Buck Fever

by Robert A Rupp

  “So, your friend Dillon Lacarter is not in on this little joke, then?”

  “No...I mean, it’s not a joke. Where are you going with this?” Jack said, perturbed.

  “I think you should call Mr. Lacarter and warn him. This could lead to a misdemeanor if he is caught. I’m leaving his name out of the report for now. Call us if you have any more trouble. I’ll be passing through the neighborhood looking for those dogs.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Jack said.

  The officer shined his flashlight at the bloodstains on the floor one more time.

  “When did you kill the deer?”

  “A week ago, why?”

  “The blood is bright red, as from a living animal. I’d expect old deer blood to be dark red and dried or very gooey.”

  “It was dark red and gooey yesterday. Gees, Jack, you don’t think it came from those dogs. Are you sure you saw them carrying out a deer head. It was very dark outside. Maybe it was some freshly caught animal,” Mandi said.

  “Come on, Mandi, you saw it lying on the kitchen floor. What did you think it was?”

  “I don’t know. I’m so disgusted. This house is a mess; the kitchen tile is stained and the carpeting is ruined.” She shook her head, holding it with both hands.

  The officer pulled a rubber glove from his pocket, slipped it on, bent over, dipped his covered right forefinger into the blood, sniffed and slipped it through his fingers.

  “Yup, smells fresh, somewhat sweet. I think this is worth checking out. You got a paper towel, ma’am?”

  “Here,” Mandi said, holding out several sheets. “Please don’t get anything on the furniture.”

  “No problem. I just want to get a sample of this for the lab.” He wiped his glove-covered hand on the paper toweling, then proceeded to take a small vial from a leather pouch attached to his waist. He dipped a small wooden stick into the blood, transferred it into the glass container, snapped on a plastic stopper and placed it back into the pouch. He stood up, removing the rubber glove, handing the used paper towel covering the glove back to Mandi.

  “What do think you’ll find? Anything to worry about?” Mandi said.

  “Not unless this is human blood. I’m sure it isn’t, but it is standard procedure to check it out. You never know.”

  “Well...I...you don’t think for a moment we...” Mandi stammered, her hands shaking.

  “I’m sure this can all be explained. Don’t worry. As I said, it’s just standard procedure to check it out, unless you have something to worry about. You don’t, do you?” the officer said, sensing Mandi’s edginess.

  “Nope, nothing, but cleaning up this mess. Otherwise, we’re fine. Now let’s get on with our Sunday-morning routine. It’s already eight o’clock,” Jack said, motioning the police officer to the patio door.

  “Call us if anything suspicious happens. Also, I’d call your two friends and see if this isn’t some asinine practical joke.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Practical joke? Who does he think he is? This could have been a real break in,” Mandi said, as the police car backed out of the driveway.

  Jack returned from the laundry room with a mop and a bucket of soapy water and proceeded to clean the floor.

  “It does make you think. How in hell, could two dogs bother two people blocks apart with a deer head they both had an interest in? What are the odds?”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Your desk phone is ringing. I’ll get it,” Mandi said. “Dillon? What’s this about? He’s in the kitchen cleaning up a mess the dog made.”

  “Did Jack try to call me around three this morning? I got a strange call on my answering machine: a gurgling sound, like someone choking. Caller ID says you were the last ones to call.” Lacarter said through the phone.

  “You what? We were asleep at three AM. You know, I did find the phone off the hook this morning. Maybe Rusty accidentally bumped the phone and hit the redial button. I see your number was the last one called. Actually, there were two calls; one made at three this morning. What kind of sounds? Oh, my Lord. Well, he’s been acting strange since he found the deer head in the garage. I’ll let Jack tell you all about the mess.” She handed the phone to Jack as he came through the office door.

  “What’s up?”

  “He says he listened to a call on his answering machine made from our house at three AM. It sounded like someone choking or gurgling liquid. He wants to know if we’re okay. I think Rusty must’ve accidentally hit the redial button while roaming around the house last night.”

