Lucky Stiff (25 page)

“Hardly,” Ethan says in a tone that implies I’m an idiot. “It’s the larva for the clothes-eating moth, though that’s not a fair name because it’s the larvae, not the moths that actually eat fabrics. I have an adult moth.” He pushes back his chair, gets up, and goes to a shelf that holds dozens of display cases. He grabs one and brings it over to me.

“This is what the moth looks like. I’ve never found one of the larvae. Can I have this one?” He taps my picture.

“Sorry, but it’s evidence in a case I’m working on.”

“Did you find it on a sweater or something?”

“No, we found it in a body, inside the breathing tube of a man we think may have drowned.”

Ethan looks up at me with a quizzical expression. “That’s weird.
Tineola bisselliella
don’t live anywhere near water. They like dark, dry places, like closets and trunks. Their primary food sources are fabrics and sometimes other insect parts, so I don’t know how one would get inside a drowning person, or why it would. They aren’t necrophagous, like the maggots of
Sar-cophagidae
and
Calliphoridae,
the flies you typically find on decaying flesh.”

Ethan’s comfort level discussing this topic doesn’t surprise me. He’s had a fascination with bugs for as long as I can remember; not long ago, I arranged for him to spend some time with a leading forensic entomologist we had to consult on another case. Ethan was enthralled by the somewhat aptly named Dr. Beadle, and Dr. Beadle was equally fascinated with Ethan’s knowledge and interest in entomology—enough so that he invited Ethan to attend the weeklong “Bug Camp” for kids Dr. Beadle runs every summer. Ethan is beyond excited about it, not only because it will give him a chance to learn more and collect new specimens, but also because he won’t be one of the regular campers. Instead, Ethan will be functioning as Dr. Beadle’s assistant, complete with pay in the form of a full camp scholarship and some rare bug with an unpronounceable name that Ethan gets to add to his collection.

Ethan says, “Was the drowned person wearing a scarf?”

“Not that we know of. There wasn’t one on him when we found him, but I suppose he might have had one, which came off in the water.”

“What kind of coat was he wearing?”

I finally guess what Ethan is thinking. “I get it, you’re wondering if that worm was on some of the clothing he was wearing. Am I right?”

Ethan nods. “It’s possible that the larva was on his clothing. When he went into the water, it was knocked loose and he inhaled it, along with the water. That’s the only explanation I can think of that makes sense.”

I close my eyes and do a quick mental inventory of the clothing we removed from Donald Strommen’s body during our autopsy. “He was wearing a parka, one of those fiberfill things with a nylon-type outer covering. Under that, he had on a flannel shirt and some thermal underwear. His pants were jeans. The socks might have been wool, but he was wearing heavy boots over them, and his long johns covered the cuffs. When we found him, he didn’t have any gloves or hat, but they may have gotten lost in the water.”

I open my eyes and see Ethan frowning. “What?” I say.

“The parka is definitely not moth material. The jeans, shirt, and underwear all could be, but those are items that are typically washed a lot and that should keep any larvae from settling or developing on them.”

“Well, as I said before, he may have had a scarf or hat of some sort when he first went into the water. Those would be candidates, wouldn’t they?”

“They would,” Ethan says, nodding. “Don’t you know what he was wearing when he was last seen?”

“I don’t,” I tell him, smiling at how keenly his mind is working along investigative lines. “But I can find out. In the meantime, I need you to keep this to yourself for now, okay? It’s top secret.”

“No problem.”

“You can’t mention it to anyone. Not even your family or friends.”

“Okay,” he says with a degree of impatience.

I realize the risk of Ethan spreading tales is pretty low, since he tends to be a bit of a loner, preferring to spend time with his insects rather than other humans. So I decide to push a little further.

“Do you know Peter Strommen very well?” I ask.

“Not really. He hangs out with the other farm kids mostly.”

“Have you noticed anything different about him lately? Or heard any rumors about him?”

Ethan thinks a moment and then shakes his head. “He’s been a little sad since his father disappeared, but other than that . . .” He shrugs.

