Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop (14 page)

“A bug?” Kathryn finished the sentence for him.

“All of this—the hiking, the exploring, the collecting—this is really Dr. Polchak’s forte.”

As they walked easily across the open meadow Kathryn looked at him. “May I call you Teddy?”

“I suppose it’s inevitable.”

“Would you rather I didn’t? It’s just that I heard Dr. Polchak call you Teddy.”

“That was his little invention. Nicholas just loves to name things. I suppose there’s a little taxonomist in his blood as well.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Eustatius,” he said under his breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“So am I. It means peaceful. My family is Pennsylvania Dutch.”

“Then you’re from Pittsburgh, like Dr. Polchak?”

“What makes you think he’s from Pittsburgh?” he said with a wink. “Haven’t you noticed? Even his honeybees wear black and gold.”

They arrived at the perimeter and set down their equipment. Kathryn wasn’t sure what she had expected to find at a death scene, but she was surprised at how completely ordinary everything appeared. In the center of the ring was a small depression where the grass was matted and yellow, indicating the original location of the body—but nothing more to indicate that someone she loved had died here only a week ago.

“Nicholas and I met in graduate school at Penn State,” Teddy said, unpacking the first of his valises. “We were both studying entomology, and it was there that we both became interested in the forensic aspects of our field. That’s when Nicholas and I became friends.”

“Dr. Polchak has a friend?”

Teddy smiled. “Have you ever observed a drone fly? It isn’t likely—but if you had, you probably would have thought it was a wasp. A wasp makes a distinctive sound. The buzz of a wasp wing registers at about 150 hertz. The drone fly has learned to mimic the wasp’s sound almost exactly—147 hertz, to be precise. Listening to them, you cannot tell them apart. The drone fly sounds like a wasp, and he acts like a wasp—but he is in fact a harmless fly. He has no stinger. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this field, it’s that appearances are often deceiving. That is the first principle of taxonomy: Nevermind what a thing appears to be—what is its true nature?”

Kathryn lifted one leg and began to step across the yellow police line.

“Wait! Don’t!”

“What’s wrong? Aren’t we allowed?”

“We are allowed, but it would not be wise.”

Teddy walked slowly around the perimeter eyeing the yellow patch carefully. “Here,” he said at last, “we’ll approach from here. When approaching a death scene the first order of business is to establish a single line of approach. That protects the surrounding area from unnecessary disturbance. See there?” He pointed to a wide area of bent and broken grass that surrounded the yellow. “That’s where our foolish hunters trampled the area while they were observing the body. I’m afraid they didn’t do us any favors.” He stepped gingerly across the line and Kathryn followed behind, feeling as though she had just stepped out onto a tightrope.

Teddy studied the shape of the yellowish impression. “The head was up there, and the legs here. Notice the deeper imprint left by the torso. That’s where we’ll focus.”

Kathryn’s eyes followed the faded area to where the right leg must have rested. She saw no signs of branches or rocks or objects of any kind.

“I see it too,” Teddy nodded. “There’s no indication of anything that might have held the knee erect prior to fixed lividity. That is most enigmatic.”

They carefully made their way back to the valises, and Teddy began to unpack a bizarre selection of devices and paraphernalia. Most of the space seemed to be reserved for a half-dozen quart-sized containers, much larger than any Kathryn had seen yet. He also removed two small hand trowels, some type of long metallic probe, a magnifying glass, and a strange glass cylinder topped with a black rubber cork and a flexible hose.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re doing,” Kathryn said.

“How much has Nicholas told you about this whole process?”

“Dr. Polchak tells me nothing—except that he likes to shoot family pets and collect dead bodies.” A twinge of remorse came over her as she remembered who she was talking to. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—is Dr. Polchak so annoying to everyone? Is it just me or what?”

“Don’t take it personally.” Teddy returned to the approach point with an armload of gear, depositing it in a heap just outside
the fluttering yellow tape. He selected a trowel and a container and stepped carefully across the barrier once again. “Nicholas is not a cruel man. He simply has difficulty relating to … your species.”

