Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle

by Tim Downs

  Nick paused. “I think maybe I do.”

  “Bravo, Nicholas—this is a major step forward for you. Call me a doubter if you will, but I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “So how do I choose?”

  “Follow your heart. What does your heart tell you?”

  “How would I know? This is completely new to me.”

  “I’m going to tell you something, Nicholas. I don’t think you’re going to like it, but you need to hear it anyway—and after all these years I believe I’ve earned the right to say it. You are not an insect. I’ve allowed you to persist in this illusion because it seems to gratify you—but the truth is, you’re a man. You have an exemplary intellect, but it’s a human intellect. You have remarkable instincts, but they’re the instincts of a human being. Your instincts have served you well in the past; use them now. What does your heart tell you?”

  Nick slowly shook his head. “It tells me I must be out of my mind.”

  The old man smiled. “Welcome to the human race, Nicholas.”

  “Well, don’t send the Welcome Wagon just yet—I might only be visiting.” Nick got up and pushed the chair back in place. “Thanks for the advice, Noah. Say hi to Barbara for me.”

  “I’ll tell the dung beetle you send your greetings.”

  30

  What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Nick asked.

  “I mean nothing,” Detective Massino replied. “Zip, nada—not a trace.”

  “You’re telling me that a murderer can drive right up to Kathryn’s farm, put two bullets in her husband’s back, and drive off again without anybody even seeing him?”

  “That’s assuming he drove.”

  “How else would he get there? Kathryn’s farm is in the middle of nowhere.”

  “We prefer to call it ‘the country’ around here.”

  “What about those security cameras you mentioned—the ones in the towns on either side of her? You can’t get to her place without driving through one of those towns. Did you check the video records?”

  “We checked. Good pictures—nice and clear. Nothing.”

  “Okay, so there were no unfamiliar vehicles—then the murder must have been committed by a local. What about local vehicles? Did you get any license plate numbers from the video? Have you talked to any of the owners?”

  “There were no cars, Dr. Polchak.”

  “What?”

  “Like you said, Mrs. Severenson’s place is a little out of the way—there’s not a lot of traffic out there. The date you gave us was a Sunday—her roadside stand was closed, and that’s about the only reason people make the drive out that way. We checked the video cameras, and during the four-hour period you specified, there were no cars headed in her direction—and nobody in either town remembered seeing anybody out of the ordinary.”

  “Then it must have been a neighbor—somebody on foot. Kathryn told me about one of them—a corn farmer who’s been trying to—”

  “Already talked to him,” Massino said. “Tully Truett says he was with his family at Topsail Beach all weekend. We checked it out; he’s telling the truth. Bottom line, that four-hour window you gave us turned up nothing.”

  Nick paused. “Did you check six hours like you said?”

  “We checked six hours, then we checked eight hours—still nothing. So there’s something else we need to check.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That postmortem interval you gave us. It has to be wrong, Doc.”

  “It can’t be wrong. I checked the math three times.”

  “Maybe it’s not your math. Maybe it was something with the bugs.”

  “You mean maybe I misidentified the species? Not a chance. They were Phaenicia sericata. They’re a brilliant metallic blue-green—there’s no mistaking them.”

  “Maybe these were especially fast growers or something. I’ve got a teenager like that.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Detective. Each species develops according to an established timetable.”

  “Then you’re still sure about this PMI.”

  “I’ve never been more sure.”

  Massino paused. “Well—that only leaves one other option.”

  “No,” Nick said. “Absolutely not.”

  “Come on, Doc—she had motive.”

  “What motive?”

  “How about a deadbeat husband? The guy was schizo, he was ruining her financially, and he was getting into drugs. I’ve known women to bump off their husbands with a lot less motive than that.”

  “What about the gunshot wounds—the range, the accuracy?”

  “Women can’t shoot? Welcome to the twenty-first century. She lives out in the country—there’s no gun ordinance out there. And her husband was away a lot. Plenty of time to practice—plenty of reason too.”

  “It’s just not possible.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “I’ve known Kathryn for years.”

  “Yeah, you told me—that’s another possible motive.”

  “What motive?”

  “You.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said it yourself—the two of you have history. How many women have dumped their husbands so they could go back to a high school sweetheart?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I haven’t seen Kathryn for years, and we were never that involved. Besides, she didn’t contact me until after her husband was dead.”

  “So you said. We’re checking her phone records just to make sure.”

  “You’re checking her phone records?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe you should check mine too.”

  “Already did. I’ve asked around too—nobody remembers seeing you or your car prior to the murder.”

  “The chairman of my department told me you’d been asking about me. Is this the reason? Are you wondering if Kathryn and I conspired to kill her husband? I told you, I haven’t seen Kathryn for years. We’re not involved.”

