Death Du Jour

by Kathy Reichs

  My mind kept throwing up images from St-Jovite. Doughy white babies, eyelids and fingernails a delicate blue. A bullet-pierced skull. Slashed throats, hands scored with defense wounds. Scorched bodies, their limbs twisted and contorted.

  What linked the Quebec deaths to the point of land on Saint Helena Island? Why babies and fragile old women? Who was Guillion? What was in Texas? Into what form of malignancy had Heidi and her family stumbled?

  Concentrate, Brennan. The young women in this lab are just as dead. Leave the Quebec murders to Ryan and finish these cases. They deserve your attention. Find out when they died. And how.

  I pulled on another pair of gloves and examined every bone of the second victim’s skeleton under magnification. I found nothing to tell me what caused her death. No blunt instrument trauma. No gunshot entry or exit. No stab wound. No hyoid fracture to indicate strangulation.

  The only damage I observed was caused by animals scavenging on her corpse.

  As I replaced the last foot bone, a tiny black beetle crawled from under a vertebra. I stared at it, remembering an afternoon when Birdie had tracked a June bug in my kitchen in Montreal. He’d played with the creature for hours before finally losing interest.

  Tears burned my eyelids, but I refused to give in.

  I collected the beetle and put it in a plastic container. No more death. I would release the bug when I left the building.

  O.K., beetle. How long have these ladies been dead? We’ll work on that.

  I looked at the clock. Four-thirty. Late enough. I flipped through my Rolodex, found a number, and dialed.

  Five time zones away a phone was answered.

  “Dr. West.”

  “Dr. Lou West?”

  “Yes.”

  “A.k.a. Kaptain Kam?”

  Silence.

  “Of Spam fame?”

  “It’s tuna fish. Is that you, Tempe?”

  In my mind’s eye I saw him, thick silver hair and beard framing a face permanently tanned by the Hawaiian sun. Years before I’d met him, a Japanese ad agency spotted Lou and cast him as spokesman for a brand of canned tuna. His earring and ponytail were perfectly suited to the sea captain image they wanted. The Japanese loved Kaptain Kam. Though we teased him unmercifully, no one I knew had ever seen the ads.

  “Ready to give up bugs and hawk tuna full time?”

  Lou holds a doctorate in biology and teaches at the University of Hawaii. In my opinion he is the best forensic entomologist in the country.

  “Not quite.” He laughed. “The suit itches.”

  “Do it in the buff.”

  “I don’t think the Japanese are ready for that.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?”

  Lou and I, and a handful of other forensic specialists, teach a course on body recovery at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. It’s an irreverent group, composed of pathologists, entomologists, anthropologists, botanists, and soil experts, most with academic backgrounds. One year a zealously conservative agent suggested to the entomologist that his earring was inappropriate. Lou listened solemnly, and the next day the small gold loop was replaced by an eight-inch Cherokee feather with beads, fringe, and a small silver bell.

  “I’ve got your bugs.”

  “They came through intact?”

  “Unscathed. And you did a great job collecting. In the Carolinas the insect assemblage associated with decomposition includes over five hundred and twenty species. I think you sent me most of them.”

  “So what can you tell me?”

  “You want the whole rundown?”

  “Sure.”

  “First of all, I think your vics were killed during the day. Or at least the bodies were exposed during daylight hours for a while before burial. I found larviposition by Sarcophaga bullata.”

  “Give that to me in English.”

  “It’s a species of flesh fly. You collected empty Sarcophaga bullata puparial cases and intact puparia from both bodies.”

  “And?”

  “The Sarcophagidae aren’t too spunky after sundown. If you drop a body right next to them they might larviposit, but they’re not very active at night.”

  “Larviposit?”

  “Insects use larviposition or oviposition. Some lay eggs, some lay larvae.”

  “Insects lay larvae?”

  “First instar larvae. That’s the very first larval stage. The Sarcophagidae as a group larviposit. It’s a strategy that gives them a head start on the rest of the maggots, and also provides some protection against predators that feed on eggs.”

  “Then why don’t all these insects larviposit?”

  “There’s a downside. The females can’t produce nearly as many larvae as they can eggs. It’s a trade-off.”

  “Life is compromise.”

  “Indeed. I also suspect the bodies were exposed outside, at least for a short period. The Sarcophagidae aren’t quite as willing to enter buildings as some other groups. The Calliphoridae, for example.”

  “That makes sense. They were either killed on the island or the bodies were transported there by boat.”

  “In any event, I’d guess they were killed during the day, then spent some time outside and aboveground before being buried.”

  “What about the other species?”

  “You want the whole party?”

  “Definitely.”

  “For both corpses burial would have delayed the normal insect invasion. Once the top body was exposed by the scavengers, however, the Calliphoridae would have found it irresistible for egg laying.”

  “Calliphoridae?”

  “Blowflies. They usually arrive within minutes of death, along with their friends the flesh flies. They’re both strong fliers.”

  “Bully.”

  “You collected at least two species of blowflies, Cochliomyia . . .”

  “Maybe we should stick to common names.”

  “O.K. You collected first, second, and third instar larvae and intact and empty puparial cases for at least two species of blowflies.”

