Free Silent Screams by C. E. Lawrence Page B

would choose the discomfort of sitting on plastic just to keep their furniture clean.
    “Please sit down,” Mrs. Riley said.
    He and Butts complied, the plastic making a crinkling sound as they sat.
    “I’ll tell Christine you’re here. Would you like some coffee?”
    “No, thanks, Ma’am—we’re fine,” Butts replied, hands on his knees. He looked uncomfortable, his sturdy body perching on the edge of the sofa, as if he were afraid to lean back, lest he might be swallowed in a sea of plastic.
    Mrs. Riley left the room, but Fritzy stayed behind to guard his quarry. The dog’s barking had subsided to a few hiccough-like eruptions deep in its throat, disgruntled rumbling sounds that served as a warning that, come what may, Fritzy was on the job. He sat lopsidedly a few feet away, leaning on one pink haunch, his bright little eyes shining out from under overhanging terrier brows, fixed on his prisoners.
    “I don’t get how they can see through all that fur,” Butts whispered, “but the wife tells me that they do. That’s a lousy excuse for a dog,” he added, shaking his head.
    As if he had heard the insult, Fritzy looked in the direction of the kitchen, then jumped up and followed his mistress out of the room.
    Lee and Butts looked around the living room. Everything was flowered—the couch, the rug, the curtains, even the wallpaper. The excess of floral patterns made Lee’s head ache.
    “Geez,” Butts said, “this place is nice, huh? My wife would love this.”
    Lee had an uncomfortable image of the Butts household, and wondered if it included plastic on the furniture. His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Riley and her daughter Christine. The girl’s resemblance to her mother was striking: the same pale eyes, so light they appeared colorless, the same husky, athletic build, all shoulders and right angles. Christine had more color in her face than her mother—her cheeks were ruddier, her lips fuller.
    She walked over to the chair opposite them and sat down. Fritzy trotted officiously after her, settling himself down at her feet.
    Mrs. Riley stood behind her, as if unsure of her role in this matter.
    “Do you want me to leave you alone with her?” she asked.
    “No, you can stay if you want,” Butts said, taking out his little notebook. Lee noticed that he rarely wrote in it, but he seemed to like holding it.
    Mrs. Riley perched on the arm of her daughter’s chair and put a hand on her shoulder, in a gesture of maternal protectiveness.
    “So,” Butts said to the girl, “I’m Detective Butts, and this is Lee Campbell.”
    “Is he a detective too?”
    “No, but we’re both cops,” Butts replied with a little cough. “He’s a criminal profiler.”
    Her eyes widened, and Lee could see the pale blue irises.
    “Like on TV?”
    “Yeah, like on TV,” Butts sighed before Lee could say anything. “Just like on TV,” he repeated, his jaw tight. He leaned back against the plastic couch cover, which made a little sucking sound. Fritzy looked up, cocked his head, and licked his lips.
    “So you were Marie’s roommate?” Butts asked Christine.
    “Yeah,” she replied. “We lived in Wykopf East. It’s an all-girls dorm,” she added, with a glance at her mother.
    “Okay,” Butts answered. “Were there any weird guys hanging around, anyone who caught your attention?”
    Christine frowned. Her strong-looking hands played with a strand of her lank blond hair, twisting and curling it around her fingers. “Uh, not really. I can’t think of anyone. I mean, her boyfriend is a little weird, but he’s a sweetheart. You don’t think he would—” She broke off and looked up at her mother.
    “Mr. Winters is not a suspect at this time,” Butts replied.
    “Oh, good. Because if you thought he—I mean, that would just really be awful. Not that it isn’t awful already,” she added.
    “Like I said,” Butts repeated, “he isn’t a suspect at this time.”
    “Is there anything you can