  “She knew you lived in Raleigh. She knew you worked at NC State. She’s the one who asked for you. She gave me your name and number—why would she have those?”

  “I told you, we worked together. Maybe she saved my business card.”

  “Maybe. Maybe she’s more involved than you think. Maybe she knocked off her husband to clear the way for a second chance with you.”

  “I just can’t see it.”

  “Maybe you’re a little too close.”

  “It isn’t that. It just doesn’t fit, that’s all.”

  “It fits better than anything else we’ve got. I’m gonna need to talk to her again.”

  “Let me talk to her first.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “C’mon—and give the two of you a chance to compare notes?

  Sorry. I need to ask you to stay clear of her until I can talk to her again. No phone calls, no visits, no contact of any kind—got it?”

  “It wasn’t Kathryn,” Nick said. “You’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “You think so?” Massino said. “Then give me someplace else to look.”

  31

  Nick and Alena pulled up in front of Ribeyes Steakhouse in Clinton, and before Nick had even stopped the engine Alena had opened her door and jumped out. “I’ll get us a table,” she said, opening the back door and signaling for Phlegethon to follow. “You bring Ruckus with you.”

  “With me?” Nick turned and looked; the little dog was staring up at him from the backseat. “I think he’s laughing at me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Just snap your fingers once, then wiggle your hand like this. He’ll follow you wherever you go.”

  “What if he resists? I knew a kid about his size in grade school—very tough.”

  Alena rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you inside.”

  She entered the restaurant and stepped up to the hostess stand. “Table for two,” she said.

  The
hostess just stared at the formidable black dog beside her.

  Alena narrowed her eyes. “Is there a problem?”

  Before the hostess could answer, the restaurant manager intervened. “I’m sorry,” he said, “you can’t bring that dog in here.”

  “Oh, yes I can. He’s a service dog.”

  “A service dog?” The manager looked at Alena’s eyes. “You’re not blind.”

  “I’m not stupid either. You think there’s only one kind of service dog? You’ve never heard of a medical response dog? An epileptic seizure dog? A diabetic assistance dog?”

  The manager didn’t reply.

  “Well, maybe you’ve heard of the Americans with Disabilities Act. You might want to check Title III: Public Accommodations and Commercial Facilities. That’s the part that says I can sue the pants off you if you won’t let my service dog in.”

  The manager awkwardly stepped aside and lowered his voice. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Right this way.”

  Alena—and Phlegethon—followed the hostess to the table.

  The restaurant door opened again and Nick stepped in with little Ruckus following obediently beside him. Nick approached the hostess stand and looked at the restaurant manager. “I think my date was just seated—pretty woman, big dog?”

  The manager looked at Nick’s enormous spectacles—then down at the little dog. “I suppose that Chihuahua is a service dog too?”

  Nick blinked. “What? They gave me a Chihuahua?”

  Ten minutes later a waiter was pouring them glasses of chilled Riesling.

  Alena grinned. “I don’t have wine very often.”

  “Neither do I. I use a lot of alcohol, though. It’s a good preservative for specimens. You can’t leave them out in the air for long—you get mold growth.”

  “Let’s talk about something besides work,” Alena said.

  “Okay.” A long pause followed. “Like what?”

  “Like us.”

  “Us?”

  “You and me—and not as forensic professionals, okay? Not as a dog trainer and a bug man—just as a man and a woman.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll go first.” Alena slowly leaned across the table toward him. “I think I love you, Nick.”

  Nick just stared.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “Wow.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Um—thanks.”

  At that very moment their food arrived. There was a long, stony silence while the smiling waiter placed each plate and utensil with a well-practiced flourish.

  “Will you be wanting a doggie bag?” the waiter asked.

  “I might be wanting a body bag,” Alena said. “I’ll let you know.” The minute the waiter left she jammed her steak knife into her filet and left it dangling in the air. “Thanks? A woman tells you she loves you, and all you can come up with is thanks?”

  “What was I supposed to say?”

  “How about, ‘I love you too’?”

  “Sorry,” Nick said. “Things have gotten a little . . . complicated.”

  Alena glared. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Nick paused. “Alena, I need to ask you something.”

  “Is it about us? Because I don’t want to waste a steak talking about her.”

  “You’ve gotten to know Kathryn a little, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”

  “You’ve got good instincts; I trust your judgment. Do you think Kathryn could have murdered her husband?”

  “What?”

  “I got a call from the Sampson County police today. They’ve followed up on that postmortem interval I gave them—they found nothing. During the time the murder took place there were no cars that passed by her place—none. I told them the murderer must have been on foot. I suggested they talk to her neighbor, the guy who—”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  Nick looked at her. “How do you know that?”

