Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (111 page)

“That would be terrific,” Kathryn said.

“I tell you what. I'll get the church administrator to cut you a check, and I'll drop it off to you in a couple of days. Three shares—fair enough? Just plan on including us in your regular delivery next week.”

“I don't know how to thank you,” Kathryn said. “Sorry again about the tomato.”

“Don't worry about it,” Ben said. “He gets that all the time—and you know what? He doesn't even bother to duck.”

13

P
asha watched as Nick lifted the glass front of the rearing chamber and reached inside. The unit was the size of a washer and dryer set, and it rested on a table at one end of the lab. Inside the unit sat a pair of twenty-gallon terrariums side by side. Nick slid one of the terrariums closer and removed the screened lid.

“What are you doing?” Pasha asked.

“It's chow time,” Nick said. “We have to make sure the larvae have a steady supply of food so their growth rates aren't stunted.” He handed Pasha a bag of red meat cut into squares. “Put one in each of the containers. Use those forceps—be careful not to crush any of the maggots.”

Pasha held up the bag and looked at the bloodred meat. “What is it?”

“Beef liver. Some entomologists like to use pork because it doesn't liquefy during decomposition. I'm a beef man myself.”

Pasha took one of the Styrofoam cups from the terrarium and looked inside. In the bottom was a shriveled piece of liver covered with wriggling maggots. A moment later the stench of the decomposing liver reached his nostrils; he winced and turned away.

“Sorry,” Nick said. “I should have warned you about that.”

“Is it always so bad?”

“It can get worse—a lot worse. Some of my colleagues complain about the smell. They want me to turn on the vent hood and air out the place, but I don't like to do that—the increased air flow can reduce the humidity.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Evaporation has a cooling effect. Insect growth depends entirely on temperature; the warmer the temperature, the faster the insect develops. There was a case in California a few years back: A body was discovered next to a river. An entomologist took insect specimens from the body and he reared them, but he took his temperature and humidity data from a nearby airport. Somebody got the bright idea to check the temperature at the river where the insects were found, and guess what? It was eleven degrees cooler by the water. That little temperature change threw the postmortem interval off by forty-eight hours. That's no small error.”

Nick pointed to a row of dials and gauges along the top of the rearing chamber. “See those? They control the temperature, humidity, and lighting within the chamber. That's what a rearing chamber is for: It allows us to reproduce the precise conditions we found at the murder scene. The more accurately we do that, the more accurate the PMI. Oh, there's another thing the chamber's good for: It lets us keep the lab nice and cool. It's almost ninety degrees outside, but in here we keep it a balmy seventy-two—nice, isn't it? Without the chamber we'd have to keep the whole lab the same temperature as the murder scene. Where did you say you're from?”

The question caught Pasha off guard. “What? Oh—Russia.”

“That's right, I remember. What part?”

“Do you know Russia?”

“Not really. I was just wondering how you're handling a North Carolina summer. This is a hot one.”

“I did my master's degree in Kansas.”

“You're used to the heat, then. I'll take temperature readings at the site three or four times a day for the next few days—that should give us a good average. I'll also use a sling psychrometer to take humidity readings.”

“You are very thorough,” Pasha said.

“This woman is an old friend,” Nick said. “The victim was her husband.”

Pasha watched Nick as he worked. From time to time he would tip his head back and forth slightly, as if he were an insect staring out through different facets of its compound eyes.
The woman is an old friend
, he thought.
This will be personal for him.
Pasha knew very little about this field of forensic entomology, but he grasped the basic theory and he understood the danger. If Polchak could pinpoint the exact time of death, the authorities would focus all their attention on that period of time—and the odds of them finding a witness who might remember seeing Pasha would greatly increase.

Pasha looked at the dials on the rearing chamber again. “So—temperature, humidity, and lighting.”

“Lighting is important too,” Nick said. “Blowfly activity slows to a stop after sunset—we have to factor that in. Are you done there?”

Pasha placed the last chunk of liver in with the hungry maggots. “Done.”

Nick took the cups and returned them to the terrarium one by one.

“The cups are not covered?” Pasha asked.

“No. When the maggots are about to pupate they get an instinctive desire to migrate—to crawl away from the food source and find a private spot to burrow in and hide. They'll crawl right out of the cups—they'd crawl out of the terrarium if there wasn't a screen on top of it. If we keep them from migrating they'll delay pupation; that's another way you can screw up a PMI. Some species will even die if they're not allowed to move away from home. I think your species is like that.”

“My species?”

“A lot of this is new to you, isn't it? Insect development, migration, pupation . . .”

“Yes.”

“Then your background isn't in entomology. What did you do your master's in?”