  “Hey, Dill, you won’t believe what we’ve been through the last two days. No shit. No, I didn’t call. Mandi thinks Rusty did it. The gurgling sound is probably his weird whining he’s been doing lately. The last two days have been horrible. Rusty found the deer head and...” Jack said, recapping the events of the past two days. “Yeah, I’m going to call George and let him know. How weird: Two dogs show up at two friend’s houses carrying a deer head. Later, bye.”

  Jack then called Montagno.

  “Georgey boy, you’re not going to believe what happened last night and this morning.”

  “I’ve had my night too. Damn neighborhood dogs tried to break into the back door of the house early this morning and terrified us. They took off when the cops came, though, carrying some kind of animal in their mouths. There are sporadic blood spots leading away from the doorstep and out the back gate,” Montagno explained.

  “Hah, wait ‘til you hear this. I woke up to some rustling in the kitchen, and...” Hermanski detailed the events of the last day.

  “No shit. Do you really think the dogs are the same ones that attacked us? Jesus, it’s bizarre, but I suppose they could have been carrying the deer head. I’ve been having dizzy spells and weird dreams ever since we cut up the deer. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow and have it checked out. Could be the allergy pills, but I stopped taking them, and I still feel dizzy.”

  “We’ve got the auditors coming in Monday. I’m going to need you at the office.”

  “I’ll be there by noon. I can’t put this off; it’s affecting my driving. Sissy’s going to take me. She’s got an appointment with her GYN in the same building.”

  “GYN? What’s going on? She pregnant?”

  “Hee, hee...we think so. Hey man, I’m going to be a daddy. Well, maybe; she’s just two weeks late. Her doctor wants to check it out.”

  “I’ll be damned. Okay, the auditors can wait. We’ll talk Monday afternoon if you’re not too dizzy to come in.”

  “I’m okay, just can’t drive. Sissy will bring me. We’ll see how it goes the next couple of days. Doc thinks it might be a simple ear infection.”

  “Okay, bye,” Hermanski said and hung up the phone. “Guess what, Mandi, Sissy might be pregnant.”

  “I heard. I suppose you’re going to pressure me again to have kids. You know I couldn’t handle a kid right now. My job’s too demanding.”

  “But, you’re only a part-time hairdresser.”

  “Oh here we go...here we go.” Mandi raised her hands, cupped her ears, and left the room.

  Chapter 15

  “Yoh?” Porter yelled from the bathroom, responding to a loud rap on his apartment door.

  “It is Louis. This woman is about to bash me with a broomstick. Please open up!” Dingman shouted.

  “Hah, I see you’ve met old-lady Purdle,” Porter said, cracking the door open.

  Dingman held out a Detroit Times newspaper, blocking broom bristles.

  “You rat bastard, give me that paper. It’s mine,” the old woman said, poking wildly at Dingman’s face.

  “Now, now, Mrs. Purdle, it’s my newspaper. Remember, we talked about this several days ago. You don’t get the paper anymore. Sometimes I give it to you when you’re nice,” Porter said, opening the door and pulling Dingman into his apartment. “Please stop waving your broom and go back into your apartment, or I’ll have to call your daughter to come get you.” The old woman flashed a middle finger. Porter closed the
door.

  “Rat bastard. You’re all rat bastards,” she said.

  “I sense she does not like you, eh?” Dingman said.

  “Senility and loneliness. She’s screwier than a Detroit crack whore. I’ve talked to her daughter, but she wants nothing to do with her. Damn, I hope I never get old and lonely,” Porter said, shaking his head.

  “So...you’re trying to double scoop my original story, eh?” Dingman said, slowly, revealing a strong Canadian accent. He opened the newspaper and pointed to an article on the front of section B: the “Michigan Roundup” page.

  “Let me see.” Porter grabbed the paper from Dingman’s right hand and mouthed the title, “‘Accidents, Possible Murder Mar Thanksgiving for Several Ogemaw County Residents.’ Hah, Pillbock toned the whole thing down. Did you hear what really happened to poor Lickshill? It just says he suffered several stab wounds from a blunt object, possibly a set of deer antlers, and some injuries to his groin area.”