I reach over and tousle his hair, which makes him flinch. “Thanks for all your help, kiddo. Once our investigation is done, I’ll let you know what we find, okay?”

“Do you think there’s a chance I might be able to get that larva for my collection?” he asks, pointing to the picture that’s still on his desk.

I grab the picture, fold it up, and stuff it back in my purse. “I don’t know, buddy. I doubt it, but I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

He shrugs again, and then he summarily dismisses me by settling back in at his desk and focusing on his beetle collection.

I head back out to the kitchen, where I steal a quick bowl of my sister’s chili and a piece of hot-out-of-the-oven corn bread, which I promptly smother in butter.

As I scarf down the food, grateful that my stomach is finally back to normal, my sister fills me in on our mother’s latest health complaints. Mom is not only a germophobe, but a hard-core hypochondriac. She recently became concerned that she might have cutaneous porphyria, a relatively rare disease that causes photosensitivity of the skin, resulting in blistering after sun exposure. Because of this manifestation, it is sometimes referred to as the “vampire disease,” as its victims tend toward very pale complexions and avoidance of sunlight. Apparently, Mom was outside for all of thirty minutes yesterday. Despite the fact that she was wearing a sunscreen with an SPF factor of about 2 million, and not yawning at the sky the whole time, she is convinced the canker sore she developed in her mouth last night is a manifestation of cutaneous porphyria. With her naturally pale coloring, Mom fits the physical description of many who do have the disease. However, despite her ability to suck the life out of me at times, I’m as sure as I can be that she doesn’t have it.

While I eat, I listen to Desi reiterate her conversations with Mom, and I nod or smile when expected. But I’m only partially focused as my mind ponders the puzzle of the inhaled moth larva. Maybe Charlotte really did kill her husband. Maybe she shoved a scarf or some other item into his mouth, choking him. I quickly discard that idea, because the size of Donald compared to the size of Charlotte makes it highly unlikely. But maybe she subdued him first and then choked or smothered him with something. Had she drugged him somehow?

The size issue makes me realize something else. If Charlotte did have something to do with Donald’s death, then, in all likelihood, he died at home. How did she get his body to the river? Moving a man Donald’s size when he’s deadweight would be nigh onto impossible for someone of Charlotte’s size. Someone had to have helped her. And given what I learned from talking to Erika and her friends, I’m betting that someone was Hannah.

There’s no way right now to know if Donald was drugged, because the tox screen isn’t done, and won’t be for a day or two. But it occurs to me that the police might want to search the Strommen house to see what drugs they can find there, and to collect the items of clothing I saw Charlotte packing up before she has a chance to get rid of them. And I want to be there when they do it, to see and assess Hannah’s frame of mind, even if her mother won’t allow us to talk to her.

Chapter 22

When I pull up in front of the police station at one o’clock, Hurley is waiting for me out front, as promised.

As soon as he climbs into the hearse, I say, “I have a quick question for you. What clothing was Donald reported to be wearing when he disappeared?”

“The original missing persons report filed by Charlotte said he was wearing a hooded blue parka, blue jeans, a red-and-green-plaid flannel shirt, and brown boots. Pretty much what he was wearing when we found him. Why?”

“No mention of any scarf, or hat, or gloves?” I ask, ignoring his question.

“Nope. And now that you mention it, that’s kind of odd, given the weather.”

“Want to know what’s odder than that?” I say.

“What?”

“You know that little worm we found in his trachea? It’s the larva from a clothes-eating moth.”

“You heard from the entomologist already? That’s a pretty fast turnaround.”

“Well, no, I haven’t heard from the entomologist,” I say. “I showed a picture of the worm to Ethan and he identified it.”

A long silence follows before Hurley says anything.

“Winston, look, I know you’re proud of your nephew and his fascination with bugs and all, but I hope you’ll understand if I opt to wait for an official report on this.”

“I do understand, but I’m telling you, Ethan knows his stuff. So just keep it in mind, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he says unconvincingly. “I have some news, too. We got a report back on the clothes Brian was wearing when we picked him up the other day. There are traces of gasoline on them. When I asked him about the gas can in his car, he said he used it in that house he was staying in to get a fire going.”

