Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel)

by Tim Downs

  She kept thinking about Trygg and the dog’s two alerts in that bedroom—once on the floor near the bed, and again on the bed itself. But how was that possible? Malone said the previous owner had died in there, not owners—but there were two death sites in that room. Trygg had been trained to detect the scent of death only; if the old man had dragged himself out of bed and expired on the floor later, Trygg would have detected only one scent—the one on the floor. A dead man doesn’t get out of bed and fall on the floor, and he sure doesn’t pick himself up off the floor and crawl back into bed again. So why did Trygg find two locations?

  Alena held the cell phone as close as the tiny lens would allow and clicked the picture. That was the last of them—now if she could only get through to the man. She punched the number into the cell phone for the umpteenth time and heard a voice that was becoming way too familiar: “Good morning, North Carolina State University.”

  “Now listen,” Alena said. “The guy’s name is Noah and he’s an entomologist—how hard can that be?”

  “Ma’am, I told you—I can’t search the directory by first name only and an entomologist could work in several different departments: forestry, ecology, agriculture . . .”

  “And you’ve connected me with most of them and all I get is answering machines. So can we try it again? Noah—entomology.”

  “I’ll try the entomology department in the College of Agriculture.”

  “You do that—I’ll wait right here.”

  Seconds passed, and then a voice announced: “Noah Ellison.”

  Alena waited for the rest of the message: “I’m not here right now, but if you’ll leave your name and number and a brief message . . .” It was the same monotonous message she had heard twenty times already. Professors, she thought. Doesn’t anybody work at that university? Or is everybody just too important to answer their phones?

  But the same voice continued, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Alena was startled out of her stupor. “Hey—is this a real live person?”

  There was a chuckle on the other end. “Well, at my age that’s a matter of conjecture. This is Dr. Noah Ellison, chairman of the Department of Entomology. Whom are you trying to reach?”

  “You—and I’ve been trying for almost an hour! I keep getting bounced around from department to department—some of them I can’t even pronounce. How many ‘Noahs’ do you guys have down there, anyway?”

  “I haven’t a clue—but we have about two thousand faculty and another four thousand staff, so I’m afraid we could have quite a few. Sorry for the confusion—to whom am I speaking?”

  “Noah, this is Alena Savard. Do you remember me? We met at a cocktail party at your house last summer.”

  “Of course I remember you, dear—you’re Nicholas’s fiancée.

  I have your wedding invitation posted on the bulletin board outside my office. All of the faculty stop by to chat about it; I can’t get a thing done. Barbara and I are planning to attend on Saturday— we wouldn’t miss it for the world. How is Nicholas, by the way?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t find him.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “When did you last see him?”

  “A couple of days ago. He drove up to Philadelphia—he said there was a meeting he didn’t want to miss.”

  “That would be the Vidocq Society,” Noah said. “As far as I know, it’s the only meeting on earth Nicholas will willingly attend.”

  “Well, when he got to Philadelphia he found out a friend of his was murdered.”

  “Yes—that sometimes happens when Nicholas is around.”

  “So he drove to the Poconos to investigate and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “The Poconos?”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure why—that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry. Nicholas has a way of getting caught up in things at times—he can be quite singular when he has a goal before him.”

  “Yeah, me too—like when I’m getting married tomorrow and I don’t have a fiancé. That’s why I came here looking for him.”

  “You’re in the Poconos too?”

  “That’s where I’m calling you from.”

  There was another pause. “Alena, are you sure that was a good idea?”

  “Skip it, Noah. I’m way past that. Look, I need your help.”

  “Of course. How can I be of assistance?”

  “I took some photos with my cell phone. I want to send them to you—can you tell me how to do that?”

  “Certainly—it’s very simple. What are these photos of?”

  “That’s what I need you to tell me. They’re bug things— that’s all I know.”

  “‘Bug things’?”

  “Little brown things that look like grains of rice.”

  “Ah, puparia—the casings left behind by larvae when they pupate into adults.”

  “Whatever. The point is, Nick found these things in a bedroom not far from here—I went there after him and I found them too. Somebody died in that bedroom.”

  “Really? How can you be certain?”

  “Because my cadaver dog found the exact spot on the floor.”

  “Oh yes, your remarkable dogs—I remember.”

  “The carpet was pulled back from the wall. I figured Nick must have been looking for something, so I looked too—that’s when I found them.”

  “The ‘bug things.’ ”

  “Right.”

  “Exactly where did you find them?”

  “In a little crack where the wall meets the floor.”

  “And how far was this crack from the location of the body?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “It’s a bit complicated, my dear, but trust me—it does.”

  “I took photos of the wall and the floor—you can see for yourself. If I send them to you, do you think you can tell me what’s going on?”

