Buck Fever (17 page)

“I doubt it. He’s never done anything in the past. Plus, the rips look more like they were done with a fireplace poker.”

“Maybe this?” The officer held up deer antlers.

“What, the…maybe…I guess. These were downstairs. I don’t get it, why would she do this? Or, maybe the dog brought them upstairs. God, I don’t know, I’m so confused.”

The police officer helped Hermanski replace the patio door and escorted him out the front door. Hermanski looked back inside and felt tears run down his cheek as he gently closed and locked the front door.

~ ~ ~

“Does your wife take any medication other than for thyroid? She’s showing several enzymes in her blood as a result of an anti-depressant,” the doctor said.

“Not that I know of. She’s been a little depressed lately, but isn’t taking anything. She seemed fine this morning except for hot flashes. Should I be worried?” Hermanski said.

Mandi Hermanski lay sleeping in a nearby hospital bed. A plasma bag hung over her connected by a tube to her wrist. She breathed erratically. Her eyes roamed endlessly under closed eyelids.

“She’s in a coma, but I expect her to wake up within the hour. See, she’s dreaming. It’s more like a drug-induced blackout than a coma,” the doctor said, pointing to her eyes. “Can you tell me what she had to eat or drink today?”

“She had a big breakfast: fried deer meat, eggs, coffee and toast. I bagged a deer last week and she wanted some venison steaks for breakfast. Beyond that, I don’t know. She held a broken wineglass in her hand on the floor, so she probably had a glass or two.”

“You went deer hunting? Was it a nice buck? Since interning here, I don’t have time to hunt anymore.”

“It was an eight-pointer. Actually, I didn’t shoot it. A couple of friends were with me when we found it up north near West Branch. Turned out to be the buck shot by the guy from Port Huron who was in the papers. You might have read about him, he had an asthma attack and his buddy carried him out of the woods.”

“Really? What a coincidence. I heard he went off the deep end for a while as if he was reacting to a psychedelic drug. Hmm, I wonder...”

“What’s on your mind, Doc?”

“I’d like to see the results of blood work for this Port Huron fellow. If his blood contains similar enzymes to your wife’s blood, then maybe there’s a connection.”

“Connection? How? You think it might have something to do with the deer?”

“Have you felt at all strange in the past week since hunting? How about you’re hunting pals?”

“I’ve felt fine. One of the guys with me did have several episodes of dizziness after the trip, but his doctor determined it was from an allergy drug he was taking. We did have a weird incident with the dog and the deer head. The dog apparently rummaged through the garbage and...” Hermanski continued and explained the events leading up to having an insurance adjuster visit Mandi.

“Now I’m very intrigued. Did your hunting partner encounter any strange dreams along with his dizziness?”

“He said he had several dreams where he felt like he was running with the deer and a hunter was shooting at him. He’s also developed a curious ability to add numbers quickly, or so he says. I haven’t witnessed it, though. Doctors don’t usually think beyond their current patient’s problems, so why the interest?”

“I interned two summers in Africa for the World Health Organization chasing diseases along the Nile. I’ve learned to see the big picture. Could you provide me with the telephone numbers of your friend and the fellow from Port Huron? I would like to get them in here for blood tests. I’m going to run a couple of additional tests on your wife’s blood. These are costly and your insurance company probably won’t pay for them, but I think I can get them covered through National Disease Control testing funds.”

“If there is some connection to the deer, then Mandi might have ingested something from the deer meat, right?”

“An outside chance; I suggest you don’t eat more of it.”

“There is one thing I forgot. A police investigator did a test on the deer blood because of the deer-head incident and told me it contained antibodies similar to those of a man in West Branch who was gored to death. But, he didn’t make a big deal out of it, just another coincidence.”

“You mean the Lickshill killing? Detroit Times printed a story about all the coincidental accidents happening in Ogemaw County.”

“Yes, I believe his name was Lickshill.”

“Do you know the name of this police investigator?”

“Josh Morris—out of Troy.”

Chapter 27

“S
hould we see if Bob Sanguini is in his office?” Kottle asked.

“Sure, we can call the DNR from there. We need to fill him in as a courtesy anyway,” Dingman said.

~ ~ ~

The three reporters walked from the funeral home to the West Branch Herald news office. Porter rapped on the front entrance door. Bob Sanguini, the editor they met previously, opened the door and welcomed the three into his office.

