Authors: John Koloen
15
Inspector Dias had
hoped the judicial police pathologist would have a simple answer as to the cause of death of Raul Barbosa. The work he’d done on the case had already resulted in a brief meeting with his boss who felt he was wasting time on a “hermit who nobody cares about.”
“Need I remind you there is no shortage of homicide cases in Manaus?” the lieutenant said. “Manaus has the eleventh highest murder rate in the world, and we’re solving only 10 percent of them.”
From what remained of the body, the pathologist was unable to fix a time or date of death and whatever cause may have vanished with the soft tissue. He sent several strands of hair to the state crime lab for analysis just in case drugs or other substances were involved, but with budget cuts in place, work at the lab was backed up and only priority cases, multiple homicides and crimes involving the rich and famous could be certain of attention.
The pathologist’s report noted fine striations covering most of the skeleton. They looked like cuts from a narrow blade. Each one measured about a sixteenth-inch in length and was not as wide as a human hair. They completely encircled the bone, in fact, all the bones. Wherever flesh and muscle had been attached to a bone, the striations appeared. The striations were the only clue he could find by examining the skeleton, and they told him nothing. He also reported that he could not identify the insect specimens that Dias had sent along with Barbosa’s body and suggested contacting an entomologist at UFAM or the city zoo. The pathologist concluded that the death was unnatural, cause unknown.
This left Dias wondering. If it was a homicide, why go to the trouble of removing all the flesh and organs? And why leave the bones in the first place? If one could get rid of the flesh, it would be just as easy to get rid of the skeleton. It didn
’
t make sense, except perhaps in the context of a psychopath, but what would be the odds of that?
If it wasn
’
t homicide, then what was it? He was certain Barbosa wasn’t killed by a caiman or jaguar. Bones would be crushed, and flesh would be attached to the skeleton. But there was no apparent trauma visible on any of the bones. He
’
d heard of people who supposedly used ants and flesh-eating beetles to strip the flesh from the bodies of dead animals. He wondered if beetles made the striations.
16
Professor Azevedo instantly
recognized the subject of the digital photos Inspector Dias had emailed. The inspector first spoke with an entomologist at the Manaus Zoo. After viewing jpegs sent by Dias, the entomologist admitted that he had never seen this species and suggested contacting UFAM. When Dias asked whom he should contact, the entomologist suggested Azevedo, who had been one of his professors as a graduate student.
“If he can’t help you, I’m not sure anyone can.”
Although he was a homicide investigator, Dias was also curious about how Barbosa died, homicide or not. It wasn’t suicide, and somehow the dead insects he had collected had something to do with it. They were the only physical evidence that suggested Barbosa hadn’t died of natural causes. His boss would probably accept a conclusion that the man had a heart attack, and his flesh vanished like a winter coat. In his world, clearing one out of ten homicides was average. Reclassifying it as a coronary meant one less homicide not to solve.
Azevedo immediately phoned Dias.
“Where did you find it?” Azevedo asked, after explaining that he could identify the specimen.
“At a camp down river several hours by boat.”
Azevedo pulled up Google Earth while the inspector described the scene. He was preoccupied with comparing the location with his previous sightings and missed most of what the inspector said.
“What are the coordinates?”
Dias replied, and Azevedo placed a marker near a small tributary several miles from the Rio Negro. It was many miles away from the other markers.
“Did I mention the body was reduced to a skeleton?”
Azevedo was stunned and did not know what to say. His experience with
blaberus
had led him to believe they formed small colonies. His instinct was to doubt Dias’ information.
“A skeleton of a man, you said?”
“Yes, probably an eighty or ninety kilos according to his friend.”
“And you want me to do what?”
Dias sighed with exasperation. He wondered if Azevedo was hard of hearing.
“You know of these insects, correct?”
“Oh, yes,” Azevedo said. “I don’t want to sound boastful, but I have seen them in the wild and have dissected them. And you suspect they had something to do with this man’s death, correct?”
“Yes. The pathologist has no explanation, and we found many of these dead insects with the body, perhaps hundreds. What I’d like to know is whether they are scavengers and came upon the body or whether they had something to do with killing the man. Do you have any ideas?”
“Well, without seeing the scene, I can’t say. They are scavengers, but I suppose they could also be predators though it would seem it would take a huge number of them to consume a man’s body, much less attack and kill him. It has never occurred to me that this would be possible, for multiple reasons.”
“Would it help if I took you to the camp?”
“Yes, it would,” Azevedo replied somewhat excitedly.
Azevedo agreed to meet at Dias’ office early the next morning.
17
Minutes after he
hung up on Dias, Azevedo’s phone rang again. It was Howard Duncan. He spoke rapidly and somewhat breathlessly about wanting to put together an expedition to find a colony of
reptilus blaberii
and document its behavior by following it for several days.