  “It’s possible, Alena, but I have to tell you that the odds are against us. ‘What’s going on’ depends entirely on the species of insect Nicholas discovered, and species can be very difficult to determine from a puparium alone. Nicholas at least had the opportunity to examine them with his own eyes; I’ll have to work from a cell phone photograph, and the resolution could be very poor.”

  “I took them as close up as I could. It’s a brand-new phone.”

  “Well, that at least is in our favor. But I’ll have to enlarge the photos in order to identify any distinguishing features; I’m afraid that could take some time.”

  “Noah, I don’t have any time—the wedding is tomorrow evening. I have no one else to go to—you’re the only guy I know besides Nick who might understand this stuff. I know this is last-minute, but can’t you hurry for me—for us? You can even make this our wedding present. There—you’re off the hook.”

  Noah laughed. “And what am I to do with this coffeemaker?”

  “Nick’s birthday. Please?”

  “Very well. If you’ll send me the photos, I promise to clear my schedule and make this project my number one priority. I’ll call you the moment I know anything—if I know anything.”

  “Thanks, Noah. If you can tell me what these things mean, maybe I can figure out what Nick’s doing.”

  “Perhaps it’s a bit late to pose this question, but . . . why don’t you just wait for Nicholas to tell you what he’s doing?”

  Now it was Alena’s turn to hesitate. “Noah . . . you know Nick better than anybody. He says you’re sort of his mentor.”

  “It’s been my privilege to know Nicholas for several years.”

  “Then you know how he works—how he thinks.”

  “I’m not certain anyone knows precisely how Nicholas thinks, but I have watched him work many times.”

  “Then tell me something: Is Nick the kind of guy who . . . follows through on things?”

  “For example . . . a proposal of marriage?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Things like tha
t.”

  “I can tell you this: Nicholas has never been one to run away from things. In fact, he generally gets into trouble because he insists on running into things. He may be having doubts or second thoughts right now—that’s quite common on the eve of a life-altering event—but it would be unlike Nicholas to simply run away.”

  “But does he ever just . . . forget things?”

  Noah let out a sigh. “I wish I could tell you no—but I’m afraid he does.”

  “Even big things? Important things?”

  “As I said—he can be quite singular at times.”

  “Noah—do you think Nick could forget our wedding?”

  “Alena—can a man forget his own right arm? How could Nicholas ever forget you?”

  25

  Ed Yanuzzi sat at a round four-top in the center of the Pine Summit Diner, picking at a chicken salad sandwich and reading the Wednesday edition of the Hawley News Eagle. The diner was crowded as it always was at lunchtime, being the only sit-down eating establishment in downtown Pine Summit, and he enjoyed the ambient noise produced by all the conversations going on at once. It was one of the things he missed about New York: the background noise—the constant drone of conversation without having to listen to any of them. A little town like Pine Summit was different; here when people talked to you they expected you to listen. Ed found it exhausting, and the diner was where he came to relax.

  He heard the sound of a chair scraping on the linoleum floor and looked up just in time to see Nick Polchak turn the chair across from him and straddle it.

  Yanuzzi looked at him without expression. “You still in town, Polchak?”

  “Still here. Surprised to see me?”

  “Not really.”

  “I was told I’d find you here.”

  “So you found me. What’s on your mind?”

  Nick tossed a lump of dark metal across the table; it bounced twice and clinked against the edge of Yanuzzi’s white ceramic plate. “Know what that is?”

  Yanuzzi picked it up and looked at it. “I was in the FBI, Polchak—I’ve seen a bullet before.”

  “Know where it came from?”

  “Let me take a wild guess: a gun?”

  “I dug it out of a wooden post I was leaning against.”

  “Well, good for you. A souvenir of your visit to Pine Summit—most people just buy postcards.”

  “Somebody took a shot at me this morning.”

  Yanuzzi looked at him. “Where?”

  “That cabin you sent me to—your cabin. You know, the one where Michelle Keller stays for your little weekend rendezvous.”

  Yanuzzi glared across the table. “Would you mind holding it down a little?”

  “What’s the matter, Yanuzzi? Are you worried that your reputation might lose a little luster if the good people of Pine Summit find out you’re shacking up with your dead deputy’s widow?”

  The diner became suddenly quiet.

  “Can we talk about this someplace else?” Yanuzzi whispered. “Someplace private?”

  “I don’t think so,” Nick said. “I was in a private place this morning and it almost got me killed. There’s safety in numbers—didn’t your mother teach you that?”

  “What is it you want, Polchak?”

  “For starters, I’d like to know why you took a shot at me this morning.”

  “Me? You’re out of your mind.”