“Hi, Bob, you remember Katie and know Louis Dingman from a phone conversation you two had last week.”

“Yes, come on in. I’m just putting tomorrow’s edition to bed. You folks have any startling revelations to tell me? I take it you all think there’s more to the story than just a bizarre set of unrelated circumstances,” he said.

“Here’s what we know,” Porter said, taking his notebook from his jacket. He read several notes he made regarding Lickshill and the Ergotamine toxin. Kottle described the deer-ramming incident on the freeway.

“We have an appointment at two PM to talk to the DNR by phone. Want to join us?” Dingman said.

“It’s two o’clock as we speak,” Sanguini said, looking at his watch. “Oh, you want to use
my
phone? Sure, what’s the number?” Porter handed him a piece of paper.

“Hello, DNR Roscommon, Link Lawrence speaking,” said a voice over the speakerphone.

“Link, this is Louis Dingman of the Detroit Times, along with...” Dingman said, introducing everyone. He continued, requesting information regarding the unusual behavior of the deer in the area, and any knowledge or concerns the DNR might have relative to diseases.

“Nothing I can share with you at this time. We are assessing the situation regarding unusual behavior within the local deer herd, but have not found anything specific.”

“There have been indications of Ergotamine poisoning within the local region related to a rotting grain fungus. Are you aware of this?”

“Ergotamine? Never heard of it.”

“It’s from the Ergot fungus, which attacks wheat and rye grains mostly, and can cause both human and animal health problems due to its toxicity. A local mortician, Mr. Sulkin, who does work for the Medical Examiner, briefed us about it. He said he told the Medical Examiner about it and they notified you.”

“Really, I’ll make some calls.”

“Okay, we will touch bases with you in a couple of days,” Dingman said and hung up. “Not much help there. With any luck, we will be leading the investigation on this. Have to love the news business. If not for us, the world would still be using leeches to solve medical problems.”

“I hear their use is coming back as an acceptable medical approach for certain diseases,” Kottle said.

“That’s what I mean; because some reporter wrote an article about an experiment using leeches, everyone thinks it’s a cure-all again.”

“Well folks, you up to a late lunch? The place up the street grills a mean burger and fries,” Sanguini said.

Dingman nodded. “A shell of Springer ale sounds good. Shall we go, then?”

Sanguini and Dingman led the way to the front entrance with Kottle and Porter behind.

~ ~ ~

Kottle shoved the last bite of her Hunter’s Burger in her mouth. She marveled at the super-sized pickle adorning her plate and waved it briefly at Porter when Dingman and Sanguini looked away. Dingman held up his second glass of ale, observed the brown color and declared it perfect. He ordered a chicken sandwich. Sanguini ate a salad laced with chicken and Porter devoured a fish sandwich.

“I eat the red meat, and you all order chicken and fish. What’s wrong with this picture?” Kottle said, smiling. She just finished a rare glass of beer. She usually drank wine, and only on weekends. “What’s in this meat? It tastes like ground filet mignon.”

Sanguini pointed at a sign over the bar: “Our Hunter’s Burger is made from Black Angus beef ground with local venison.”

“Huh? Oh, dear God, deer meat?” Kottle’s face turned red. “After seeing Lickshill, I don’t think I should be eating deer meat.”

“It gives the burger a nice flavor don’t you think? The tourists love it,” Sanguini said.

“I think I’m going to puke,” Kottle said. “Miss, could I have another?” She held up her glass. A voluptuous mid-thirties server responded with a full glass of beer. “This should get rid of the toxins.” Kottle lifted it to her mouth and chugged half the bottle.

Porter half smiled, amused by her behavior. “She doesn’t get out much,” he explained.

Sanguini and Dingman laughed and reverted to sports talk.

“Do you have those test samples?” Kottle asked Dingman. “Did anyone remember to take them from that screwball?”

“Samples? Screwball?” Sanguini asked.

“Yes, my dear, I have them right here,” Dingman said, patting his coat pocket. “She is referring to Mr. Sulkin’s bizarre behavior we encountered earlier. Have you noticed any difference in him the last couple of days?”

