Bee Conspiracy, page 4
“May we come in please?” he asked. The intercom buzzed and the door opened.
Duke and Kelso sat in the large dining room of the home waiting for what seemed like an eternity. A large bowl of fruit graced the center of the table and Kelso stared at it. It was the perfect bowl and it screamed paint me! It reminded Duke of the art class he took back in college. Kelso tapped the table as if it were a drum – evoking a jazz bebop vibe.
Finally, an attractive middle-aged woman strode down the stairs in a flowing satin robe, as if she were making her entrance in a film. She carried a lit cigarette in her hand and sat down at the table opposite the two men. “Hello,” she said in a sultry voice. “I’m Madeline Skulberry.”
The men rose to greet her. Duke was reminded of the film Sunset Boulevard. This woman had a femme fatale vibe about her.
Chapter Four
Duke took in this new widow with her film noir graces. The look on her face told she was not pleased to have her rehab routine interrupted by two lowly gendarmes. He was not sure if it was a drug rehab routine or just a series of hot rocks massages, facials and mani-pedis. There was a spot of cold cream near her temple.
Duke weakly smiled as he offered niceties. He really wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. “Mrs. Skulberry, I am Detective Wayne from LAPD and this is US Fish and Wildlife Officer Kelso Bagley. We are here about your husband.”
“We are very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Skulberry,” Kelso offered.
“You may spare me the token sympathy, Detective. I already received the LAPD grief counselor earlier. And please call me Madeline. This Mrs. Stuff is so dated. Besides you didn’t ask me for my preferred pronouns.”
Duke nodded, not wishing to step into any political minefields with a grieving spouse. “Madeline. Did your husband have any enemies? Did anyone make threats against him?”
“No, not that I recall,” Madeline offered. She ran her fingers through her silky hair. “Why?”
Kelso did not hesitate in answering this question. “I believe he was murdered.”
“I thought it was the beehive that killed him?” Madeline replied.
Duke observed Madeline as she rolled her eyes. It was such a perfect three hundred sixty degree turn of the entire iris and pupil that he could not help but be unnerved by it.
Kelso shook his head. “I think there is more to the story. Your husband and I went to entomology school together. When I heard news of his death, I came to check the facts of this case.”
“I had been telling Howard for months to get that beehive removed,” she said.
Duke perked up. “You mean the hive had been there for some time?” he asked.
“Yes! I was scared stiff to go out of the house.” Duke stared at Kelso. Are you satisfied?
Kelso was not deterred by this contradiction of his theory. “How often did your husband visit you while you were here in rehab?” he asked.
“Once or twice.”
Kelso was digging for dirt. “Had the two of you grown apart?”
“You mean did I have a motive to kill my husband? The answer is yes.”
“Why is that?” Kelso asked, surprised that she would be so blatant.
“Let’s just say, Howard had his whores. But if I wanted to kill him, I would not have done it with a beehive. I would have blown his brains out. And secondly, I am an inpatient of this facility and not exactly free to come and go. But if you don’t believe me, feel free to check the security cameras.” She pointed to a couple of round mirrored camera lenses in the corners of the room.
“It was not my intention to upset you, Mrs. Skulberry,” Kelso offered. “If you think of anything else, please let me know.” He handed her his business card. She looked at it.
“You’re with Fish and Wildlife?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” Kelso answered.
“What does this case have to do with either one of those?”
“Bees are insects. Insects are wildlife, Mrs. Skulberry.”
“So you want to exonerate the bees in this crime?”
Duke watched as she rose to her feet and sashayed back towards the massage room. He did not endeavor to answer her rhetorical question. He knew she was one of those women who had to exit with the last word.
***
Duke and Kelso walked through the manicured gardens back to the Dodge Charger. “You said the beehive was planted,” Duke recounted.
“Yeah,” Kelso says. “It was.”
“But she said it was there for months.”
