the tape. Everyone else trooped after them.

  “Ian Miller. He’s the Senior Investigating Officer. It’s his crime scene.”

  “I thought this was an SCTF case?”

  Archer waved him away. “It’s complicated.” Sam let the subject drop, and Archer grabbed the tape barring their path and removed it. Leading them further into the alleyway, he glanced over his shoulder. “Well?”

  Aaron’s gaze caught on the dark red stain on the road.

  He swallowed, unable to look away. The earlier excitement he’d felt disappeared when faced with the grim reality. He and Harry hadn’t been part of the pack wars. They’d been human at the time, and they’d only heard stories. He’d witnessed some gruesome injuries since—shifters fought amongst themselves sometimes—but they all healed.

  He bent down, drawn to the blood stain, and just managed to stop himself from reaching out to touch it. The stain spread out, covering a significant area—no one had healed from this injury. When Aaron breathed in deep, he caught Charlie’s scent and was struck with an image of his wry grin as Aaron helped him up after the fight.

  And now he was gone.

  No. He took back everything he’d thought earlier. This wasn’t the least bit exciting.

  Charlie’s scent wasn’t the only one he picked up. Turning in a slow circle, rising to his feet, Aaron caught more, too many to count. It seemed as though an army of people had been through that alleyway, and apart from Charlie, Aaron didn’t have a hope of identifying anyone.

  But one thing he knew for sure—all the scents were human.

  “Anything?” Detective Archer stood there with his hands on his hips, watching them, expression hopeful. Curly blond hair fell over his forehead as the breeze ruffled it, piercing, blue gaze fixed on Aaron.

  Aaron felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t been able to pick out a scent. Not one that they were after, anyway. He shook his head and tried to dispel the feeling of failure. “Nothing, sorry.”

  “Nothing at all?” Archer sounded sceptical, and Aaron rushed to explain.

  “I mean there’s plenty of scents around here.” He gestured with a sweep of his hand. “But all of them are human.”

  Archer failed to hide his disappointment when he turned to the others. “What about you?”

  All three of them shook their heads, and Archer’s shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry, Detective,” Sam said, glancing around at the bins and the bits of rubbish littering the road. “But whatever scents there were have either disappeared or are masked by everything else.” He wrinkled his nose in the direction of the nearest industrial wheely bin.

  Aaron concurred; the smell was awful.

  “Fuck.” Archer ran a hand through his hair. “I was hoping you’d find something. A pack scent at least.”

  Detective Coldwell walked over to stand beside him. “Is that usual?” he asked, directing his question to Sam. Aaron stepped back a little, more than happy to no longer be the focus of attention. His gaze was drawn once more to the dark stain on the ground.

  “What, that there’s no scent?” Sam asked.

  “Or that it can be masked by a stronger smell? I thought your senses were more acute than that?”

  Sam blew out a breath and spared the bin another glance. “What time do you think he died?”

  “Between twelve thirty and three thirty Saturday morning. Roughly,” Coldwell answered.

  “Hmm. So the shifter who murdered him—assuming it was a shifter—would have left here…” He glanced at his watch. “Roughly fifty-two to fifty-five hours ago.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “If whoever it was stayed only long enough to commit murder, then left immediately, the scent left behind would’ve been little to start with. Then add in the stench from the bins, the blood, and the scents left by all the people who worked the crime scene…” Sam held out his hands. “It’s possible that whatever was here is simply undetectable under everything else. Even with our enhanced sense of smell.” He sighed. “If you want the best chance of catch
ing your killer’s scent, then you need to arrange to have a shifter help you as soon as the body’s discovered.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind.” Coldwell turned to Archer and they had some sort of silent conversation before Coldwell walked back to the car and returned with a brown folder.

  Detective Archer took it from him, then faced Sam again. “You said earlier, ‘assuming this was done by a shifter’?”

  Sam shrugged. “Well, you have no forensic evidence, do you? Or we wouldn’t be here since all shifters are required by law to have their DNA registered.”