“I tried that,” Azevedo said. “Several times. Couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“Not enough people. You’ll never find them once you’ve lost track. And you will lose track or someone in your group will lose track.”
“How many people did you have?”
“Four. Myself and three students.”
“That must’ve been difficult.”
“That’s why we lost track of them the first day. Someone moved away to take a piss and when he returned they were gone, almost as if they understood that they were being watched and were waiting for an opportunity to flee.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“No, but it’s either that or the student who said he had to pee did something else as well. Maybe a minute was really five. It doesn’t matter. We all fail at some point.”
While Azevedo spoke, Duncan counted the number of people he would have in his group.
“I’ve got seven.”
“Seven what?”
“Seven people. If you go, that will make eight. We’d have twice what you had, and my folks are dedicated to the task. Won’t be anyone sleeping on the job.”
Azevedo wondered for a moment whether he should tell him about his conversation with Inspector Dias. Before Duncan said another word, Azevedo described what Dias had told him and asked if he wanted to visit the site in the morning. Duncan could hardly contain himself.
“Of course,” he blurted. “You think
blaberus
is linked to this man?”
“I don’t know. The pathologist has no cause of death, but I’m curious as to whether he found anything unusual.”
“Unusual?”
“Yes, whether they left any marks on the bones. The inspector said nothing about this, and I hadn’t thought about asking. But, if you look at the appendages, it’s possible that they could have left marks on the bones. The appendages are very hard and sharp, like tiny cutters. You’ve seen the specimens.”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just something to eat, water, something to hold specimens. Camera.”
“Would it be okay if I brought my assistant?”
“I don’t see why not. I would think the boat is large enough. But I’ll ask.”
Duncan was struck with an idea as soon as the call ended. Instead of bringing Boyd, he should invite Maggie Cross. Giving her this opportunity might encourage her to cover the budgetary shortfall the expedition was almost certain to incur. But what would he tell Boyd, his assistant, and right-hand man? The truth, he decided. Which he did. Duncan thought he accepted it with equanimity. Boyd kept to himself the remainder of the day, in his room with the door shut. It was smaller than the room he grew up in. He drank himself to sleep and didn’t wake up until noon the next day, well after Duncan had left to pick up Cross and drive her to the police station in a rental car where they met Azevedo and Dias.
18
The boat ride
down the Rio Negro took several hours, followed by a half hour slowly navigating the ever narrowing tributaries until they reached the landing in front of Barbosa’s cabin. The passengers waded to the landing, several barefooted, and then scrambled up the rise to the flatness of Barbosa’s land, which he had carved from the surrounding forest by cutting and burning hundreds of trees. A common practice, especially among the poor and the very wealthy.
Following Dias, the group, which included a forensics technician and a uniformed officer who took orders from Dias, approached the site where Barbosa’s body was found. With Cross watching, Azevedo and Duncan immediately lowered themselves to get a closer look. There were dozens of dead
blaberii
. Duncan motioned for Cross to join them. She went immediately to her knees, rubbing against Duncan’s shoulder and asked him what kind of insect they were looking at.
“
Reptilus blaberus
,” Professor Azevedo said distractedly.
“I’ve never heard of it,” Cross said.
“Neither have most people,” Howard Duncan said.
“Is it okay if I pick one up?”
“Of course,” Duncan said, looking at Azevedo. “We’ve got more specimens here than we know what to do with, which is very odd, since this species is supposed to live in very small colonies, and judging from what we see here, this is not the work of a small colony.”
Azevedo rose and brushed himself off. The sun glared down, and he wiped his brow. He wore khaki slacks, a white short-sleeved shirt, and a well-worn Panama hat. He was one of the passengers to remove his shoes before entering the water. They were the best fitting hiking shoes he’d ever owned, and he wanted them to last the remainder of his life.
“I have no idea how to account for this,” Azevedo said as they followed the inspector into Barbosa’s garden. “I am puzzled and maybe a little embarrassed.”
It was clear from the deep boot marks in the soft earth of the garden that Barbosa had stumbled multiple times, crushing plants and knocking over wood frames. They found scores of insect carcasses where he had fallen, beginning about the center of the length of the garden. Beyond it, toward the forest, there were no more carcasses. Dias suggested a scenario where Barbosa first encountered the insects.
“At this point it seems obvious,” he said, “these insects are responsible for his death.”
Azevedo shook his head. He looked dejected and didn’t speak. It was as if something he had understood to be an incontrovertible fact suddenly turned out to be a lie. Duncan and Cross walked through the area together, speaking quietly as if not to disturb the others. It was at this point that Dias started to move toward the site where the body was found, some ninety feet, with Azevedo following while Duncan and Cross continued around the garden and toward the forest. Dias called to them.
“We’re just looking around,” Duncan replied. “We won’t be long.”
