Ceremony

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “Ants have a smell?”

  Woodhead nodded. “You know how a certain percentage of the population thinks cilantro tastes like soap? Well, it’s the same thing with ants.”

  Bernadette turned quickly to Woodhead and stared at him wide-eyed. “You think ants taste like soap?”

  “No, no—oh, you’re joking. Ha ha. This is serious. A small percentage of the population can identify the smell of ants.”

  “I think I understand.” Bernadette swallowed her bratwurst bite. “My daughter has misophonia. She can’t tolerate the sound of other people eating.”

  Woodhead hesitated, then said, “That is a common way that misophonia expresses itself, yes.”

  “She also hates the sound of a cat cleaning itself with its tongue. Coughing. Sneezing. People drinking.” Bernadette took a sip of her beer. “Getting through a meal with her is tough. Whatever you want to talk about, serious or not, all she can hear is the lip smacking and chewing and swallowing.” She set the beer down. “Is that what it’s like for you, too?”

  “I suppose so. I’ve learned to compartmentalize it the last few years.”

  “How do you do it?”

  “It’s easier when I have something to focus on. For example, this bratwurst. I’m focusing on eating it, so I don’t concentrate on the spilled margarita on the floor that’s at least two days old.”

  “I didn’t even notice that.”

  “If I have a case to focus on,” Woodhead continued, “it’s much easier. A case provides a reason to shut out the distracting smells.”

  “Did you do that today?”

  “Yes, many times. For instance, at the lab, I was compartmentalizing the old cottage cheese in the trash in the aquarium room so I could focus on the smell of the lamprey ammocoetes.”

  “Is that the fishy smell you recognized in the chapel? And blamed on my breath?”

  “I believe so.” He wiped his hands on the napkin and laced his fingers together, elbows on the bar. “My theory is that Mr. Thompson spilled some of the water from the lamprey tank on himself at work. Perhaps a lamprey had even touched him—jumped out of the tank, or what have you. I suppose that could have happened if he was transferring some lampreys to other tanks, or if he was removing sick ammocoetes so they wouldn’t infect others.”

  Bernadette picked up her bratwurst and took another bite. “How can that help us find the killer?”

  “I don’t have enough information to answer that. However, if Cecilia Carter and Professor Lightman are covering up a sexual relationship, neither will be helpful to the investigation.” He took his last bite. “One genuine Wisconsin bratwurst eaten. It is accomplished.”

  “You need to have at least one sip of the old fashioned, Dr. Woodhead. I did.”

  Woodhead shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  The bartender appeared. “Everything good?” His eyes dipped to the untouched Wisconsin Old Fashioned. “The drink isn’t your speed, huh?”

  “He was expecting something a little closer to a classic old fashioned,” Bernadette said.

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” The bartender chortled. “Oh—you never got your curds. I’ll see if—”

  “It’s okay,” Bernadette said. “I think we’re done—those brats are pretty big.”

  “I’ll get your bill.”

  Bernadette turned. “Was the bratwurst worth it, Dr. Woodhead?”

  “Since our short-term plan is to work closely together, would you consider referring to me as ‘Kep’ instead of being so formal? ‘Dr. Woodhead’ was my mother.”

  Bernadette smiled. The bartender set the bill down between them.

  Kep eyed the bill as he took out his phone. “I just received a text with Annika Nakrivo’s address from Curtis. She lives in the university’s dormitories.”

  “You want to interview her next?”

  “Or we could divide and conquer.”

  “What? You mean split up? One of us interview Nakrivo, one of us interview Carter?”

  “Two interviews, two of us.”

  “As your case analyst—and as an official federal investigator—I need to be with you during questioning at all times.”

  “I believe you will find that to be a guideline and not a rule.”

  “You have a reputation for taking advantage of that particular guideline, Kep. For our first case together, let’s make sure to color inside the lines.”

  Chapter Eight

  The four-story dormitory, Juneau Hall, had been converted from the Old Juneau Hotel in the 1980s. The dorm rooms were not only larger than average but had private bathrooms. The greeting area was a converted lobby, the restaurant now a dining commons. Everything around Juneau Hall was dated but large, cushy, and comfortable. The carpet was a shade of beige that leaned strongly into gold, and the walls were painted a deep burgundy, giving the whole lobby a collegiate sports team feel.

  Bernadette entered through the automatic doors in front of Kep and strode to the converted concierge desk, CSAB badge out. “Federal investigator,” she said to the young woman in the gray-and-gold Kilbourn Tech sweatshirt. “Can you direct me to the room of Miss Annika Nakrivo, please?”

  “It’s late,” the young woman stammered.

  “Be that as it may, we still need to speak with her.”

  “Is—is she in trouble?”

  “Can you direct us to her room, please?”

  The young woman scrambled under the desk and came out with a set of card keys. “I’ll need to look her up on the computer.” She typed for a few moments on the keyboard. “Room 327A—oh, one of our singles. I’ll need to escort you there because of the elevator security.”

  “By all means.”