  Archer reached into the folder and pulled out two glossy colour photographs. Aaron got a good enough look as Archer handed them over to see what they were. “I’m not an expert on shifter-inflicted wounds by any means, but fortunately, our forensic pathologist is. He conferred with one of the doctors from the shifter run hospital, and both of them are of the opinion that this wound”—he tapped the photo—“was inflicted by fully extended shifter claws.”

  Sam, with Isaac now beside him, studied the photo. Without giving it much thought, Aaron drifted closer to get a better look.

  And then immediately wished he hadn’t.

  It wasn’t the torn flesh of his throat that stole Aaron’s breath, nor the gore that seemed to have been wiped on his shirt—although they were both pretty horrific. The one thing that stopped Aaron cold was Charlie’s expression. His eyes were wide open, vacant, standing in stark relief against the pale skin of his face.

  Aaron quickly looked away, but even with his limited knowledge, it looked as though the damage had been caused by a shifter. It’d take strength to cause that amount of damage.

  “Fine,” Sam reluctantly agreed, “it looks like the work of a shifter. I’d hoped you were wrong.”

  Archer sighed. “I can understand that. But I’m not. And we need to catch them before this happens again.” He glanced down at the photos in his hand, then back up at Sam. “Can you use your claws effectively on both hands?”

  Sam tilted his head a little to one side. “I’m sorry?”

  “According to the post-mortem examinations, we have three victims, all killed in the same way, but two of them were struck right-to-left, and the other was struck left-to-right. So we were wondering… when you’re shifted—or half-shifted, whatever—do you have a dominant hand?” He put the photos away in the folder. “Are we looking for more than one suspect?”

  Sam looked to Isaac, who shrugged, then shook his head.

  Aaron flexed his fingers and tried to imagine himself half-shifted. Did he have a dominant hand? He didn’t think so, and certainly not in his wolf form.

  Doing much the same as Aaron had done, Sam held his hands out in front of him, then let his claws slide out.

  Both detectives flinched.

  “I don’t believe there’s a dominant hand as such. I guess I favour my right hand…” With a grim smile, Sam made a slashing motion with each hand in turn. “But we’re pretty lethal with either.”

  “So it could be one or more shifters.” Archer looked pissed off, and Aaron supposed he couldn’t blame him. None of them had been much help.

  Sam sheathed his claws with a soft snick. “Unless you find forensic evidence tying a shifter to this crime, it’s impossible to say either way.”

  “Great.” Detective Archer tucked the folder under his arm and sighed again. Aaron was already used to hearing it. “I need to discuss a few things with my boss, but I’d like to talk to you again, probably tomorrow if that’s okay?”

  “About what, exactly?” Sam asked. “We’ve been more than helpful as it is, Detective.”

  Archer raised an eyebrow. “Well for starters, there’s the matter of the charges we may or may not bring against Mr Harper and possibly Mr Nash.”

  Aaron swallowed, gaze darting between his alpha and Detective Archer as they had some sort of standoff.

  Finally, Sam relented. “Fine. But I’m a busy man, Detective. Make sure to call ahead.”

  “Oh, I will.” Archer smiled, and whether it was genuine or not, Aaron was taken aback by the difference it made. His blue eyes seemed brighter, crinkling at the edges, and his mouth curved up and parted, revealing white, slightly crooked teeth.

  Archer’s scent, which—thanks to a healthy dose of fear earlier—he’d managed to avoid noticing up till this point, suddenly hit him full force, and his breath hitched. Closing his eyes for a second, Aaron attempted to get control of his traitorous body.

  So not the time for this, Aaron.

  Becoming a shifter had saved his life, and he’d never regretted that decision, but sometimes he’d give anything not to have senses quite so sharp. His wolf reacted to certain things so strongly, and at the most inappropriate times too.

  They were standing mere feet from where someone had died, for fuck’s sake. Averting his gaze, Aaron caught Harry’s eye and mouthed, “You okay?”

  Harry shrugged, then grimaced as he glanced down at the ground. Aaron could tell by the look on his face that he was seeing the bloodstain. “Not sure,” he mouthed back.