  “I asked him.”

  “You met the guy?”

  “Yeah—he stopped by the other day.”

  “And you just came right out and asked him, ‘By the way, did you happen to murder Kathryn’s husband?’”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And he actually answered you?”

  “He didn’t have much choice. His throat was in Phlegethon’s mouth at the time.”

  “Been there,” Nick said. “I have to admit, that’s a very effective interrogation technique. Do you think he was telling the truth?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “The police agree with you—they say he was out of town with his family the whole weekend. That doesn’t leave any other suspects, so they’re thinking Kathryn must have done it herself.”

  “They never checked her out before?”

  “They didn’t think the evidence pointed to her at first—now they’re not so sure. What do you think?”

  “Why ask me?”

  “Because you know her.”

  “So do you. Do you think she did it?”

  “I want your opinion.”

  “It’s not fair for you to ask me this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Alena pulled out the knife and cut her steak into two pieces—one large, one small. She lifted each of them with the point of her knife and dropped them on the floor in front of the dogs. Both pieces were gone in seconds.

  “No,” she said. “Kathryn didn’t do it.”

  “You don’t think she could have?”

  “It’s not that. I don’t have a lot of faith in human nature, and it sounds like her husband was a real scumbag. She could have done it—I just don’t think she did.”

  “Why not?”

  “The method, first of all. Shooting him in the back at thirty paces? It’s not how women kill. Murder is personal for us. We don’t just fly off the handle the way you guys do—that’s a testosterone thing. We don’t like to show off our marksmanship either; we’re more likely to poison you or maybe set the bed on fire. That one’s a favorite—it solves a laundry problem at the same time.”

  “Any other reasons?”

  “Callie—that’s the biggest one. Kathryn adores her. She would never take a chance on losing her.”

  Nick nodded. “I agree with you. I don’t think she did it either.”

  “Hey,” Alena said. “Look at me for a minute.”

  Nick met her eyes.

  “I didn’t have to say those things. I could have told you I think she did it. I could have tried to turn you against her.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because she didn’t do it—and because that’s not the kind of person I am. I just want you to know that.”

  “I knew that already,” Nick said. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “What?”

  “This is a tough one.”

  Alena picked up a piece of asparagus and bit off the head. “This is turning into a real fun evening.”

  “Do you think Kathryn loves me?”

  Alena frowned at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because the Sampson County police think maybe she does. They think she might have killed her husband to clear the way for me.”

  Alena just stared at him for a minute. “Yeah,” she said. “She loves you too.”

  “That much?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Alena said. “All I can do is ask myself, ‘Would I kill for a chance at Nick?’”

  “Would you?”

  “Forget it,” she said. “That’s a question I won’t answer.”

  “I wouldn’t do it,” Nick said.

  “Do what?”

  “Kill for a chance at love.”

  Alena paused. “Why are you telling me that?”

  “Because the Sampson County police think I might. They’re investigating me too, Alena—they want to know if
Kathryn and I were in contact prior to the murder. They want to know if we planned her husband’s murder together.”

  Alena looked at Nick’s eyes. “I hate those glasses,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I can always look into a man’s eyes and know if he’s telling me the truth, but not with you. Those glasses hide your eyes—but if you take them off your eyes don’t even focus. I don’t have any way to know if you’re telling me the truth or not.”

  “You know me,” Nick said.

  “Do I, Nick? Does anybody?”

  Nick leaned closer and fixed his eyes on hers. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have any contact with her prior to the murder?”

  “No.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Nick didn’t answer.

  “Well,” she said, “two out of three’s not bad.”

  “I can’t have any contact with her for a while,” Nick said. “Not until the Sampson County people talk to her. They don’t want any possibility of collusion; it would look really bad for both of us if I contacted her before they did.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said. “If Kathryn didn’t do it, then somebody else did. I need to sit down and think this whole thing through again. I’m overlooking something, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Maybe you need to recheck that PMI.”

  “That’s what the detective said, but there’s nothing to recheck. I collected the specimens; I reared them according to standard laboratory procedures; I watched them emerge from their puparia myself. There was no margin for error. As long as you know the species and the temperature, you can always—” He stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “I have to go,” Nick said. “Can you take a cab back?”

  “With two dogs?”

  Nick took two twenties from his wallet and dropped them on the table. “Then call Kathryn to pick you up.”

  “Call Kathryn to pick me up from my date with you? Are you out of your mind?”

  “I have to go,” Nick said. “You work it out.” He hurried toward the door.

  Alena pushed her plate away and slid Nick’s plate in front of her. As she sawed into the steak the anxious-looking waiter returned.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked.

  She took a bite and chewed. “How much time do you have?”