“I’m not buying that,” Kelso said. “You really think she would have let a buzzing hive in her backyard slide for all that time? It was close to the garage. She would have to walk by it every day to get to her car.”
“Why would she lie?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll find out. 7806 Blue Sky Way.”
“What’s that?” Duke asked.
“Address of our next interview.”
Duke plugged the address into his GPS. He didn’t seem to be able to nip this wild goose chase in the bud as soon as he wished.
***
Albert Fossil drove his tractor down the cornrow. It was a pristine field with perfectly planted rows of corn. Their short stalks billowed in the wind. Behind Fossil there was a picture-perfect red barn and a farmhouse with a porch and a rocking chair in front. Beyond that there were several orchards with blooming apple, pear, peach and orange trees. Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this place any better.
The tractor carried two large barrels of pesticide on the back. Behind it was a sprayer that laid down a cloudy mist of liquid. The corn plants wilted slightly as the sprayer loaded their leaves. Fossil finished the row and turned around and did another. It required careful accuracy to make sure the tires of the tractor stayed in their defined grooves so as not to crush the plants. He inhaled from an e-cigarette as he worked.
Fossil parked the tractor next to the barn and opened it. Inside there were not horses, not chickens, not any other livestock. There were only pallets of the very same tanks of pesticide that were on the back of Fossil’s tractor. The pallets were stacked row on row to the ceiling of the barn. Several signs read: Warning: Flammable, but Fossil did not care. He openly triggered the ignition on his e-cigarette and vaped as he rolled another tank of pesticide out towards his tractor.
The sound of buzzing bees could be heard. Fossil walked out behind the barn towards the orchard. A large well-constructed wooden shed lay ahead of him. One might deduce that this was a milking-shed for cows. But there were no cows visible on the farm. Fossil walked towards the shed and the sound of the buzzing bees grew louder. Much louder. Fossil was unperturbed. He puffed another mouthful of vape as he went to investigate. There had to be a large hive under the eaves of the shed. But there was not. There was however a roof vent at the apex of the roof. Bees emerged from this vent in large numbers.
Fossil opened the door to the would-be milking-shed. He did not seem concerned that he might be walking into a hive of bees. There was a beekeeper’s helmet and suit hanging on a hook at the back of the shed, but he paid it no notice. He walked inside. There was no milking stool, no stalls for cows.
There were scaffold jacks along both walls with lateral rail supports in between them. On top of the rail supports were modular wood boxes. They looked like file folder boxes, but they were taller, with a top cover and inner cover laying on two rectangular chambers and a bottom board. There was shelf upon shelf of these hive boxes. The drone of busy bees emanated from each one. They were all connected by a sealed tube to the side of the shed. The bees could escape up and out through the vents in the roof.
Fossil picked up a device with a silver canister surrounded by a metal protective grid around it. On its top was a spout and on its side a bellows. He squeezed the bellows and smoke escaped from the spout. He continued pumping the bellows and spread this smoke throughout the shed so that all of the hives would be exposed to it. The bees almost immediately quieted down. “Relax, relax, relax,” Fossil repeated. He put down the smoker and stepped out of the shed.
At the back of the structure was a large stack of narrower rectangular boxes. They had side flaps with ventilation openings of wire mesh, like “side windows” to the box. At the bottom of the box was an entrance with a plastic plug. These boxes were nuc boxes. Nuc, as in short for nuclear bee colony box. A nuclear bee colony was created from a larger colony or captured swarm. It is centered on a queen bee, the nucleus of the honeybee colony.
Fossil walked over to a pallet with a stack of flat pre-cut cardboard on it. He picked one flat off the stack and built it quickly, folding its sides and making it three dimensional like the others. He added it to the stack of empty nuc boxes already assembled. It looked like the bees were going somewhere and these were their traveling accommodations. But where?
Fossil looked up at the horizon beyond the farm. There were no rolling hills of golden wheat. The pastoral scenery of the farm ended in a barbed wire fence and not far beyond that in the distance loomed the Los Angeles city skyline.