“Do you believe him?”

“There’s evidence that a fire was built in the fireplace there, so it doesn’t really matter if I believe him or not. It’s enough for reasonable doubt.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any news on Catherine?”

“No, she’s in the wind.”

“No big surprise there. If she didn’t kill Jack, she’s probably moved on to find her next sugar daddy. Did you turn up anything in the files for the casino employees?”

Hurley shakes his head. “No, they’re all well vetted by the casino, and there’s nothing to suggest any of them had anything to do with it. My money’s on Catherine, though Brian has a more logical motive.”

“But what about the security tapes and his alibi?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention that. I finished going over those tapes last night while I was waiting for you, and it turns out Brian
was
in the casino until about seven in the morning. But then there’s no sign of him for several hours. He appears again around noon. When I asked him about the missing time, he said he went out to his car and took a nap for a few hours so he could come back in and play some more. There is evidence of him leaving the building and walking through the parking lot. Unfortunately, his car was parked in an area that isn’t visible to the cameras, so there’s no way to verify that.”

“Is he still in custody?”

Hurley nods. “It was agreeable to both sides. Sadly, I think the food and housing in jail is the best Brian’s seen in a while. But to be honest, I don’t know how much longer we can hold him if he wants to go. I spoke to the ADA and he says we don’t have enough to make a case against anyone at this point.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“We need to find the money.”

“Maybe you should let Brian go then. If he’s on the loose and has the money, maybe he’ll start spending it.”

“It’s a thought. I’ll see if we can hold him until we get back from Florida, and then we can spring him.”

“So, switching cases, I talked to Erika and some of her friends earlier today about Hannah, the oldest of the Strommen kids, and they said she’s been acting pretty weird ever since her father disappeared.”

“Well, that’s understandable, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. They said she was talking to herself and saying things about going to hell and taking her mother with her.”

“Hmm.”

“I think we should go back out to the house and take another look around.”

Hurley considers this idea, but he says nothing.

“And while I know you don’t put much faith in Ethan’s identification of that worm, I do. And I have a theory about how it might have ended up where it did.”

“Do you now?”

“I do. What if Charlotte drugged him and then stuffed something into his mouth to suffocate him? Something like a wool scarf? That sweater she was wearing looked moth-eaten, so maybe they have other clothing items in the same condition. And maybe one of those worms was on whatever she used.”

Hurley nods. “Okay, maybe I can send Bob Richmond out there while we’re in Florida.”

“Is he back to work?”

“He said he can do some light duty.”

“I suppose you could ask him, but, to be honest, I’d rather do it myself. I’m hoping the kids will be there. I think they might know something.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can arrange for someone to keep an eye on the Strommen place while we’re gone. It’ll be a way to make sure Charlotte doesn’t ditch any evidence.”

“With all that land and the barn, there are plenty of places close by for her to hide something, if she wants.”

“True, but I suppose that’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

Huge clouds are scudding across the sky and it casts a dark shadow over the car as we drive, seeming like an omen. The temperature is dropping fast and I flip the heat on. For the rest of our drive, we talk about Florida, the conference, the classes we’ve signed up for, and our hope that whatever weather calamity is on the way will hold off until after our flight.

When we reach the casino parking lot, I pull into a space a few rows away from Hurley’s car, the closest I can get. As I grab my cleaning supplies out of the back of the hearse, Hurley tosses me his car keys. “I need to go inside and use the can. Back in a bit.”

Muttering curses to myself, I head for his car. When I unlock the door, I take a moment to brace myself, knowing what awaits me inside. Once I think I’m ready, I grab the handle and yank the door open.

The smell is awful, and I realize just how much I must have had to drink last night when I detect the scent of alcohol over and above the sour smell of old vomit. I put my hospital cleaning supplies to good use, and at some point during my scrubbing, Hurley returns to watch me. Twenty minutes later, the car is reasonably clean and smelling considerably better, though not perfect. I finish things off by hanging a new pine-scented air freshener from the rearview mirror.