  “I can’t figure you out, Yanuzzi. Suppose you had a thing for your deputy’s wife, so you decided to get rid of him in a little ‘hunting accident.’ So the deputy’s widow moves away, but she drops by to visit from time to time and whenever she does you put her up in your cozy little cabin. Okay, I get that—but why would you tell me about it? You knew I’d go see her—I told you I would—but why would you take a shot at me? That makes no sense.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. That’s because you’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “I never had a ‘thing’ for Michelle Keller. Her husband died and she moved away—too many bad memories here. But she misses the mountains and she loves Pine Summit so she comes back to visit from time to time—and whenever she does I let her stay at my place. Where else is she supposed to stay?”

  “And I suppose your wife would tell me the same story.”

  Yanuzzi took a cell phone from his shirt pocket and set it in the center of the table. “Call her and find out.”

  Nick stared at the phone for a moment. “Okay, so you gave your wife the same story—and she was dumb enough to believe it.”

  “You think I’m cheating on my wife right under her nose?

  You don’t know Gloria.”

  “I think you’re cheating on your wife with your wife’s help.

  She probably thinks she’s doing the Christian thing, showing compassion to the grieving widow. I’ll bet she bakes a pan of brownies every time Michelle comes to town.”

  “So you talked to Michelle.”

  “That’s right—I drove out there the other night.”

  “And did Michelle tell you we were having an affair?”

  Nick paused. “No—she said I had it all wrong.”

  “So Michelle says you’ve got it wrong, and I say you’ve got it wrong, and Gloria would too if you gave her a call—that’s a perfect trifecta. You’re a hard man to convince.”

  “There’s one little problem with your ‘trifecta,’” Nick said.

  “What’s that?”

  Nick took the bullet and held it up. “Michelle left a voice message for me early this morning. She said she wasn’t completely honest with me the other night—that there were things she needed to tell me. She asked me to meet her at your cabin at eight o’clock. I showed up, but she wasn’t there—and a few minutes later someone fired this bullet at me.”

  “And you think it was a setup.”

  “Maybe it was just one of those ‘hunting accidents’—that seems to happen a lot around here.”

  “You’re sure the message was from Michelle?”

  “She has a very distinct voice.”

  “Sort of smoky, isn’t it?”

  “Funny you should notice.”

  “You did. What time did this shooting take place?”

  “Eight fifteen—I happened to look at my watch just before I heard the shot.”

  “I was in town all morning—and yes, I can prove it.”

  Nick paused. “That’s too bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the only other interested party here is Michelle— and she didn’t show up this morning.”

  “Now you think Michelle took a shot at you?”

  “She knows the area. All she had to do was walk up the hillside.”

  Yanuzzi smiled.

  “Did I say something funny? I must have missed it.”

  “You sure did,” Yanuzzi said. “Michelle left yesterday afternoon—she stopped by the house to say good-bye to Gloria on the way out of town. Michelle wasn’t in Pine Summit this morning, Polchak, and I’ll bet she can verify that. I was in town all morning and Michelle was back in New York—so who does that leave in your little conspiracy theory?”

  “Michelle left the voice message. She could have made the call from anywhere.”

  “She could have—but why would she? To cover up an affair we’re not having? This is a small town, Polchak—people talk. They know about Michelle and they know where she stays when she’s in town. You think you’re the first one to wonder what might be going on out at that cabin? I’d be taking shots at half the people in town.”

  “Look,” Nick said. “I came up here because my dead friend and your dead deputy were both working on the same cold case. I asked Michelle Keller if she could tell me anything more about the case, but she was clueless—then a day later she leaves me a message saying she has something to tell me after all. So I show up at her door and somebody tries to kill me. I hate to sound paranoid, Sheriff, but how does that look to you?”

  Y
anuzzi leaned across the table and took the bullet from Nick’s hand. “Know what kind of bullet this is?”

  “It’s a .308,” Nick said. “I stopped at a sporting goods store and asked them to size it for me.”

  “A .308—a standard hunting round. The average man’s torso is about eighteen inches shoulder to shoulder—that’s a big target. Somebody took a shot at you with a hunting rifle and missed—but they somehow managed to hit the post you were leaning against. Gee—what a coincidence.”

  “You’re suggesting they missed on purpose?”

  “I’m saying nobody’s that bad a shot. It was probably just a prank—some kid with a rifle showing off for his friends.”

  “There’s another possibility,” Nick said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Somebody just wants me to go home. I wonder who?”

  “Beats me,” Yanuzzi said tiredly. “Who else have you been annoying?”

  Nick slowly nodded. “You know, that’s a very good question.” He got up from the table and replaced the chair. “Thanks for the conversation, Sheriff—I found it stimulating.”

  “Yeah,” Yanuzzi grumbled. “Everybody in the diner did too.”

  “Hope I didn’t start any rumors—new ones, anyway. Would you like me to call your wife and explain?”

  “You do and I will take a shot at you.”

  “Oh—that reminds me.” Nick took out his cell phone, held it up, and snapped a photo of Yanuzzi.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Like you said—a souvenir of my visit to Pine Summit.”