***
The Dodge Charger pulled into the parking lot of a modern industrial office complex. A sleek three-story glass building rose over perfectly manicured lawns and sculpted shrubs. Duke and Kelso got out of the car and walked towards the front door. At the entrance there was a screened tent. A group of kindergarten kids drew pictures of butterflies at a table as their teacher escorted small groups in and out of the neighboring tent. Inside the screened tent were flowering milkweed and thistle plants. Flying from flower to flower were some brightly colored painted lady butterflies. The kids oohed and aahed at the beautiful butterflies.
The sign at the entrance to the office building read: Sage Chemical Incorporated. Kelso took note of the butterfly aviary as they walked past. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he asked.
“What’s that?” Duke inquired.
“The butterfly exhibit. Brought to you by a company that kills butterflies.”
“I don’t think they kill butterflies. Only insect pests, like roaches, flies, gnats...”
“Ha,” Kelso replied. “It’s called greenwashing. They wrap themselves in environmental causes as they’re killing the planet.”
“That’s kind of cynical, isn’t it?”
“I call it as I see it,” Kelso replied.
They entered the building and flashed their badges at the receptionist. She immediately sent them to a suite on the top floor of the building. Gordon Lund, the CEO of the company, greeted them. He was a tall lanky man who evoked Abraham Lincoln but without the beard. “Welcome, Detectives,” he said.
“He’s a detective,” Kelso replied, pointing at Duke. “I work with the Federal government as an officer for the Department of Fish and Wildlife.”
“Gordon Lund, CEO of Sage Chemical.” He shook Duke’s hand.
Duke retracted his hand and suppressed the urge to wipe his palm. “Mr. Lund, we are here to investigate the death of Professor Howard Skulberry. I understand he was doing some consulting work with your company?”
“Yes, that’s right. I can’t express to you how much we are all grieving his loss. It was so unexpected.”
“It’s ironic that he was killed by the very bees your company exterminates,” Kelso answered.
Lund stared blankly. “We are not exterminators.”
“The neonicotinoids in the products you produce decimate bees and other pollinators,” Kelso shot back.
“I must remind you, Officer...”
“Bagley.”
“I must remind you Officer Bagley that there is no established link between our products and colony collapse disorder.”
Duke felt the need to chime in as this conversation was going off track. “To your knowledge, did anyone ever threaten Howard Skulberry, Mr. Lund?”
Lund hesitated for a moment, then answered. “We run into environmental extremists from time to time.”
“Such as?” Kelso inquired.
“Nature First, Earth Freedom Organization, EFO for short. Planetary Life Support – they go by PLS.”
Duke dove in. He was completely uninterested in this entire investigation, but he knew a non-answer when he heard one. “Mr. Lund, to your knowledge, did anyone from one of these organizations ever threaten Howard Skulberry?”
Lund paused again, as if he were a computer searching its internal hard drive. “Not directly per se, but these people have been known to get pretty hostile to companies such as ours.”
Duke drilled down in hopes that he could prove this to be a dead end. “So, to your knowledge, no one has threatened Mr. Skulberry’s life.”
“No, not to my knowledge. If it did happen, Howard certainly didn’t share it with me.”
“We thank you for your time,” Duke replied.
But Kelso was not satisfied. “We’re going to need to take a look at his email.”
“Of course, I’ll have HR set that up,” Lund answered.
Duke sighed. He knew that it was standard procedure to make such a request, but he was tired of this entire goose chase. He would prefer to be back at the station shuffling papers than be out on the street with the fish and wildlife wannabe detective. How could he put the kibosh on this whole affair? How could he send Kelso back to whatever wildlife preserve he came from?
Chapter Five
Duke drove home in his daily driver, a 1977 root beer brown Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Coupe. The car was immaculate, with the stock SSII rims and extra wide Goodyear tires with white raised letters. This was his pride and joy. It had been in his family since his mother purchased the car during the Jimmy Carter presidency. He reached for the restored stock AM/FM radio and turned on the oldies station. They were playing Got to Get You Into My Life, by Earth, Wind and Fire, and he hummed along with the radio. It made him think of Kelso and he thought to himself, Got to Get You Out of My Life.