  “Yes, I talked briefly to the West Branch Medical Examiner. He said someone cut off his Johnny Whopper too. Poor bastard.”

  “Not cut off—bit off—with teeth marks. And the guy who got sucked into the tree grinder—hardly anything left.”

  Dingman grabbed his crotch and winced.

  “What is the skinny here? Pillbock told me you needed help. Did you see my article about those two hunters from Port Huron? What did you think? Even made it to the front page.”

  “Katie and I talked to them yesterday. You might want to read the article I wrote that didn’t make it into today’s paper.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me what you think.” Porter handed Dingman the draft article he sent the previous night to Pillbock.

  “I can see why Pillbock had heartburn with it: ‘No truth. Look and learn.’ Bloody bugger, you might be onto something here, though. I sensed an undercurrent when I talked to Lopez in the hospital. After reading this, I think there is some underlying truth here. Something is making the deer and the hunters crazy up north around West Branch.”

  “I’ve even thought of a name for it: Buck Fever,” Porter said, proudly.

  “Buck Fever—I love it. Tell me what you know; I’ve got a few connections in the Detroit Crime Lab and also at Wayne State who could help.”

  “You mean like the guys on those TV shows, who can create the original murder scene and motive just by analyzing the DNA of a strand of hair and talking to a victim’s friends?”

  “No...not crap science. These pros stay strictly within the bounds of forensic science, criminal psychology and disease identification. The Detroit Lab does have a new biological anti-weapon, though. It can virtually sniff and taste organic and inorganic compounds at the molecular level and present a detailed diagram of the chemical makeup of the substance in question.”

  “Could be useful. Is it something we could borrow for a few days? Maybe take to West Branch?”

  “Not likely. We would have to get a court order to use it on the street. I can walk-in some questionable evidence and have them take a quick look at it, however.

  “Maybe we can talk Sulkin, the funeral setup guy in West Branch, into providing us a sample of Lickshill’s blood. It was bright red around the wounds, yet the guy had been dead several days. Plus, he grabbed Katie’s arm. Sulkin said it was a simple reflex, but he was going to take another look at Lickshill’s brain to see if there was any residual activity there caused by some virus or bacteria.”

  “Grabbed Katie’s arm; are you serious? Please fill me in on everything you know. Where does Katie fit in all this? I thought Pillbock wanted her off this assignment.”

  “She’s back on as of yesterday as a concession to have you cover the story as well.”

  “I do not follow.”

  “I convinced Pillbock she could learn a lot from you, and it would be good for her career to complete this assignment.”

  “Are you dinking around with her? It’s none of my business, but it could make it difficult to segment the work to cover the story.”

  “Ah...no, I promise.”

  “Best not. I have my reputation to consider.” Dingman crossed his arms and stiffened his body.

  Asshole, Porter thought. He needs us as much as we need him. We were there when the doe took the child and in the morgue when Lickshill grabbed Katie’s arm.

  “I understand your concern. If she becomes a liability, I’ll personally see she’s taken off the story.”

  “Okay,” Dingman said, relaxing, “get her over here, now. Do you have any stick ‘em cards to make a storyboard? We need to jot down all the facts we know and build a research tree. Pillbock demands it. We need to—”

  “Whoa, moving a little fast, aren’t we? It’s Sunday, Katie’s in church at this hour. Can’t it wait until Monday when we’re at work and have the right tools for the job?” Porter said. Dingman’s moving fast to gain the upper hand.

  “Sorry, no hidden agenda intended. I find Sundays wasted if I am not getting ready for the Monday rush. You are right; we have time. I will see you Monday morning in the conference room near Pillbock’s office. It has all the tools we need. Bring your laptop. You can keep all the data on it. Do you trust me now?”

  “Yeah, sure. See you then,” Porter said, giving Dingman a friendly shove toward the apartment door. I don’t trust him.

  Dingman opened the door and peeked into the hallway. “Good, she’s not out there. See you Monday.”