“Agricultural science. My family owns a farm.”

“But you decided to do your doctorate in entomology?”

“My family thought it would be helpful.”

“Do Russians always do what their families want?”

Pasha smiled. “Some do—the older ones, I think. They still think the old way. The ‘collective'—that is how they were taught. One man must sacrifice for the good of all. The young generation, we think differently.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yes—here I am.”

“Ever feel like migrating?”

Pasha didn't answer.

Nick returned the terrarium to the rearing chamber. “That's about it for now,” he said. “I'll feed them twice a day and adjust the temperature and humidity levels to match the conditions at the crime scene. I'll collect a few larvae each day and preserve them to document each stage of development. When the larvae begin to pupate I'll move them to an emergence container where I can watch for the adults to hatch.”

“Is there some other way I can help?”

“Sure, if you don't mind long hours. I could use some help checking on these specimens.”

“I would enjoy that,” Pasha said. “I would like to learn more about this field.”

“I can arrange that. Do you know where my office is? Run down there and look for a book—Byrd and Castner's
Forensic Entomology: The Utility of Arthropods in Legal Investigations
. It's black with a big orange burying beetle on the cover. Bring it back and I'll give you some sections to read—that should give you the basics. Here's the key to my office, and here's one for this lab. Hang on to that one—we keep the labs locked up pretty tight around here, and you'll need it to let yourself in.”

Pasha headed immediately for the hallway.

Soon after he left there was a soft knock on the lab door.

“Nick?”

He turned. “Kathryn—come on in. What are you doing here?”

“I had a couple of restaurant deliveries up this way—some of my best customers are here in Raleigh. I thought I'd drop by and see how things are going.”

As she approached the rearing chamber she suddenly stopped and wrinkled her nose. “Boy—I remember that smell.”

Nick sniffed at the air. “Really? I don't even notice it.”

“I'm definitely buying you some cologne.”

“Get me the kind that renders women powerless—as seen on TV.”

“I'll do that.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and eased up to the rearing chamber as if she were approaching the edge of a cliff. “Are those the specimens you took from Michael's body?”

“Yes.”

She shivered. “Disgusting.”

“I beg your pardon. Do I call your produce disgusting?”

“It's a little different, don't you think?”

“Personally, I find most vegetables disgusting.”

“Then I'm not making you dinner again. Why bother? You didn't even finish your dinner the last time—you were in too big a hurry to run out and meet your friend.”

“I ran out to see your daughter's insect collection.”

“Where do you know her from?”

“You mean Alena?”

“Of course I mean Alena. Who else could we be talking about?”

“Why do women get so testy whenever a man asks for some clarification?”

“Because it's usually not clarification, it's evasion.”

“What does that mean? Oops—did it again.”

“I'm just curious, that's all. She seemed eager to see you. Are you two seeing each other?”

“No. Well, yes. I mean—sort of.”

Kathryn nodded. “I understand.”

“You do? Then explain it to me.”

“It's okay, Nick. It's a good thing—you need someone in your life. You know, you really are a human being.”

“Ouch.”

“And you're not as young as you used to be.”

“Are you always so cheerful?”

“I'm just saying, maybe you're finally getting in touch with all that. Maybe there's a part of you that wants a serious relationship. Maybe you've been like those flies you always work with—you've been in a little shell and now you're ready to come out.”

“I'm going to be a real live boy,” Nick said. “Uncle Gepetto will be so proud.”

“Laugh if you want to, but think about it.” She looked at the specimens again. “So what do we do now, just wait?”

“I'm not very good at waiting,” Nick said. “Besides, we've got another puzzle to solve.” He pointed to the second terrarium. The bottom was lined with an inch-deep layer of vermiculite, and in the center was a small mound of marijuana cuttings dotted with translucent green eggs.

“What's that?”

“The sample of marijuana I collected from the edge of your tomato field. The little green things are eggs.”

“More flies?”

“No. Blowflies and flesh flies are necrophilous—they only lay their eggs in decomposing tissue. I don't think these eggs are
Diptera
at all. I'm betting
Lepidoptera
.”

“Nick—would you speak English?”

“A fly egg is shaped like a grain of rice,” he said. “These are perfectly round. Plus, a fly egg is usually white or cream-colored—these are green. They're not fly eggs.”

“Then what are they?”

“I don't know yet. It's difficult to determine species in the egg stage. Whatever they are, they should hatch in a day or two and then we'll know for sure.”

“Do you think they have something to do with Michael's death?”

“I don't know, but it's possible. There were drugs in Michael's kitchen; the drugs ended up in the field; Michael ended up in the field. I don't know if it's all connected or not but it's worth looking into. One thing's for sure: This is definitely weird.”