The second floor was a hive of activity, so it was easy to wander around without anyone bothering to ask if they could help. Next to Odum’s office was the “Forest Ecology Laboratory” according to the sign above the open door. The room was dominated by an enormous black-topped table with wooden cabinets underneath. It was covered in various meters, instruments, and bags filled with leaves. Along the walls were gray metal shelves with glassware and bottles of chemicals, and on one side a bright yellow cabinet labeled “Flammable.” A pair of deep sinks anchored the far end of the laboratory. Four doors were evenly spaced around the perimeter. The first door on my right was open, and a sign said “Instrument Room.” What I guessed to be precision balances were set on marble-topped tables in a space that wasn’t much more than a closet.
The other rooms had the names of Odum’s graduate students stenciled on the translucent windows. Howard emerged from his tiny enclave, greeted me warmly, and asked what brought me to Berkeley. I explained that Mrs. Odum had asked me to poke around a bit regarding her husband’s death. While we were talking, a fellow came out of the room next to Howard’s. For my money, it looked like Jesus had emerged from the tomb.
“I thought I heard voices out here,” he said. “I’m John Holling.” He extended his hand and we shook. His grip was about what I expected.
“I’m Riley.”
“Mr. Riley is the fellow who I told you about this morning,” Howard explained.
“Ah, the curious exterminator. Nice to meet you. It’s good that people are interested in the natural world, for whatever reason.” He seemed remarkably mature and self-confident compared to Howard.
“I’m sorry about your professor,” I began. “I was wondering if I might ask you a couple of questions. I’ve agreed to clear up some things about Professor Odum for his wife.”
“I’d love to help you, Mr. Riley, but I’m a week behind in grading quizzes for the ecology laboratory that I teach. I have to get these back to the students early next week or they’ll start complaining to the department chairman.”
“How about this weekend?”
“Sorry again, but I have to finish a data analysis for a report to the International Forest Conservation Consortium. With Professor Odum . . .” he paused to find the right word, “well, gone, I’m hoping they’ll continue funding my work under another adviser. I don’t want to sound selfish at this difficult time, but I’ve worked hard to get this close to a doctorate.”
“My questions shouldn’t take long, seeing that I’m under some pressure myself. So when could you spare a bit of time?”
“How about midmorning on Monday? I’ll have the quizzes graded by then, and I have to get the report to the departmental secretary for express mailing first thing that morning.”
“I appreciate your willingness to squeeze me in. It must be pretty chaotic around here these days.”
“Glad to help, although I doubt I’ll do you much good.” John smiled and returned to his office, half-closing the door.
“So Howard, I’d also like to talk to Jen Tansley. Is she around?”
“That’s her office in the far corner. But she’s out in the field working on her research today. She usually goes down the coast on the weekends, and Monday she teaches labs in the morning and tutors General Biology students all afternoon.”
“So much for the lazy life of academics, eh?”
“At least the grad students. Some of the profs are another story.”
“How can I find her to ask a few questions?”
“She’ll be out in the field all day on Tuesday,” he said, walking around the center table to her office door and examining the schedule she had posted. “And it looks like she has a grad council meeting Wednesday morning and a forestry seminar in the afternoon.” He ran his finger down the page, which seemed to have entries in every slot.
“Like I told John, I’m under some time pressure to get answers for Mrs. Odum. Do you think I could meet up with her in the field on Tuesday?”
“That might work. Her research sites are in Tilden Park, so it’s only a half hour or so outside of Berkeley. I’ll draw you a map and leave her a note saying that you’ll be visiting her.” He sketched out a set of directions on a sheet of graph paper and penned a quick, almost undecipherable message that he taped to her door. He was either eager to help or anxious to send me on my way.
“Ok, I’ve got John on Monday and Jen on Tuesday.” Things were coming together, although not as quickly as I’d hoped. “Now, would you have a few minutes? There are a couple of details that are bothering me.”
Howard suddenly went from helpful assistant to evasive witness. “Uh, I don’t know about that. I’ve got a lot of work. Grading, data reduction, getting ready for teaching next week. I told you everything I could down in LA. So I should really get after things here. Lots of stuff piled up while I was gone.”
“Howard, this is important. It won’t take long.”
“I don’t know,” he began again.
“I think you do. And I think we need to talk.” He sighed and glanced toward John’s door. “Let’s take a walk,” I proposed. He followed me out of the laboratory, down the stairs, and out into elongating afternoon shadows. We didn’t say anything until we were headed up the hill toward Memorial Glade. The halter-topped girls had disappeared and only a few students rested under trees with books in their laps. As we ambled along, I broke the silence.
“Howard, you didn’t give me the whole story in LA.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For one thing, I found flying ants in the room. They don’t emerge at night and they’re not attracted to human remains. So if the sliding glass door was shut all day as you described, I can’t figure out how they got in.”
“Some ants live inside, right?”
“Not these, Howard. The morning rain triggered their emergence, and they came into the room from outside. The door out to the courtyard was opened by somebody during the day.”
“Maybe the maid.”
