C. Lawrence: Silent Stalker

Sergeant McKinney produced a pair of handcuffs, which he gave to Butts.

The detective approached the stage. “Ryan Atkins, you’re under arrest for the murders of Mindy Lewis and Caroline Porchowsky.”

“So his expression gave him away, huh?” Butts said, popping a powdered cinnamon Munchkin in his mouth.

They were sitting in the Dunkin’ Donuts near the precinct. Ryan Atkins had been booked and was on his way to Rikers, so the detective was indulging in his favorite vice, fried dough coated in sugar.

“Yeah,” said Lee. “He obviously didn’t know he’d killed the wrong girl.”

“So why didn’t he leave the mask?”

“He must have heard someone coming. It’s a pretty risky thing to do in the middle of the afternoon, in broad daylight.”

“And he almost got away with it,” said Butts, taking a big gulp of coffee. “So his brother had no idea, huh?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I always thought twins were really close, and shared everything. Guess I’ve never really known any. How ’bout you, Doc? Ever know any twins?”

“Not identical ones. There was a pair of fraternal twins a year ahead of me at school, but I didn’t really know them well.”

Butts swallowed another Munchkin and wiped his mouth. “So I guess not all twins have this-‘mystical’ connection.”

“Apparently not. Ryan Atkins is obviously a disturbed young man. And it was probably his mother’s death that sent him over the edge. The timing is right-he took his first victim shortly afterwards.”

“He asked Mindy out too, then?”

“Nobody else in the company saw him do it, but my guess is that he did and she rejected him.”

“What about Danny? Pretty normal, would you say?”

“As far as I can tell. He seemed appalled by his brother’s crimes.”

“Hey, how did he know about Caroline’s death?”

“Saw it on the news feed on his iPhone. That’s why when his brother was surprised to see Sara alive, Danny knew Ryan was the killer.”

Butts crumpled up the donut bag and tossed it into the trash can. “So much for the idea of evil being genetic.”

“You mean because identical twins have the same DNA?”

“Yeah. But only Ryan was a bad guy.”

“There are so many factors we don’t fully understand that contribute to the formation of pathopsychology.”

“In English, Doc?”

“We don’t really know why some people become criminals while others don’t.”

The detective heaved himself to his feet and brushed the crumbs from his sleeves. “Well, until someone figures it out, guys like me will always have a job.”

“And even if we do manage to identify all the factors that contribute to criminal behavior, it doesn’t mean we’ll be able to change it.”

“Ain’t that the way? No cure for the common cold or the common criminal.”

They stepped out into the street and were hit by a blast of icy wind. “Jeez,” Butts said, pulling his collar up as they headed toward the precinct. A few grains of snow swirled in the darkening sky; passing pedestrians hunched over against the wintry weather. “That was as damn fool thing you did, by the way. You know that, right?”

“I guess so.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was afraid he’d hurt someone. I knew you’d be there soon, so I was just trying to stall for time. And,” he said, pointing to the butterfly bandage on his cheek, “I’ve always wanted a really cool dueling scar.”

Butts pushed open the door to the precinct. “One of these days, Doc, you’re really gonna get hurt,” he said as they walked through the lobby past uniformed officers standing around in groups chatting, coming and going with suspects in tow, or drinking coffee as they studied their paperwork. There was always something going on in a New York City police station.

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

“What are you talkin’ about? You’re starting to scare me.”

“There are some things in my life I don’t want to deal with right now,” Lee said as they entered the office Butts shared with two other detectives.

Butts closed the door to his office and plopped down in his desk chair. “Like what?”

Lee told him about the letter and phone call from Chloe. When he finished, Butts laced his hands behind his head and put his feet up on the desk.

“If I was you, I’d let the bastard stew. He made his bed, now he can lie in it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Butts sighed. “It never is, is it? Still”-he began digging around in his desk drawer-“getting run through with a sword doesn’t seem like a good solution.”

Lee smiled. “When you put it like that, you have a point.”

Butts groaned at the pun. “You’re killin’ me, Doc.”

“Not on purpose, I swear.”

Butts pulled out an envelope from the drawer. “Ah, this is what I was lookin’ for.”

“What is it?”

“Two tickets to a show. I was going to surprise the wife with it tonight, but she’s not feeling very well. You wanna go?”

“What’s the show?”

“ The Boys from Syracuse.”

“Isn’t that-”

“The musical version of Comedy of Errors.”

Lee had to laugh.

“Sure,” he said. “What have we got to lose?”