  “Which means what?”

  “O.K., class. Let’s review the life cycle of the fly. Like us, adult flies are concerned with finding suitable places to rear their young. A dead body is perfect. Protected environment. Lots to eat. The perfect neighborhood to raise the kids. Corpses are so attractive, blowflies and flesh flies may arrive within minutes after death. The female will either oviposit immediately, or feed for a while on the fluids seeping from the remains, and then lay her eggs.”

  “Nice.”

  “Hey, the stuff is very rich in protein. If there’s trauma to the corpse, they’ll go for that, if not they’ll settle for orifices—eyes, nose, mouth, anus . . .”

  “I get the picture.”

  “Blowflies lay huge clusters of eggs that can completely fill natural body openings and wound sites. You say it’s been cool there, so there may not have been quite as many in your grave.”

  “When the eggs hatch, the maggots take center stage.”

  “Exactly. Act two. Maggots are really pretty cool. On the front end they have a pair of mouth hooks that they use for feeding and locomotion. They breathe through little flat structures on the back end.”

  “They breathe through their asses.”

  “In a sense. Anyway, eggs laid at the same time hatch at the same time and the maggots mature together. They also feed together, so you can get these enormous maggot masses moving around the body. The group feeding behavior results in the dissemination of bacteria and the production of digestive enzymes which permit maggots to consume most of the soft tissues of a corpse. It’s all highly efficient.

  “Maggots mature rapidly, and when they reach maximum size they undergo a dramatic change in behavior. They stop feeding and look for drier digs, usually away from the body.”

  “Act three.”

  “Yep. The larvae burrow in and their outer skins harden and form protective encasements called puparia. They look like tiny footballs. The maggots stay
inside the pupal casings until their cells have reorganized, then emerge as adult flies.”

  “That’s why the empty puparial cases are significant?”

  “Yes. Remember the flesh flies?”

  “The Sarcophagidae. The larvipositers.”

  “Very good. They’re usually the first to emerge as adults. It takes them anywhere from sixteen to twenty-four days to mature, given temperatures around eighty degrees Fahrenheit. They’d be slowed under the conditions you describe.”

  “Yes. It wasn’t that warm.”

  “But the empty puparial casings mean some of the flesh flies had finished their development.”

  “Flown the pupae, as it were.”

  “It takes the blowfly about fourteen to twenty-five days to mature, probably longer in the wet environment on your island.”

  “Those estimates tally.”

  “You also collected what I’m pretty sure are Muscidae larvae, maggots of the housefly and its relatives. Typically these species don’t show up for five to seven days after death. They prefer to wait for what we call the late fresh or early bloat stages. Oh, and there were cheese skippers.”

  Cheese skippers are maggots that jump. Though not always easy, I’ve learned to ignore them while working on putrefied bodies.

  “My personal favorites.”

  “Everybody’s got to make a living, Dr. Brennan.”

  “I suppose one has to admire an organism that can jump ninety times its body length.”

  “Have you measured?”

  “It’s an estimate.”

  “A particularly useful critter for estimating PMI is the black soldier fly. They don’t usually show up until twenty days after death, and they’re fairly consistent, even with buried remains.”

  “They were present?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else?”

  “The beetle assemblage was more limited, probably due to the wet habitat. But the typical predator forms were there, no doubt munching happily on the maggots and soft-bodied forms.”

  “So what’s your estimate?”

  “I’d say we’re talking about three to four weeks.”

  “Both bodies?”

  “You measured four feet to the bottom of the pit, three feet to the top of the lower body. We’ve already discussed the preburial larviposition by the flesh flies, so that explains the puparial cases you found on and above the deeper body. Some held adults, half in and half out. They must have been trapped by the soil while trying to exit. The Piophilidae were there, also.”

  “Lou?”

  “Cheese skippers. I also found some coffin flies in the soil sample you took from above the lower body, and some larvae on the body itself. These species are known to burrow down to corpses to deposit their eggs. The soil disturbance in the grave and the presence of the upper body would have facilitated their access. I forgot to mention I found coffin flies on the upper body.”

  “Were the soil samples useful?”

  “Very. You don’t want to hear about all the critters that chow down on maggots and decompositional materials, but I found one form that’s helpful with PMI. When I processed the soil I collected a number of mites which support a minimum time since death of three weeks.”

  “So you’re saying three to four weeks for both bodies.”

  “That’s my preliminary estimate.”

  “This is very helpful, Lou. You guys amaze me.”

  “Does all this square with the condition of the remains?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “There’s one other thing I want to mention.”

  What he told me next sent an icy wind rocketing through my soul.

  “I’M SORRY, LOU. GO OVER THAT AGAIN.”

  “It’s not new. The increase in drug-related deaths in recent years has prompted research into testing for pharmaceuticals in carrion-feeding insects. I don’t have to tell you that bodies aren’t always found right away, so investigators may not have the specimens they need for tox analysis. You know, blood, urine, or organ tissues.”

  “So you test for drugs in maggots?”

  “You can, but we’ve had better luck with the puparial casings. Probably because of the longer feeding time compared to the larvae. We’ve also played with beetle exuviae and frass . . .”

