Dylan’s analysis didn’t go further due to the arrival of the detective. She was as much a hawk as Mari’s Aunt Bea, with dark eyes keenly surveying the group.
“I’m Detective Deanna Moubrey,” she said.
Dylan stood up, thinking an offering of respect might be useful with this no-nonsense professional. Harris and Mari stood as well, leaving Alyson swinging her legs until her father gave her a prod.
Alyson stood up, blushing, as Wade made introductions.
The detective said, “Please remain here. I’ll check in with our responding officer, and then I’ll be back with you in a few minutes.”
As they all regrouped around the patio table, Yousef looked at Dylan and Mari and asked, “You okay?”
“Just another day finding a body, boss,” Dylan exhaled. “And a dog.”
“Dylan saved Killer’s life!” Alyson said. “He gave mouth-to-mouth.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Or do we call it mouth-to-snout?”
“This is Killer?” Yousef reached across the table to give the small dog a pet.
“Yep.” Dylan shifted Killer in his lap. “Belongs to the dead man. The bad guy put Killer in a leaf bag. I think that was supposed to be the end of Killer, but it was a big bag, and Killer’s not big at all.”
“Do we know who died?” Yousef asked.
Mari answered. “A man named Mitchell. We saw him earlier with his partner over at the Natural Joy preserve.”
“There was an altercation,” Dylan said. He pointed up the hill. “There’s a conservative County Commissioner and a Judge who live in those two houses. The Commissioner had trees trimmed, and that’s giving him a better view, including of nudists on the beach.”
Yousef rolled his eyes. “And?”
“And today a pair of gay lovers were, ah, loving. The Commissioner came down the hill, called out a buncha names and slugged Mitchell’s partner.” Dylan looked at Mari, working to recall the sequence of things. “A woman was there – that’s the Judge – and she shut down the Commissioner. He went stomping off towards his place.”
“Only Mitchell was threatening to write a story about it,” Mari’s voice wavered. “He’s . . . he was . . . a reporter. Two fellows showed up in a truck, asking to use the beach, and Mitchell said he would stay. His partner left.”
“But Nazeem only found one body?” Yousef asked.
Dylan and Mari nodded. Dylan said, “We don’t know where Mitchell’s partner is. I think he just went home after the brawl, but Mitchell was staying to pick up litter.”
“The guys in the blue truck are creepy,” Alyson said. “We went to see Bea after they showed up. That’s when we were doing the yawning.”
Wade put a hand up. “What I know is from watching too many late-night cop shows. We shouldn’t fill in details among ourselves right now. Let’s let the detective talk to everyone first.”
A silence fell on the group.
Dylan shifted Killer in his lap, then asked, “How’s the liverwort hunting?”
“Going poorly,” Yousef inclined his head to Dr. Ackler. “Would you agree?”
“Yes.” The sour-faced Dr. Ackler lifted his chin. “The Garry oaks we saw were in exposed locations. No evidence of any liverworts, whatsoever.”
“Is this part of a governmental project?” Mari asked.
“No.” Dr. Ackler’s pursed lips pulled back into a rictus of a smile. “I have some support from a non-profit.” He sat up, a bit straighter in the chair, and said, “I will be expanding into mycological surveys shortly. The Pacific Northwest is speaking to me.”
“You’ll find many colleagues,” Yousef said. “Wild mushroom hunting is immensely popular here. There are a number of highly active clubs doing sophisticated levels of documentation and reporting.”
Dr. Ackler’s face fell, but only for a moment.
Dylan was not liking the man, even before the visiting scientist asked, “You were doing a biological survey on this property?”
Dylan nodded. “We’d gone on a quick general ramble this morning, and we were circling back to start a detailed species list.”
Dr. Ackler turned to Wade. “Given the upheaval these students have experienced today, wouldn’t it be wise to hire a . . . more experienced biologist . . . to complete the species catalog for your property?”
Before Wade could formulate a response, the side door to the house opened and Nazeem emerged, striding quickly to her husband’s side.