“Nice try, but let’s quit playing around. I’m not accusing you of anything, but you’re not coming clean.” Howard stopped walking, laced his fingers behind his neck, and stared at the sidewalk. “And if you don’t tell me the truth, then I can’t figure if there was foul play in your professor’s death.” For the first time, Howard looked scared. And it turned out he had a good reason.
CHAPTER 16
Howard was frozen in place. We’d stopped in the shadows under a sprawling oak. It was a cool, quiet place with nobody around. His mentor was dead and it was a safe bet that he’d lied to the police. He didn’t have any street smarts, but he was bright enough to know that he’d dug a hole. When intelligent people find themselves in a hole, they quit digging. And Howard was just now realizing that there might be a murder at the bottom of this hole.
“Is that what Mrs. Odum thinks?” he whispered. “That somebody killed her husband?”
“She’s paranoid for sure. But that doesn’t mean she’s wrong. What’s the real story about the day your professor died?”
“If I tell you, will you keep it just between us? I mean, it could be really bad for me if it got out. Not that I did anything to hurt Professor Odum. I’d never do anything like that.”
“I know, Howard. And I’m not a cop, so I don’t have to reveal anything you tell me. You have my word that whatever you tell me stays our secret.” He started shuffling down the path. In my experience, people would often get up and pace the interrogation room when they finally decided to come clean. Somehow it’s easier to spill your guts when you’re moving—and avoiding eye contact.
“I couldn’t tell anyone the whole story because I’m engaged, and if Melody ever found out, we’d be finished.”
“Melody?”
“My fiancée.”
“I understand. You have my word.” We walked side by side at about the pace of a man heading to his execution.
“Okay, I wasn’t at the meeting all day. I returned to
the room around noon.” Howard was staring ahead into space.
“And I suppose there was an awkward reason for that?”
“I’d met a woman the previous night while having a beer in the hotel lounge. She was gorgeous. Long blond hair, incredible body, and a sexy accent. I couldn’t believe she was interested in me, but she kept asking questions about my work and touching my arm.” He seemed to be relaxing into the story, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but I wanted to get the details right.
“What kind of accent?”
“British, sort of. That wasn’t quite it but along those lines. I figured she was attending the conference from some foreign country.”
“I’m guessing that this woman was the reason you came back to the room the next day?”
“Yeah, Riley. It was like a dream or something. I’m not the kind that attracts a woman like Sarah.”
At least he knew her first name. I was going to ask more about her but I sensed that Howard wanted to get the story out as quickly as possible. I’d seen this before, and I could always backtrack to fill in missing details. “I know what you mean, kid. I’m no Casanova either. Go on.”
“Well, she caught up with me during a morning coffee break and one thing led to another. She could barely keep her hands off me. We headed back to my room because she said her roommate was still asleep.” The pace of Howard’s story and walking had picked up. “Oh man, Riley, I didn’t know what I was in for. Sarah was into some kinky stuff.”
“In what way?”
“Bondage. She pulled out these silk scarves from her purse. Then she asked me to tie her to the headboard. The sex was amazing. I’m glad it started to rain when we were going at it or her moaning would’ve been heard down the entire hallway. She was incredible. I still can’t believe it all happened.” His pace slowed down, and we strolled along like two old pals.
“Quite a story. What came next?”
“She asked me to untie her and she said she’d like a nice, steamy shower. I remember she said, ‘Be a gentleman and run the water for us. I’ll join you in a minute.’ So I went into the bathroom and started the shower. She came in and we scrubbed each other. It was nearly as good as the sex. Her golden hair, the soap and the hot water.” He almost came to a stop.
“Okay, Howard. You’re not writing for Playboy. Just tell me what happened.”
“Right, sorry. So she dried off, put her clothes back on, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and went back to the conference.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of what?”
“Of where she went.”
“Well, she headed in that direction. I didn’t actually see her at the conference, but I figured that’s why she was in the hotel. Anyway, I bundled up the sheets from the bed and stuffed them into a maid’s cart in the hall. Then I called the front desk and asked for fresh bedding.”
“How’d the sliding glass door get opened?”
“Given Professor Odum’s sensitivity to odors, I was worried that he’d detect, well, you know.”
“What?”
“The smell of sex. He was always commenting on the slightest scents. You know what I mean.”
“Sure. So, you aired out the room?”
“Right. In fact, I opened both the glass door and the screen door to get some fresh air into the room. But I was so frazzled that I forgot that I left the doors open until the midafternoon break. So I hurried back to the room and closed them.”
We kept walking together in silence as I put the pieces together. He’d opened the doors shortly after the rainstorm and they stayed open for a few hours. That would’ve matched the typical timeframe in which ants swarm from their nest—right after a heavy rain. It was then that the winged insects found their way into the room as they dispersed in search of their own sexual encounters. A few were trapped inside when Howard returned and closed the doors, where I found them the next day. So far, so good.
“All right Howard, now your story makes sense. So did you manage to catch up with Sarah later? Anything more you can tell me about her?”