  “Which is?”

  “Cast-off beetle skins and fecal matter. We’re finding the highest drug levels in the fly puparia, though. That probably reflects feeding preference. While beetles prefer dried integument, flies go for soft tissues. That’s where drug concentrations are likely to be greatest.”

  “What’s been found?”

  “The list is pretty long. Cocaine, heroin, methamphetamine, amitriptyline, nortriptyline. Most recently we’ve been working with 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine.”

  “Street name?”

  “Ecstasy is the most common one.”

  “And you’re finding these substances in puparial casings?”

  “We’ve isolated both the parent drugs and their metabolites.”

  “How?”

  “The extraction method is similar to that used on regular pathology samples, except that you have to break down the tough chitin/protein matrix in the insect puparia and exuviae so the toxins can be released. You do that by crushing the casings, then using either a strong acid or base treatment. After that, and a pH adjustment, you just use routine drug-screening techniques. We do a base extraction followed by liquid chromatography and mass spectrometry. The ion breakdown indicates what’s in your sample and how much.”

  I swallowed.

  “And you’re telling me you found flunitrazepam in the puparial casings I sent?”

  “The ones associated with the upper body contained flunitrazepam and two of its metabolites, desmethylflunitrazepam and 7-aminoflunitrazepam. The concentration of the parent drug was much greater than the metabolites.”

  “Which is consistent with acute rather than chronic exposure.”

  “Exactamundo.”

  I thanked Lou and hung up.

  For a moment I just sat there. The shock of discovery had curdled my stomach and I felt I might throw up. Or maybe it was the Moon Pie.

  Flunitrazepam.

  The word had finally roused the stored memory.

  Flunitrazepam.

  Rohypnol.

  That was the wake-up call my brain had been sounding.

  With trembling hands I dialed the Lord Carteret Motel. No answer. I redialed and left my number on Ryan’s pager.

  Then I waited, my sympathetic nervous system broadcasting a low-level alert, telling me to fear. Fear what?

  Rohypnol.

  When the phone rang I lunged for it.

  A student.

  I cleared the line and waited some more, feeling a dark, cold dread.

  Rohypnol. The date rape drug.

  Glaciers formed. Ocean levels rose and fell. Somewhere a star spun planets from dust.

  Eleven minutes later Ryan called.

  “I think I’ve found another link.”

  “What?”

  Slow down. Don’t let the shock interfere with your thinking.

  “The Murtry Island and St-Jovite murders.”

  I told him about my conversation with Lou West.

  “One of the women on Murtry had massive amounts of Rohypnol in her tissue.”

  “So did the bodies in the upstairs bedroom at St-Jovite.”

  “Yes.”

  Another memory had slammed to the surface when Lou spoke the name of the drug.

  Boreal forest. Aerial views of a smoldering chalet. A meadow, shrouded bodies arranged in a circle. Uniformed personnel. Stretchers. Ambulances.

  “Do you remember the Order of the Solar Temple?”

  “The wing nut worshipers that offed themselves en masse?”

  “Yes. Sixty-four people died in Europe. Ten in Quebec.”

  I fought to steady my voice.

  “Some of those chalets were wired to explode and burn.”


  “Yeah. I’ve thought of that.”

  “Rohypnol was found in both locations. Many of the victims had ingested the drug shortly before they died.”

  Pause.

  “You think Owens is rezoning for the Temple?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think they’re dealing?”

  Dealing what? Human lives?

  “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

  For several moments neither of us spoke.

  “I’ll run this past the guys who worked Morin Heights. Meantime, I’m going to shove a deadbolt up Dom Owens’ ass.”

  “There’s more.”

  The line hummed softly.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “West estimates the women died three to four weeks ago.”

  My breath sounded loud in the receiver.

  “The fire in St-Jovite was on March tenth. Tomorrow’s the first.”

  I listened to the hum as Ryan did the math.

  “Holy Christ. Three weeks ago.”

  “I have a feeling something terrible is going to happen, Ryan.”

  “Roger that.”

  Dial tone.

  * * *

  In looking back I always have the sense events accelerated after that conversation, gathered speed and grew more frantic, eventually forming a vortex that sucked everything into itself. Including me.

  That evening I worked late. So did Hardaway. He called as I was pulling his autopsy report from the envelope.

  I gave him the profile for the subsurface body, and my age estimate for the deeper one.

  “That squares,” he said. “She was twenty-five.”

  “You’ve got an ID?”

  “We were able to lift one readable print. Got nothing from the local or state files, so they sent it up to the FBI. Nothing in their AFIS.

  “Screwiest thing, though. Don’t know what made me do it, probably ’cause I know you work up there. When the guy at the bureau suggested we try the RCMP I said, what the hell, fire it through. Damned if she doesn’t pop up Canadian.”

  “What else did you find out about her?”

  “Hang on.”

  I heard the creak of springs, then the rustle of paper.

  “The sheet came through late today. Name’s Jennifer Cannon. White race. Height five foot five, weight one hundred thirty pounds. Hair brown. Eyes green. Single. Last seen alive . . .” There was a pause while he calculated. “. . . two years, three months ago.”