Harris rose from the chair and engulfed Nazeem in an embrace. He stroked her head and murmured.
She laid her head on his chest for a moment, then straightened to say, “A terrible day for that poor man, but only a small shock for me. I am fine and have permission to go home, where you can fuss over me with tea and cakes.”
To Dylan, she said, “I think you may have found an insect casing, but please send me photos if you find any more myxomycetes.”
Standing behind her, Harris rapidly shook his head, indicating that this was a bad idea. Nazeem pulled an elbow back, neatly connecting with Harris’s solid midsection. “I didn’t say I would come out,” she complained. “Looking at a photo should be a safe thing to do.”
To Wade she said, “You have a lovely property. I do hope we can come again, perhaps with our baby, Trevor.”
“Trevor?” Harris blinked. “Since when did we agree on Trevor?”
“Since I had a very upsetting day,” Nazeem said, with immense dignity. “Did you bring my party outfit?”
“It’s in the car.”
“Yousef’s car?” Nazeem’s eyes went wide. “It will smell of old socks!”
“I’ll go get it,” Mari offered as she stood up. “I really appreciate the loan.”
Before Mari could make her way around the patio table, the dark-haired detective stepped out onto the patio. “Mr. Kushner?”
Dylan stood up, cradling Killer. “That’s me.”
“Will you please come in? We have some questions.”
He would have much preferred to watch Nazeem win the baby-naming war with Harris, but the detective’s request wasn’t really a request.
Dylan adjusted Killer so the little dog’s toenails didn’t poke into his arm and followed the detective inside.
Myxomycetes comes from the Greek myxa, meaning “slime” and myketes meaning “fungus,” but this name isn’t a true fit.
Slime molds are not fungi. A fungus will release digestive enzymes to the surrounding environment then take up nutrients from the slurry through its root-like hyphae. This is “external” digestion.
In contrast, a slime mold flows around bacteria, algae or other things, then digests the encapsulated item. This is “internal” digestion.
Chapter Fifteen
The detective had set up in the small library off Wade’s big living room. She sat down at a desk and indicated an empty chair.
“Please have a seat, and tell me your full name.”
“Dylan Robert Kushner.” As he sat down, he adjusted the little terrier in his arms before saying, “And this is Killer. We found him in a plastic bag next to Mitchell’s body.”
“Let’s start with some basics.” The detective wanted Dylan’s address and contact information. Details collected, she said, “You called Ms. Molla in because she is an expert. You are also an expert on these plants, the, ah, slime molds?” The detective looked up from her notes and skewered Dylan with a look.
“The slime molds aren’t plants,” Dylan made sure his tone of voice was pleasant. “It’s a confusing part of biology. Plants usually have green chlorophyll that lets them take in light and turn it into sugars.”
He didn’t think the detective would appreciate a side bar lecture on the exceptions in the plant kingdom which lacked chlorophyll, like the ghost pipe plants, Monotropa uniflora, found in the northwest woods. The ghost pipes gained energy by feeding on the fungi of the forest floor.
It was highly likely that the detective would also be uninterested in the diversity of things called “slime molds”, which folded
in the simpler, single-celled Dictyostelids and the Protostelids with the more complex Myxomycetes.
Feeding and movement were key, Dylan thought, as he chose his next words. He couldn’t stop the incoming tide of thoughts flooding his brain. He could only review them rapidly and pick a handful of words to speak.
His brain reminded him that the Dictyostelids and the Protostelids ate bacteria, and the individual cells came together to move as a ‘slug’ without a fusion between the cells. In contrast, the Myxomycetes ate a more diverse diet, including bacteria, fungi and algae. For the Myxomycetes, the fusion stage brought cell nuclei together within a single external membrane.
Did knowing this make him an expert? Compared to Nazeem’s knowledge set, he would say “No,” in part because his knowledge set was theoretical. He had near total photographic recall of anything he read, but he had spent little time in the field collecting slime molds, and no time at all evaluating slime mold components in a laboratory.