“What are we looking for?” Cross asked as they moved slowly toward the tree line.
“I’m not sure. Another body.”
“Really!”
“I don’t mean human. Animal. If they can reduce a man to a skeleton, they sure as hell can do the same with any other animal.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” she said. “All of a sudden I feel a little frightened.”
“I don’t blame you. It looks like the species has overcome its principal barrier to becoming a colony of predators.”
“You think they could attack us?”
“I don’t know. If it turns out that the fungus is no longer having that effect, then anything is possible.”
“Is it safe for us to be here?” she asked, clasping his arm nervously as he moved forward several steps.
“I think we’re okay,” Duncan said. “There’s not a lot of cover out here like there is in the garden. Besides, we know what to watch out for. The guy who died didn’t have a clue.”
“Would we see like vultures or something if they killed something else?”
“Not if they only left a skeleton. I just can’t imagine that a human would be their first victim.”
Cross put her hand in Duncan’s and let him lead her despite her fear. What they found was a killing field between the garden and the forest’s edge. They found skeletons of squirrels, rats and several larger mammals, which they could not identify. Duncan photographed each carcass with his smartphone. He was certain they would find more carcasses if they continued to look, but Dias shouted that they were preparing to leave.
“We should go back,” Cross suggested, “don’t you think?”
“Okay. But you do understand this is a major discovery?”
“I do,” she said quietly, squeezing Duncan’s hand.
19
On the return
trip to Manaus, Inspector Dias struggled to decide what to report to his boss. What if, as Duncan told him, that most likely the insects killed the victim and didn’t merely scavenge the body?
“How can I tell my boss that a bunch of cockroaches knocked the man down and ate him?” he said with exasperation to Azevedo and Duncan. The boat’s twin outboards made hearing difficult. Dias shouted his question.
“They aren’t cockroaches, and that’s exactly what we think happened,” Azevedo shouted back. “You can tell him what you want, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Nor me,” Duncan agreed, loudly. “Our hypothesis is that insects somehow killed the victim and then devoured him.”
“Hypothesis?” Dias asked slowly.
“Yes. It’s not a fact. We need verification,” Duncan said.
“How do you get that?”
“We wait for another sighting,” Azevedo said.
“Another sighting? You mean another body?”
“Yes, that would be the case.”
Dias considered the alternatives. He decided that he would tell his boss that insects killed the victim and that more bodies were likely to show up in the future. It would be his decision whether to close the case and continue the investigation.
Cross sat facing Duncan in the stern of the boat as it sped toward Manaus. Duncan was glad that the noise made conversation difficult while Cross wanted to talk but didn’t want to shout. They exchanged smiles several times when their eyes met. It made him feel uncomfortable. But he was preoccupied. He wondered whether Cross was still excited about the expedition after hearing that the insects had killed a man. He was counting on her, or rather, her money. No doubt she was attractive and notwithstanding that she may have been flirting with him, he was more motivated than ever to go into the forest to document the insects’ behavior before someone else got to them and reaped the rewards. Academia was a competitive place where stories abounded of former colleagues turning into mortal enemies over who got credit for a discovery. Though rare, murder was not unheard of.
This was how he got whenever he felt that he was on the verge of a discovery or thought he had information that no one else had. Immediately, he would get paranoid about it, start to think that time was against him, that the secret was about to get out, and though he knew it first, someone else would get credit and he’d be watching from the sidelines like so many assistant professors who never got tenure. A discovery like this could propel him into a full professorship. Perhaps there would be a bidding war for his services, and he’d become chairman of a department. His grantors would certainly want to reward him with more grants. His ticket would be punched. But only if he were first to publish. That’s how the score was kept.
While Duncan worried, Maggie Cross wondered whether he was as attracted to her as she was to him. She admired him. He wasn’t brilliant, nor was he handsome. And he certainly wasn’t rich. But she admired his determination and resilience. He was the type of person who once starting something didn’t quit until the job was finished. And he was tall, which was important to her since she stood five-ten.
Obsessive, like an artist. Closer to fifty than forty, she had become settled in her ways, but she wanted to use her interest in insects as a way to meet people, particularly men. But not just any man. Someone like Howard Duncan. She didn’t expect to have a crush on Duncan. It developed naturally, slow at first and then, voila, crush. That’s what she told herself; it was a crush. Silly schoolgirl fling. But she had begun fantasizing about having a relationship with him, and it was becoming difficult for her to hide it. She suspected Hamel had figured it out. He was good at that, in tune with people’s feelings. You would expect him to be empathetic, but he wasn’t. He was well read and informed but lacked ambition, which was why subservience came naturally, and he didn’t mind being bossed around by her. He’d grown accustomed to it. He was good at ingratiating himself with well-off women, had done it for years. Now in his mid-forties, he was like a low maintenance cousin.