“I’m Nick Stokes, with the Vegas Crime Lab.” Nick smiled back. “I’m following up on the break-in you had five weeks ago.”
McKay stepped back. “Come in, come in. I was just doing a little rehearsing.”
Nick stepped inside and glanced around. The waiting room was tiny, only a single chair and a small desk with a computer on it. The standard diplomas and certificates hung on the wall, but the largest space was given over to a framed, glassed-in poster that showed a beaming Dr. McKay in a red tuxedo, with the puppet perched on his lap. DOC AND CHOMPERS, LIVE AT THE MIRADO ROOM! the lettering underneath read.
“Chompers, huh?” said Nick.
Chompers nodded. “I’m a star!” he said. McKay’s lips hardly moved at all. “This guy’s just my assistant. When I get a decent entourage he’s H-I-S-T-O… R…” He stopped.
“Y?” said Nick.
“Because he always forgets my damn coffee!” the puppet snapped.
Nick laughed. “I’m a little confused. I thought you were a surgeon, not a performer.”
McKay shrugged. “Who says I can’t be both? Dental surgery pays well enough that I don’t have to do it full-time, and I always got a kick out of ventriloquism. I made the puppet to calm down kids who were worried about having their teeth worked on, to show them exactly what I was going to do, and-well, things kinda snowballed. I’m not exactly a superstar, but I do a few shows here and there and enjoy myself.”
“Well, this is the town for that. So you’re not here all the time?”
“No, only a couple of days a week. I have a part-time receptionist, but she’s not in today.” McKay took the puppet off, set it down on the chair. “So, what brings you here today? You catch the guys?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m actually investigating another case, one I think might be related to the burglary at your office. I’ve read the police report, but would you mind going over it with me?”
“No, not at all. Let’s see… I was here by myself. I wasn’t operating that day, I was just doing a little office work. I heard the buzzer and went to the door. No Chompers, though.”
“And that’s when you first saw the suspect?”
“Yes. Older gentleman, in his fifties or sixties, quite thin. He said he wanted to talk to me about his granddaughter and possibly doing some sort of prese ntation for her school-it was a little vague, but I didn’t have any reason to be suspicious. He asked if he could come in out of the heat and maybe have a glass of water. I said sure.”
“Okay. What happened then?”
“There was this big commotion outside-lots of swearing and threats, and then this body smacks into my door. Cracked the glass but didn’t break it. I rush out to see what’s going on, and I see these two-street people, I guess, going at it right outside. I didn’t want to get involved, but I also didn’t want to be calling an ambulance when one of them went through a plate-glass window. I try to get them to calm down, and they just keep yelling at each other-something about how one of them stole the other one’s shoes. I forget all about the old guy in the office, until I hear the alarm on the fire door inside go off. I rush back in, but the old guy’s gone. I put two and two together, and sure enough the two that were fighting have disappeared, too.”
“Doesn’t sound like they took much, though.”
McKay shook his head. “Wasn’t much to take. Some painkillers, a topical anaesthetic I use for sensitive gums, and some surgical thread. I have no idea why they would even bother with the thread.”
“I might. You gave a pretty good description to the responding officer, but I was wondering if there were any details you might have remembered, anything unusual you might h ave noticed or realized since then.”
McKay paused, then said, “Actually, there is. I want to show you something.”
He led Nick halfway down a short hall to a room marked SUPPLIES and used a key to open the door. “I never used to keep this locked, but now I do,” he said. Inside, two walls were stocked floor-to-ceiling with supplies that ranged from boxes of gauze to needles. “The suture supplies are kept on the top shelf. I didn’t even notice some were gone until I did a complete inventory after the robbery. The thing is, I usually have to use a step stool to reach them, and it wasn’t in the supply room that day-I was using it in the surgery, down the hall. The thief would have had a hard time reaching it-and why would he go to all that trouble for sutures, anyway?”
“I’m thinking that’s what he actually came here to get,” said Nick. “But you’re right, he wouldn’t have been able to reach. Unless…”
Nick took out his flashlight. The supply room was dimly lit by a single low-wattage bulb, and the far corners were hard to see. He shone the light on the surface of a back shelf, right next to the wall and about three feet off the floor. There, barely visible, was a dusty footprint.
“… he gave himself a little boost,” said Nick. “Looks like a military boot to me.”
The army and navy surplus store was painted almost entirely in camouflage colors, which wasn’t really that wise a choice; half their stock simply disappeared into the background, giving the odd feeling that you were in a store crammed with nothing. That was far from true, though: locked glass cases displayed weaponry ranging from jackknives to bayonets, while World War II-era gasmasks goggled at customers from behind the counter. Racks of clothing ran in rows to the back of the store, everything from heavy-duty peacoats to lightweight jungle fatigues.
“Excuse me,” said Grissom to the clerk behind the counter.
He was young, probably still in his teens, with a shaved head and a shadow of a mustache. He wore a faded combat jacket that was too big for him and was reading an old copy of Soldier of Fortune magazine.
“Help you?”
“Yes, I was wondering if you remember this man.” Grissom showed him a picture of Gustav Janikov. “I believe he bought a pair of boots here.”
“Yeah, I know him-that’s Gus. He lives on the street, but I guess this is his neighborhood because I always see him around. Came in a few weeks ago, said he’d come into a little extra cash. Wanted something to keep his feet warm and dry, something that would last.”
“I see. Would you happen to know anything else about him-where he slept, other people he talked to?”
The clerk frowned. “I don’t really follow what those guys do. Gave him a good deal, though-guy who pounds the pavement as much as he does needs some decent footwear. Haven’t seen him around la tely.”
“You won’t,” said Grissom.
“Grissom, you never fail to impress me,” said Hodges. “I followed your instructions and ran the samples, checking specifically for any type of insect-related poison. I was thinking maybe a pesticide, an organophosphate or neonicotinoid-but no. So I moved on to actual bugs, venom from black widow or brown recluse spiders-that came up dry, too. But-like you-I never disappoint.” He produced a printout with a flourish and a triumphant smile.
Grissom took it without comment and quickly scanned its contents. “Homobatrachotoxin?” he said.
“Indeed. A steroidal alkaloid that’s ten times more powerful than puffer fish poison and usually found in the skin of poison dart frogs. But what, you say, does a poison from a Costa Rican amphibian have to do with insects-”
“Phyllobates doesn’t produce the poison itself,” said Grissom. “Members of the genus aren’t poisonous when raised in captivity. It’s thought that they process the toxin out of the environment-probably something they eat.”
Hodges’s smile faded a little. “Well, of course you’d know that. The most likely contender is the Melyrid beetle, which is loaded with the stuff.”