He did know slime mold spores were never smooth. Their rough surfaces surely were engineered for maximum dispersal and minimum desiccation, but he did not know the details of the variety and advantages of the various spore surfaces.
These thoughts went coursing through Dylan’s brain with the speed, grace, and terror of a monster wave.
The detective was an expert interviewer. She let silence enter as Dylan reached for an answer.
“I’m nineteen years old,” he said. “I am close to finishing my college degree in biology, and I have read extensively about the flora and fauna of the Pacific Northwest. I know something of slime molds, but not as much as Nazeem does.”
“Are you a member of Mensa?”
Dylan laughed. “I tried to join when I was eleven. They don’t take people until they are at least sixteen. By the time I was sixteen, I was a sophomore in college, and I couldn’t be bothered with the certification process.”
He stroked Killer’s small head and said, “I have executive function deficiencies. Remembering to pack a lunch seemed more important than having a Mensa number.”
Detective Moubrey flashed a smile. “For my purposes, I’ll consider you an expert.”
She pointed to Killer. “Tell me about finding the dog.”
“There was a miniscule movement that caught my eye. It was from a leaf bag next to Mitchell’s body.”
Dylan’s right hand went to the top of his knife sheath, even as he stabilized Killer with his left. “I carry a knife for mushrooming and other sample collecting. I used my knife to slice open the bag and all this white fur popped up. I knew it was Mitchell’s dog.”
The detective leaned forward. “Hang on. How did you know the dog was in the bag?”
“I didn’t.”
Detective Moubrey raised an eyebrow. “It was a plastic bag. It was next to a dead body. It could have been trash. It moved, but that could have been worms or the wind. Surely you knew it was at a crime scene and could be evidence. Why did you use a knife to open the bag?”
Dylan had the answer flashing in his brain even before the detective finished speaking.
“Curiosity and intuition,” he answered. “Intuition is a process where we bridge a gap between our past experiences and the present moment, and we can anticipate what might be happening.”
He said, “Earlier today, we saw Killer with Mitchell and his partner on the beach. Later we were in the woods, and we heard yelling. There was a fight between a county commissioner and the gay guys. Killer was there with Mitchell. My brain made a link, Mitchell to dog. When we found Mitchell’s body, I think my brain was seeking the dog to complete the picture.”
The detective nodded before she sat back in the library chair. “Tell me about the fight,” she said.
“It was short, but pretty hot.” Dylan felt and the suppressed an urge to move. He settled on stroking Killer’s hair. “The Commissioner lives up on the hill, and he got an eyeful of the gays having sex on the beach.”
He sighed. “I mean, it’s a nudist park, and it’s a nice day in September. If it bothers him so much, maybe he should go for a drive.”
“But he didn’t,” Detective Moubrey leaned back in the desk chair, her eyes lit with interest. “He came down the hill?”
“Yeah. He was yelling.” Dylan paused. “We were at the pet cemetery. Mari, Alyson and me, along with a nature photographer named Einar.”
“What’s Einar’s last name?” Moubrey scooted back to the desk, picking up her pen.
“Can’t recall. Names don’t always register.” Dylan tapped his head. “Anyway, when the shouting started, Einar went inland, away from the confrontation. We went out to see, and a woman, who I believe is a judge, was there. She intervened.”
“Any bodily contact?”
“Yes. The Commissioner landed a good punch. The gay guys fought back, but not very effectively.”
Dylan paused. “It was over pretty quick. The Judge was forceful to the Commissioner, and he stomped off. The Judge said some calm-down-please stuff that Mitchell pretty much ignored. She left just as two other guys showed up in an old blue truck.”
“Who were they?” Detective Moubrey’s hand moved smoothly as she took notes.
“I don’t know. They seemed to know Mitchell.” Dylan hesitated. “Both of them looked really rough. You know that sorta grayish look skin gets when a person is homeless?”
The detective nodded.
“These guys had that. Clothes were pretty gross.” Dylan flashed the detective a smile. “And I’m a really casual guy, so, believe me, these guys looked rough.”
