The Butterfly Forest

SIXTY

I pulled my Jeep into Elizabeth’s driveway and shut off the engine. During the drive from the cemetery, I told her about the sketch Luke Palmer had drawn, his story about why he was in the forest, the bullet in his backpack, and the search for the marijuana grove in the heart of the national forest.

“Sean, I want to sell my home. My business, too.”

I said nothing.

“This home was mine and Molly’s. It’s where she grew up, learned to ride a bike. It’s where she nursed baby birds that left the nest too early. I bought the business so that Molly and I could do something together. She’d come to the restaurant after school, do her homework, help with cleaning, and we’d be together.”

The phone vibrated in my pocket.

I reached for it and looked at the caller ID. The window displayed: Unknown Call. I answered.

“O’Brien, this is Ed Sandberg. Sheriff Clayton said he wants to hold off releasing the sketch that Palmer drew.”

“Why?”

“He says, and I’m quoting here, in his twenty-eight years in law enforcement, he’s never seen a composite drawn by an inmate and then released to the media. And this inmate is being held on three counts of murder. The boss calls it a smokescreen, a conflict of interest, and to release it would set a precedent and break all kinds of investigative protocol. He did say it’s good jailhouse art, though.”

“Palmer’s not been sentenced. He’s being held in connection with his alleged involvement in the crimes. We don’t know for sure that he did it. I think he didn’t. How can the sheriff call it a conflict of interest if you have an eyewitness to a crime, a man who can not only describe it, but can draw the image of the person who could have committed the murders?”

“I’m an investigator. He’s the sheriff. I didn’t have to call you, but since you were a former homicide detective, as a courtesy, I thought you’d want to know.”

“Did you match the bullets, one from the tree and one from Palmer’s knapsack?”

“We’re using a spec scope and 3D rendering on the bullet from the tree. It was pretty fragmented. We might be able to do a match if they came from the same gun.”

“They did.”

He was quiet a moment. “We haven’t found the pot field. The teams worked until sunset. They’ll be back in the morning. Later, O’Brien.”

He hung up and Elizabeth asked, “Was that the police?”

“Detective Sandberg. He says they haven’t found the marijuana field and the sheriff is refusing to release to the media the composite Luke Palmer drew.”

“Why?”

“He says that since Palmer is being held and charged with the killings, it’s a conflict to have a composite sketch drawn by him and released to the media.”

“What do you think?”

“Because of the intense national publicity, I think the sheriff is looking for a quick resolution. He’s out of his comfort zone, and he’s afraid of making the slightest mistake. He sees what he believes is more than enough evidence, and he’s ready to lock the cage.”

“Where is the drawing Palmer did?”

“Here, between the seats.”

“May I see it?”

I reached down and lifted the file folder with the remaining copies of Palmer’s sketch. I started to turn on the interior light for her, but thought that we’d make a good target. “Let’s go inside.”

We sat at the kitchen table. I opened the file folder and slid out the composite sketch. Elizabeth stared at it for a moment. Her mouth opened slightly, a sound trapped somewhere in the back of the vocal cords. I asked, “What is it?”

“I’ve seen that man before.” Elizabeth stood, holding one hand to her lips. “I feel sick.” She turned and ran from the kitchen.