  That was pretty much how Aaron felt too. Standing in the spot where someone had been murdered was a little surreal. The narrow road between buildings was just like any other along that street—littered with bits of rubbish that had managed to escape the industrial bins and smelling bad. Even the aroma of coffee and baked goods coming from the café next door didn’t cover the stench coming from those bins. And that was with their contents already emptied by the police. He didn’t envy the one who’d searched through it all.

  “If that’s all, Detective, I think we’ll head back now.” Sam’s tone indicated they were done, however, Archer replied.

  “Of course.” Archer stepped back out of their way. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Isaac gestured for Aaron and Harry to go first, and despite the lure of Detective Archer and his appealing scent, Aaron was only too happy to head back to the car. He felt eyes on him the whole way and barely suppressed a shiver. When they were all safely inside Isaac’s SUV, he chanced a glance back at the alleyway.

  The two detectives stood side by side, talking to each other but looking straight at the car. They were talking about Aaron and the others, that much was obvious. But they were too quiet, and from inside the car, he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  Isaac pulled into the traffic on the main road, and Sam turned to face Aaron and Harry. Sensing some awkward questions coming their way, Aaron sank into the seat a little.

  “Tell me more about these fights, and how you bet on them.” Sam’s gaze flicked between the two of them, intense, focused, and looking as though he expected nothing but the absolute truth.

  “What do you want to know?” Aaron felt Harry stiffen next to him.

  “Everything. How you heard about them, how you got involved in fighting, how you knew where to go.” He raised an eyebrow. “What you did with your winnings. Because I’m assuming you won a lot and didn’t do it for free.”

  Aaron sighed. “No, I didn’t do it for free.” But he didn’t keep the money either.

  “I suspect Detective Archer has something in mind that none of us will like, but you especially, Aaron, considering how he hasn’t addressed the possible charges he keeps dangling in front of you. So in the meantime, I want to know everything there is to know about this illegal fighting and who runs it so we know what to expect when we tell them you aren’t fighting anymore.”

  Sam using ‘we’ filled Aaron with warmth. There was nothing quite like knowing your alpha had your back one hundred per cent.

  And for that, Sam deserved nothing but the honest truth. With a deep breath, Aaron started talking.

  “I had my first fight at the end of November. I was so nervous about not outing myself as a shifter, I lost. That fight went eight rounds, and I was in a bit of a state afterwards.” He gestured to his face and hands. “I had cuts and bruises all over, but at the start, I wasn’t too good at delaying the healing process.”
Both Isaac and Sam raised their eyebrows at that, but he carried on, ignoring them. “Everything healed so quickly, I was lucky I got out of there without anyone seeing me. I didn’t go anywhere other than pack property for over two weeks.”

  Sam sighed. “But why did you start fighting?”

  Aaron went to answer, but Harry’s hand on his arm stopped him. “A friend of mine from one of our cafés took me to a fight after work one Friday night.”

  “One of our pack?” Sam asked.

  “No, not a shifter. He asked if I fancied it, said I didn’t have to bet on anything, I could just watch.” Harry fidgeted with the zip on his hoodie. “I think he wanted me as backup more than anything. There’s some rough types that go to these things.”

  Isaac snorted. “You don’t say.”

  Harry blushed a little. “Anyway, I liked this guy. I didn’t mind going with him if it made him feel safer, and I was intrigued.”

  “If you’d been around for the pack wars, you’d have seen enough violence to last you a lifetime,” Sam added softly. Isaac hummed in agreement. On occasions like this, when members of their pack referred to the pack wars or a time before they had the alpha council, Aaron always felt a little like an outsider. Neither he nor Harry had been pack during that time, and it was like he was missing some integral part of their pack history.

  But there was nothing he could do about that.

  He nudged Harry with his knee, a silent show of support in case Harry felt the same.

  “Anyway,” Harry continued, “I went with him. As you know, they don’t let shifters fight—” He shot a glance at Aaron. “—not knowingly anyway, but they didn’t seem to care about them watching or betting on the fights. I guess money’s money.”