As if on cue Duke noticed something in the rear-view mirror. It was a large RV tailing him. His first thought was that it was one of those homeless RVs that served as primary residences for transients to park on the streets of LA. But this RV, a Winnebago Chieftain circa 1984 was in mint condition. Most of the transient RVs were in complete disrepair.
He turned the corner and the RV turned as well. Strange but likely coincidental, Duke thought. He did not want to be paranoid. His ex-wife had told him he was too much of a downer because he always considered there was a potential attacker around every corner and beneath every shadow. There was not much he could do about it, that’s just a cop’s life, he had told her. But since she left, he tried to turn down the sensitivity knob on his internal threat assessment.
He made a left and the RV followed. That was strange, also probably coincidental but he could no longer deny his inner voice. It told him this was a threat. He turned once more this time, not because it was his way home but because he wanted to test this potential assailant. His calmer side told him, if someone wanted to follow you would they really pick such an obvious car as a giant vintage RV?
Another switch and the RV veered with him. That was it. He was going to find out who this was. He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the left which caused the rear of the vehicle to spin out in a circular motion. It was your basic doughnut and it left his vehicle facing the RV. Duke opened the glove box and pulled out his Smith and Wesson 9mm. With it in hand he got out of the vehicle and pointed it at the windshield of the RV.
He noticed a sign which read: USFWS Insect Laboratory. Kelso emerged from the RV like nothing was wrong. Duke put his gun down. He was relieved but annoyed at the same time and he could not catch his breath. He put his finger over one nostril and inhaled deeply. Then he released and put his finger on the other side of his nose. In. Out. His last girlfriend had been a yoga nut and she had taught him alternative nostril breathing for stressful situations. This helped but the adrenalin still pulsed through his veins. “What the hell are you doing?” Duke yelled.
“I’m following you home!” Kelso replied. “Captain Brader suggested it. I thought he told you.”
“No,” Duke said. “I’m off duty.” He believed not only in work/life balance, but work/life separation and this clown had just breached the gap.
“I know that! But I need a place to park the insect lab.”
“Is that what this is?” Duke asked, taking in the Winnebago. It had solar panels on its roof along with a small windmill, obviously for the generation of electricity.
“Yeah,” Kelso said. “I just need a place to park it.”
“You can park it in the Walmart parking lot free of charge,” Duke replied.
“Yeah, but I need a power hook up and some water,” Kelso replied.
“You mean your little solar panels are not enough?” Duke pointed to the photovoltaic cells on the roof of the RV.
“No,” Kelso answered.
Horns were honking as traffic built up behind them. Duke made an Italian hand gesture with his elbow at a few drivers passing by and they flipped him off. Then he received a text message on his phone. It was from the Captain: The fish and wildlife officer needs to park his camper at your place. Make sure you make him feel welcome. Really? The Captain sure did have it in for him, didn’t he? This was his own free time; he was not on the clock. He was not a complete slave to the LAPD command structure. This was his life, not theirs.
“You can stay for one night. That’s it!” Duke replied. He got back into his Olds and drove off, hoping that Kelso would not be fast enough to follow him.
***
The UCLA Entomology Department was housed in a small brick structure at the south end of the campus. Students milled about near the fountain in the center of the quad as a black Escalade pulled up. Gordon Lund and his associate, Mr. Tan, stepped out wearing dark suits. Mr. Tan was the Chief Financial Officer for Sage Chemical and he looked stressed out. Sage Chemical stock had been tanking lately. They walked across the quad, quite out of place in this crowd of students wearing shorts and thong sandals. A Frisbee narrowly missed Mr. Tan’s head as he walked. “Watch it!” he yelled at the offending student who launched the Frisbee.