“You mean women.”

“No. I mean your entire species.”

“What species is that?”

“Kingdom Animalia, phylum Chordata, and class Mammalia; of the order Primate, in the family Hominidae, genus Homo. The species would be sapiens.”

“I’m not a taxonomist, but isn’t that his species, too?”

“Not if you ask him.” He wiggled his fingers in the air as he stretched on a pair of bluish green latex gloves, then gently knelt by the yellow patch and laid down a wooden yardstick with one end positioned at the exact center of the open area. At that spot he began working his fingers deep into the dense thatch.

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m collecting leaf litter.” He lifted a handful of decomposing shreds of leaf, bark, and grass and dropped it into an open container. “When a body lies exposed in an open area like this, it is quickly inhabited by a series of arthropods—”

“I’ve heard this part. First come the momma flies, looking for nice neighborhoods with good schools. But because there’s no zoning, the whole place goes to pot and everyone moves out to the suburbs.”

Teddy smiled. “I see Nicholas has entrusted you with the technical version. Perhaps I can fill in a few details.” He measured twelve inches out from the site of his first collection and repeated the sifting and gathering process again. “When the egg of a blow fly or flesh fly hatches—about eight to ten hours after oviposition—a small larva emerges, perhaps only two or three millimeters in length. As that larva engorges itself on the decomposing tissues, it passes through three distinct phases of development, known as instars. About a week later—depending entirely on the specific species, of course—the third-instar larva ceases to feed and prepares to pupate into an adult fly. It begins to shrink in size, and its skin thickens and darkens into a puparial capsule—a sort of cocoon. Most importantly, the prepuparial larva becomes restless and wanders away from the corpse, seeking a protected site to await eclosion—emergence
as a mature fly. Some of these late-instar larvae and puparia will drop off the body and hide in litter close to the ground surface. And those little vagabonds,” he said, gingerly depositing his third handful of humus, “are the ones we seek.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

Teddy looked up and studied her face thoughtfully.

“Really,” she assured him. “I’d like to do something.”

“I hope you understand—I thought it best to wait for you to ask.” Teddy handed her a magnifying glass and a pair of light tension larval forceps. “Your eyes are better than mine and certainly a lot better than Nicholas’s. Let’s put them to use.”

They both knelt down on all fours near the end of the yardstick. “What am I looking for?”

“Puparia. Tiny brown capsules about the size of a grain of rice.”

“Like we did at the funeral home.”

“This is a most important part of our investigation. The larvae Nicholas collected from the cadaver were in their third instar. Back at the lab he is attempting to rear those larvae to maturity under the same temperature and humidity conditions we find here. Some of those larvae are now beginning to pupate. We should find specimens here at a similar stage of development.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then the infestation of the body is at a more advanced state of development than the infestation of the area where the body was discovered. That raises the possibility—only the possibility, mind you—that the body was placed here sometime after the time of death.”

Kathryn’s heart raced at the suggestion. “Dr. Polchak told me that the body was moved.”

“He told me that the leg was moved,” Teddy replied gently. “At this time, we are unable to account for that phenomenon. We must be very careful not to jump to conclusions. For now we must be content to do our homework.”

“How far do I have to look?”

“They do have the wanderlust, these little creatures. They may migrate as far as twenty feet away. But concentrate on the circle defined by the yardstick. If there are any puparia to be found, they will probably be found there.”

Kathryn began her search with gusto, moving quickly through the crumpled grass. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Teddy’s face.

“Slowly, and very carefully.” He patted her shoulder. “We must be careful to see what we see, not what we wish to see.”

Kathryn started her work again, reluctantly returning to the place where her search began, carefully separating the twisted blades of grass. She felt like a woman doing a self-examination, searching diligently for any telltale lump or bump while at the same time praying that she would find none. If she found no puparia, that meant Jimmy’s body might have been moved. If his body had been moved, then someone else was involved—someone who might have done more than just move the body.

Teddy began to dig small core samples of soil at one-foot intervals along the yardstick and sealed each one in a one-liter cylindrical container.