“But you didn’t hear any names?”
“Richie? I think one guy might be a Richie.” Dylan closed his eyes and visualized the truck. “The truck did not have a front license plate, so I can’t give you any letters or numbers.”
“If you did see a license plate, could you normally recall it?” The detective’s voice was cool as her writing hand paused.
“Depends. At times I have total recall of what I’ve seen. Numbers tend to stick, but not always.” Dylan stroked Killer’s ears. The little dog was almost asleep. “What happens to Killer?”
“We’ll be notifying family. We will take direction from them.”
“Can I give him a bath?” Dylan asked. “He’s got something happening with his hair. It’s making me itch.”
Detective Moubrey stood up and came over next to Dylan. “Show me.”
“Here.” He rotated his arms outward so she could see the narrow, red streaks on his arms. “Might be a formaldehyde residue from a shampoo.”
“Or something else.” The detective motioned to the patrolman standing nearby. “Please get a small blue medical pad from the paramedics and some tape.”
The patrolman disappeared.
“You think it’s important?” Dylan began processing the notion he’d missed a step. It hadn’t occurred to him that Killer might be carrying clues.
“At this stage we collect information and stabilize conditions.” Detective Moubrey returned to her chair. “We’ll carefully put a superman cape on Mr. Killer there and take him to Animal Services.”
She looked at the scruffy little terrier with doubt on her face. “There won’t be getting any fingerprints off of him, but we’ll have an evidence technician take a careful look.”
The patrolman returned and wrapped Killer in a blue paper sheet, head out. The little dog stirred and looked at Dylan with worried brown eyes.
Dylan felt his heart drop. He didn’t want Killer to be hauled off to a cold kennel run.
He asked, “Could you take your samples and then let me take him home? He’s probably traumatized like crazy.”
“Sorry,” the detective said in a voice that didn’t sound particularly sorry. “We’ll need to preserve a chain of evidence.” Her voice did warm slightly as she said, “We will put a priority on letting Mitchell’s family know we have his dog.”
Detective Moubrey nodded to the patrolman, who turned and left, carrying Killer.<
br />
She stood up, indicating the interview was at an end, saying “Will you ask your colleague to step in?”
There was nothing to do but stand up and go. Dylan didn’t enjoy seeing Killer’s small, whiskered face disappear in the direction of the evidence van. He went to the patio and motioned to Mari.
“You’re next,” he said.
She came, quickly, her face red and furious. Mari paused before passing through the patio doors. She whispered, “That a-hole of a liverwort thallus is trying to convince Wade that he should take over our survey work. Yousef has redirected the conversation twice, but watch out!”
It took Dylan a moment to realize that “liverwort thallus” meant Dr. Ackler. His psyche was wanting to run after Killer, pick him up, and hold him forever.
It was a surprising sentiment. He’d always liked dogs, but never had experienced a strong desire to bond with one.
He should look up the biochemicals of rescuing. Perhaps there was a sequence of hormones that came into play with a disaster that had one bonding to fellow survivors.
At the moment, he worked to press down the feeling of wrongness that came with no dog in his arms.
He nodded to Mari. A ‘thallus’ was the green blob of undifferentiated tissue that made up the base of lichens, algae and most liverworts. He hadn’t heard the word used as a condemnation, but Mari’s tone communicated buckets. Of course, starting her warning with “a-hole” also was a reliable field mark of discontent.
“Got it,” he said, standing back as she marched through the open patio door, head held high.
Dylan joined the group at the patio table, which was now down to Dr. Ackler, Yousef, Wade and Alyson.
“Nazeem went home?” he asked.
Yousef answered. “Yes. There’s a pair of black pants in my car that are for you.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Wade looked at his watch. “I was going to find a black shirt for you for Bea’s fundraiser.”
Dylan slid into a chair. “We can get back to the species lists tomorrow during the day.”
“I don’t want you, Alyson or Mari running around the woods until we know more about this death.” Wade was adamant.
The Slime Mold Murder Page 9