  “Follow me.” The woman walked purposefully down a wide hall and turned left into a bank of elevators. Several students were getting out of one of the elevators, and the woman skillfully wove past them. Kep and Bernadette squeezed past the students and into the carriage as the doors started to close.

  Kep hummed tunelessly and bounced on the balls of his feet.

  Bernadette began to sweat under her puffy purple coat. That was the problem in extreme temperatures. In Milwaukee in the winter, it would be ten degrees outside, appropriate for down jackets, wool hats, and multiple layers, and then inside it would be like a sauna. In Phoenix in the summer, it would be one hundred twenty degrees, hot enough to make the soles of tennis shoes stick to asphalt, and yet indoors icicles would be forming from the tops of doorways.

  “Not many singles in this dorm?” Bernadette asked.

  “Only a few,” the woman said. “A quirky space or two that weren’t full hotel rooms. They have shared bathrooms in the hall. Even though they’re singles, they don’t get taken very quickly.”

  “Because they’re quirky?”

  “Some of them were linen closets. They had to do some creative interior space management to make sure those rooms had windows. The room Miss Nakrivo is in—well, that used to be a storage area for luggage carts. The space is narrow. It’s usually the last room to be booked every year.”

  “How did she get it?”

  “My guess is she was a late add. It’s an unusual room, but it suits a certain kind of personality.”

  The elevator doors opened, and the woman led them down a hallway where the color scheme was reversed from the lobby: burgundy carpet and beige walls. A nameplate reading 327A was next to a door that was narrower than the others in the hallway.

  “Here it is.” The woman knocked. “Annika? Annika, this is the Security Desk. There are a couple of police officers here to see you.”

  Bernadette didn’t bother to correct police officer to federal investigator.

  The door creaked open, and Bernadette could see inside. It was an odd space, perhaps twenty-five feet long but only about six feet wide. All the furniture was against one wall: a dresser, a wardrobe, a desk. There was a loft area above the door; boards were attached to the wall in a kind of makeshift ladder. Bernadette assum
ed the bed was in the loft.

  The young woman holding the door open stood about five and a half feet tall and looked similar to her picture. Her face was luminous, with smooth, pale skin, and the printout photo had failed to capture how striking she was.

  “Annika Nakrivo?” She took out her badge. “My name is Bernadette Becker. I’m investigating Tommy’s death.”

  “You want to talk to me, right?” Annika had an American accent, not southern, not midwestern, but generically American.

  Bernadette nodded, putting her badge back in the inner pocket of her puffy purple coat, then taking out a notebook. “I understand that Kymer Thompson was your boyfriend.”

  Annika nodded, dry-eyed. “We’ve been dating since January.”

  “And when did you arrive on campus? You transferred, right?”

  “Yes. I—I got here after the new year. I met him when I went on a tour of the Freshwater Sciences building. The transfer students can sign up for that if they have one of the approved majors.”

  “And you do?”

  Annika nodded again. “Chemistry.”

  “Where were you on Monday night?”

  “I was here. Studying.”

  Bernadette scribbled in her notebook. “Can anyone confirm?”

  “Well—not really. I didn’t leave my room after coming back from the dining commons.”

  “And—you and Tommy go to the same church?”

  Annika smiled sadly. “Yes. I was excited to come to Kilbourn Tech because there was a Church of Agios Delphi here.”

  “You were a, uh, Delphinian before you came?”

  “Yes. I’d only been to a few services. It’s nice to be more involved here.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “All over. I moved around a lot as a kid.”

  “Why Kilbourn Tech?” Bernadette asked.

  “The College of Freshwater Sciences. It’s one of the best in the nation.”

  “Then why are you a chemistry major?”

  “I’m on the waiting list for Freshwater Sciences. They give priority to enrolled students.”

  Bernadette nodded, and Kep walked into the room.

  “When was the last time you saw Tommy?”

  “Sunday. We studied, then he took me out to eat. We saw a movie, too.”

  “Annika,” Kep called, “are you certain Tommy didn’t come visit yesterday?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Did you travel to the laboratory yesterday? I understand you work as an intern there.”

  “Yes, I work there, but no, I didn’t go to the lab.” Annika looked down at the floor.

  Bernadette tried to catch her eyes. “One thing that interests me is that your church uses iboga bark in its services, and your work uses ibogaine in its research.”

  Annika nodded. “Yes. That was because of Tommy.”

  Bernadette nodded.

  “He told me that when he began work on the project,” Annika continued, “he went through the sacraments of initiation with Agios Delphi, and when he took the iboga bark, he had a vision of using the bark to save the world. He was very excited about it—at least, that’s what he told me.”

  “We didn’t hear that from his supervisor.”

  “Professor Lightman?” Annika snickered. “Do you think he’d have listened to a grad student who said he had a vision after taking drugs that they should use that very same drug in their research? Lightman would have laughed him out of the program.”

  “I see.”

  Annika rubbed the back of her neck. “Tommy believed he was a conduit for the divine.”

  Bernadette stepped into the dorm room.

  “Uh—sorry, you said you’re the police?”