“I haven’t had a need to talk to him lately, but the funeral director over at the home mentioned something puzzling to me yesterday. He said Sulkin submitted an order to his chemical vendor for Hydrazine, Ether and some unusual compounds, and was wondering if I knew of any investigation going on requiring those substances. I didn’t have a clue.”

“Hmm, let me capture that.” Dingman pulled a small notepad and pencil from his inside coat pocket, wrote the names of the chemicals and stuffed it back into his pocket. “See, my dear, comes in handy even for me,” he said, looking at Kottle. She forced a smile.

~ ~ ~

Dingman excused himself and walked to the restroom. On his way back, he stopped briefly at the bar to chat with the woman who delivered beer to their table earlier.

“You sell many Hunter’s Burgers this time of year?” he asked.

“Your friend ordered the first one in two weeks. We’ve been out of venison since hunting season started. We depend on a few hunters to provide the meat. It’s mainly a novelty for tourists and downstate hunters. The locals think it’s a joke, though.”

“Interesting,” Dingman said, making notes. “Where did today’s venison come from?”

“A wrecker driver brought over a whole deer this morning.”

“Do you know where he got it?” Dingman asked.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to the owner. He’s not here right now, though.”

“Please give him this card. I’m from the Detroit Times. Tell him he should call me if anything unusual happens around here in the next couple of days.”

“Oh, you’re a newspaper reporter from Detroit? You want my name?” the woman said, her face beaming.

“Sure, why not. Maybe I’ll quote you in the newspaper and give this place some free exposure.”

She provided her name and phone number, and told Dingman to call her anytime he’s in town. He scribbled some more notes and walked back to the table to join the other reporters.

~ ~ ~

“Are you making time with the local scenery?” Sanguini remarked.

“Never know where the emotional heart of your story is going to come from,” Dingman said, winking.

Kottle and Porter were deep into a side conversation about upcoming weekend activities. She hung on Porter with an obvious effect of too much alcohol.

“Are you feeling okay, my dear?” Dingman asked. “Your face is quite flushed.”

“Huh? Oh, it is?” Kottle said. She pushed her right hand into her purse and pulled out a small compact mirror. “Oh, my God, I’m breaking out with hives. Why didn’t you say something, Jeb?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“I feel dizzy. Maybe it’s time to leave. I’ve got to hit the lady’s room first.” She stood up, stuffed the mirror into her purse and staggered toward the bar.”

“Hope she’s okay,” Sanguini said. Dingman watched her walk and shook his head.

“She’s fine. Her cheeks always get red after a few drinks,” Porter said, setting his own mind at ease.

Dingman shared his information about the deer meat as the three waited for Kottle’s return.

“Could that be the one you hit this morning? Doesn’t a dead deer have to go through the
rigor-mortis
cycle for a couple of days before eating?” Porter wondered.

“My thinking exactly.”

“I will talk to the owner when he gets back this afternoon. I don’t think anyone should be eating that meat,” Sanguini said. The two reporters agreed.

~ ~ ~

Kottle stared into the mirror over the sink getting her bearings.

The restroom was small: a toilet in the back, an old chipped enamel sink, a mirror and hand towels in front by the door. Sticky flypaper hung near an overhead light, saturated with dozens of dead insects. A small cracked window over the toilet allowed fresh air and flies to pass freely.

Her face seemed irregularly shaped in the mirror. She moved side to side, surveying the extent of the rash. She reached up and poked the mirror. Her hand went through it and touched the face on the other side.

Eee...what’s happening?
She tried yelling for help, but only her lips moved. She marveled at the face in the mirror. She could touch it. Not her face, but someone who looked like her, almost a twin.

“Who are you?” she said, her mouth suddenly making sounds.

“Raaachel,” the face in the mirror responded slowly.

“Rachel? Rachel who?”

“Raaachel,” the face said again, pointing back at her.

“I’m Katie, not Rachel.” Kottle said.

Oh, my God
, a startling awareness rushed up from her memory.
My twin sister, Rachel, died. She died and I never got to know her.
Tears streaked down her cheeks. The face in the mirror suddenly lunged forward with mouth open, biting down on her index finger. Kottle tried pulling her hand from inside the mirror. It was stuck. The face was biting her. She felt excruciating pain and shouted, “Help me, someone! Dear, God, Rachel has my finger. She’s going to bite it off!”