“Some carrion feeders are burrowers,” he explained. “We must look a few inches beneath the soil as well.”

Suddenly Kathryn’s heart sank. There, lying atop the moldy remains of a red maple leaf, was an unmistakable puparium. Teddy followed her eyes.

“As I expected,” he said, “as it should be. Is the capsule completely enclosed, or is a cap missing from one end, sort of like an open medicine capsule?”

“It’s closed.”

“Light in color, or dark?”

“Light brown.”

“Then it’s a young pupa. A very important discovery. Place him in here.” He handed her a small plastic vial.

Kathryn returned to her search with greatly diminished enthusiasm. What was the point? The larvae on the ground were apparently at the same stage of development as those taken from the body. Perhaps the body had not been moved after all. Perhaps the coloration of Jimmy’s leg was just some unexplainable anomaly. Perhaps all this was a waste of time … and money.

Teddy seemed to sense her change in mood. “Did you know,” he said cheerfully, “that there may be more than thirty million insect species in the world? Far more than all other species combined—and
only about a million have been described and classified so far.”

“That’s great news,” Kathryn murmured.

“Dr. Polchak has studied hundreds of them. He loves to investigate an unfamiliar species—any unfamiliar species. And to do so, he believes that he must remain objective. And how can one be objective if one is a part of the very species he hopes to explore? I believe that is why Nicholas has left our species.”

Kathryn looked up. “You’re joking.”

“Oh, he would admit to being Animalia and to having a backbone—and he’s a chordate all right. If he was nursed by his mother, then he certainly can’t deny being a mammal. I think he would admit to being a primate—and who knows? On a good day, he might even admit to a common family and genus. But I’m afraid that’s where it stops. Nicholas is a man in search of a species.”

“I didn’t know you could resign from your species.”

“Technically you can’t, of course. But you can refuse to participate. Yes, that’s a very good way to put it. Nicholas has decided that he would rather study our species from outside, as an impartial observer.”

“Why? Who hurt him?”

Teddy paused. “Suffice it to say that Nicholas has encountered a number of difficult people in his past. And to be honest, this business tends to acquaint one with the more barbarous tendencies of the human species. Somewhere along the line, Nicholas decided he had more in common with the insect world—and so he has turned the tables on us. Now he holds the magnifying glass, and we are in the terrarium. He studies people; he examines them.” He let out a sigh. “Personally, I find that it’s much more pleasant if you actually get to know someone.”

Kathryn watched this tiny, gentle little man as he worked. The few strands of chestnut hair assigned the duty of covering his balding pate drifted helplessly in the wind, fluttering in rhythm with the yellow police line behind him. His round spectacles continually slid down his nose as he worked on all fours, causing him to pause every few moments and nudge them back into place with the back of his hand. He was an altogether harmless and likeable little fellow. How strange it was to find two men, good
friends, both drawn to the same esoteric field of study and yet so completely opposite in nature. One tall, one short; one blind, one seeing; one cold, one caring. Maybe there was something to what Dr. Polchak believed. Maybe they were not the same species …

Securing the lid on the last of his samples, Teddy inserted the long probe into the ground near the center of the yellow patch and noted the soil temperature in his logbook. He then picked up the eighteen-inch sweep net and stood motionless, his eyes darting from side to side as if tracking the movement of the wind itself. In one fluid and remarkably graceful motion he swept the net downward and to the left, followed by a sudden upturn that flipped the long tip of the net up and over the metal ring. It was a simple action, something a child could do, but Kathryn thought that he somehow imbued the motion with the mystery and beauty of a fly fisherman’s cast. With his left hand he seized the net just below the tip, quickly twisting and trapping its tiny victims inside. With his free hand he opened a wide-mouth Ball jar, empty except for a half-dozen cotton balls in the bottom. He placed the tip of the net inside and quickly sealed the jar again.

“Ethyl acetate,” he explained. “It’s a killing jar, if you’ll pardon the expression. In about two minutes we can transfer them to alcohol.”