  “Federal investigators,” Bernadette said. “We deal with suspicious deaths from controlled substances.”

  Kep was looking closely at the top of Annika’s dresser. Bernadette turned to the woman from the security desk, waiting a few feet away from the door, looking awkward.

  “We can check out at the front desk when we leave if you like,” Bernadette said.

  “Yeah, okay,” the woman said, shutting the door.

  Although the hall hadn’t been noisy, the muffled silence of the dorm room was stifling. One person might have been reasonably comfortable in this long, narrow, oddly-shaped room. Three was pushing it.

  Bernadette looked around. “It’s an unusual room.”

  “It’s good enough. It’s cheap. And it’s private.”

  “Do you enjoy your work at the lab?”

  Annika screwed up her mouth. “I enjoy being part of something potentially life-saving. But the work itself? It’s feeding algae and fish parts to lamprey larvae. It’s mindless and smelly.”

  “Putting in your time so you get accepted into the Freshwater Sciences program?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bernadette looked around the narrow room. Three framed photos on her desk and dresser. She looked closer; two were snapshots of Annika and Tommy together, the last of two teenaged girls embracing and smiling at the camera in front of a nondescript house. “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt Tommy?”

  Annika scratched her nose. “Well—he would have probably said he didn’t have any enemies.”

  “But?”

  “There was—a little tension in the church.”

  Kep rotated a quarter-turn, listening.

  “Another elder?”

  Annika looked down at the ground.

  Bernadette clicked her tongue. “Was it Reverend Roundhouse?”

  “I shouldn’t say anything. I wasn’t there—I don’t really know.”

  “Your boyfriend is dead,” Kep said from across the room. “Anything that will help us find the person responsible will be greatly appreciated.”

  Annika put her hands over her face, her breaths shaky.

  “I’m sorry,” Bernadette said gently, “but it’s true.”

  “Tommy said they argued last week.” Annika’s voice cracked.

  “What about?”

  “The project uses a lot of ibogaine. When the reverend found out he was using ibogaine for something other than religious purposes, they argued.”

  Bernadette cocked her head. “I was under the impression the reverend didn’t know Tommy’s work used ibogaine.”

  “I know that Tommy and Reverend Vivian had a big fight. At least, Tommy was real upset about it.” Annika wiped her eyes with her hand.

  Bernadette looked at Annika carefully. There was something she wasn’t being forthcoming about. She waited a beat, then another.

  “She was here Monday night,” Annika said.

  “The reverend? Here—in your dorm room?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she get past the front desk?”

  “I don’t know. She’s a priest. Maybe they let her come up.”

  “You’re saying she came to your door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you answer?”

  “She’s my priest. Of course I answered.”

  “And did she come in?”

  Annika looked at the floor again. “You know what? Forget I mentioned anything. She’ll deny coming here.”

  “Did the two of you fight, Annika?”

  “She didn’t—” Annika closed her eyes. “She was looking for Tommy, okay?”

  “What time was this?”

  “About nine.”

  “And you didn’t tell anybody—”

  Annika looked up at Bernadette. “Who would I tell? The security desk? ‘Hey, don’t let my priest in’? Please.”

  “Maybe we can take a look at the security footage.”

  Annika snickered. “The security footage? Ha. See if you can find it. It always mysteriously disappears when someone isn’t doing their job.”

  Kep grunted. “You’ve lived here no more than three months, and you’re already acting like a jaded soul.”

  Bernadette shot Kep a withering look.

  Annika crossed her arms. “
You only need to have footage vanish once or twice before you realize the security team is here to protect Kilbourn Tech, not the students.”

  Bernadette nodded. “Okay.” She glanced at Kep—whatever he was doing, he didn’t seem finished. “How about work? Did Tommy have any conflicts there?”

  Annika nodded. “Eddie Taysatch. He was another grad student. Tommy got most of the credit and the glory for the project. I think Eddie was pissed off about it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh—uh, he would say some stuff under his breath. Especially when Tommy was credited for something Eddie did.”

  “Eddie still works at the lab?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know,” Kep said, walking over to the two women, “who underwrites your research?”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to say.”

  “A large multinational corporation has invested millions in this project, correct?”

  “Like I said, I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “Are there any other companies who would benefit if this project failed? Like, say, if one of the important researchers died?”

  Annika shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “You know, a competitor. This medication could make millions, right?”

  “This medication? I don’t know. We’re still running tests on mice. I think Professor Lightman sees himself getting rich off this project, but it’s way too early to tell. I think you’re looking in the wrong place.”

  Bernadette nodded and sighed. Maybe the professor was a little too enthusiastic about the project. She nodded at Kep. “Are we ready? Got everything you need?”

  “When are you scheduled to work in the lab next, Miss Nakrivo?” Kep asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “We may come by. See if the lab jogs your memory anymore.”

  “Uh—no, I remember everything quite well.”

  Kep nodded. “Sometimes a good night’s sleep can alter one’s perspective. I’m sorry for your loss. Have a good evening.”

  “If you think of anything,” Bernadette said, “give me a call.” She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to Annika.