  Chapter 16

  George Montagno sat in the passenger seat of his new black Chrysler hybrid, staring at the headliner as his wife, Sissy, drove the back roads to the Troy Health Center. The car fishtailed over glazed ice as snow-laden wind slammed the windshield.

  “Ugh, I’m getting nauseous. Slow down,” George pleaded. “What’s the rush?”

  “Oops, sorry, I’m just a little excited,” Sissy said.

  “I’ll bet...ooh, here it comes, pull over. Pull over!”

  Sissy slammed the brake pedal while swerving the car to the curb. George opened the car door, leaned out and vomited.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll...be...all right...in a minute,” George said.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Hmm, I don’t see any redness in your inner ear. It’s probably the pills. Stop taking them. Did you bump your head recently? Tell me about the dreams. Do you wake up in a cold sweat?” the doctor probed.

  George Montagno explained the incident with the deer carcass engulfing his head and shoulders, the bizarre dreams following for several days, and his newfound ability to add numbers quickly in his head.

  “Might be related to the deer, or maybe the onset of Meniere’s Disease.”

  “Is it fatal?” Montagno looked concerned.

  “No, it can come and go. It’s a buildup of pressure in the fluid within the inner ear. I’ll give you some diuretic pills. Watch your salt intake. Or maybe...just maybe...” the doctor said, scratching his head, “you’re allergic to deer blood. Could be a toxin in there causing a reaction. Rare, but you did say you were covered with deer blood and got it up your nose and into your eyes, right?”

  “Yes, but what do you make of the crazy dreams, and why am I suddenly so good at adding numbers?”

  “The dreams could simply be another reaction to the toxic blood. The number crunching ability...I suppose an allergic reaction could have triggered some native ability locked up since birth. Ever do Sudoku?” The doctor handed Montagno a book from his desk.

  “Number puzzles? No, I’ve seen people doing them on airplanes. How do you do it?” Montagno took the book and flipped through it.

  “You need to fill in the missing numbers from one through nine in the rows and columns. I do it in my spare time. I can usually complete one in ten minutes or so. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Montagno stared at the first puzzle grid of half-filled numbers waiting for inspiration. He struggled to find two missing numbers, then gave up.

  “Not my game. I’m clearly no
t good at this.”

  “Hmm, whatever savant activity was going on in your brain seems to be gone now. You can keep the book. If, by chance, you are able to suddenly solve these puzzles in five minutes or less, call me immediately.”

  “Okay, sounds harmless enough.” Montagno stuffed the book in his jacket pocket.

  “Take these pills four times a day. They should help relieve the pressure in your ear. Also, I’d stay away from any deer meat as a precaution.”

  “You really think so? I was looking forward to having some tonight.”

  “It’s an outside hunch, but you can do what you want. If you do get a reaction, let me know immediately and for sure, don’t eat more.”

  “A hunch? Is that a new medical approach?” Montagno said, grinning.

  “Yes, we are allowed to guess now and then. Doctoring is an art and a science you know. What we can’t prove or doesn’t work is art. What we can and works is science.”

  “Gotchya,” Montagno acknowledged the doctor’s attempt at humor, shook hands and left his office.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” George Montagno said, as Sissy walked off the elevator in the building lobby, her face beaming.

  “We’re pregnant and...” Sissy hesitated and pursed her lips, forcing an uneasy smile.

  “And?”

  “We’re eight weeks along. It’s already four inches.”

  “What? I don’t get it. You were only two weeks late.”

  “I lied. I wanted to make sure. You know how the miscarriage last year screwed up my mind. The doctor thinks we’re out of the rough and on the green now.”

  “Sounds like your GYN spends most of his time on the golf course,” George said, hugging Sissy gently and patting her stomach.

  “He said to eat lots of protein. Maybe a good reason to make those deer chops you brought home last week.”

  “Maybe. My doctor said I might be allergic to deer meat. Could be the cause of my dizziness. He thinks there might be something in the blood that got up my nose.”

  “You’re talking about raw blood. I doubt if cooked meat would be a problem. My mother was allergic to uncooked chicken. She’d break out in a rash every time she made it, but she had no problem eating it when properly cooked.”