“Well, I spent the rest of the day at the conference, but I don’t remember any of the papers. The whole morning had been so surreal. Like I told you in LA, I went to the banquet that night. I was going out for some drinks afterward, and I saw Sarah in the lobby. I broke away from the group and tried to talk with her, but she was incredibly cold. Like she didn’t even know me. I was really confused and hurt. That’s probably why I got so hammered.”
“Women will do that to a man. So you staggered back to your room after getting blitzed. What time was that?”
“Probably around three in the morning. I don’t know exactly. But I remember looking at my watch and thinking that I was smart to be walking back to the hotel at two thirty a.m. with Marcelo. He was the guy from Brazil, a real bruiser. I figured it was a good idea to have him with me on the streets at that hour.”
“So you snuck into your room so as to not disturb Odum, and slipped into bed?”
“Well, I used the bathroom light to see what I was doing. But I couldn’t make out much.”
“Right. Do you remember smelling anything?”
“No, but Professor Odum had left the back door open like I told you before. And I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but he could pass some pretty strong gas. So I wouldn’t have been alarmed in any case.” Between his being smashed and the open door providing ventilation, Odum could well have been dead by the time Howard got back to the room, for all he knew.
“Can you add anything else? Anything about your professor that you might’ve overlooked before? Maybe some change in his behavior or mental state.” Howard was quiet for a while, our feet scuffing along the asphalt path. Since he’d come this far, I figured he’d divulge anything else he knew if I just gave him some time.
“Maybe there was. He’d been acting wary in the last few weeks. You know, jumpy.”
“How so?
“It’s hard to say exactly. He just seemed kinda anxious. He didn’t joke around much and he was always asking if I knew where John was. Professors guard their research, and he was pretty secretive about his work. Some of the other faculty members resented his success and probably would’ve been happy to steal his ideas. But I had the sense that he was worried about having real enemies, not just academic rivals.”
“Thanks, Howard. You’ve been a huge help.”
“Sure.” He didn’t sound sure at all. Howard stopped walking and looked directly at me for the first time that day. “I’m not really like how it sounds. I love Melody. It was just a one-time thing. You promise to keep this to yourself, right?”
“That was the deal.”
“Riley, one last thing.”
“Shoot.”
“You figured out that I lied. Will the cops see the hole in my story?”
It was pretty clear by now that Howard didn’t take me for merely a curious exterminator. His question and tone suggested that he figured me for some sort of investigator, which didn’t matter much at this point. He’d given me the information I needed, so I assured him that the LAPD and the coroner would be looking to close this case, not seeking problems. I couldn’t be positive that they’d buy his story. But he’d had me convinced that he was on the up-and-up until I realized that the ants undermined his alibi. Besides, there was nothing to be gained by having him frantic with worry. I might need him later, and it wouldn’t help if he was a wreck.
Howard headed back toward Hilgard Hall with the beat-up shuffle of a fighter returning to the locker room after losing a ten-round bout. I strolled with my best imitation of a contemplative academic as I meandered my way across campus to where I’d parked. College campuses are good places to solve tough problems. The quiet pathways, massive buildings, and venerable trees encourage thinking. Fall has always been my favorite season, and in the late afternoon it was like having an oddly pleasant case of the fever and chills—in the open spaces the sun reflecting off the granite and concrete was uncomfortably hot, bu
t in the long shadows the air was cool and humid enough to induce a shiver. As I wandered along, I sorted through what I knew—and what I suspected.
Howard had never been much of a suspect, and I figured he was now off the hook. His new story took care of the winged ants. But the insects were still telling me that I didn’t have the whole picture. The dead flies didn’t fit. Sarah was my best bet to fill in the gap, but tracking her down wouldn’t be easy. This mysterious woman had become the lead—in fact, my only—suspect. But I still didn’t have anything that came close to adding up to murder.
I walked through the archway and across the plaza, where the war protesters had been replaced by a group holding poster-sized photos of baby seals, men wielding clubs, and blood splatters on the snow. These activists weren’t shouting slogans, as the pictures of cute animals being bashed were presumably supposed to speak for themselves and horrify the public. It’s easy to make people who kill other creatures into villains. Rats and pigeons aren’t baby seals, but soft-hearted folks are outraged about poisoning furry and feathered vermin. Especially when the problem is in somebody else’s neighborhood. Just like do-gooders who get upset when a kidnapper is beaten. Especially when the hostage is somebody else’s kid.
You don’t have to like the cards you’re holding, but your only choices are to play or fold. Exterminators and cops know that killing is part of the game. What I didn’t know, as I crumpled the parking ticket that had been stuck under the wiper blade, was that a body cooling in the morgue would fill the inside straight I was holding.
CHAPTER 17
On my way home, KDFC switched to playing the Brandenburg Concerto No. 5. Anything by Bach is preferable to classical guitar, but a little harpsichord goes a long way. Once over the bridge, I decided to swing by Tommaso’s and grab a pizza to take home. Ever since leaving Howard on the Berkeley campus, I’d worked over Odum’s death from as many angles as I could. No brilliant insights presented themselves, so it was time to just let the case incubate while I ended my week on a high note.
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