Free Stake & Eggs by Laura Childs Page B

suspect.
    “Ducovny?” said Sam. “Your Ducovny? The guy who won’t kill a beetle?”
    “Exactly,” said Suzanne. “That’s what I told Doogie. He’s, like, mouse potatoes.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I don’t know, I just made it up. I guess I meant small potatoes. Nothing there. That
     Doogie is way off base.”
    “Except for the wire,” said Sam.
    “Anybody could have cut that wire,” said Suzanne. “It was just…I don’t know, there
     for the cutting.”
    “And Ducovny really asked you to intercede?” said Sam. He paused, a fork in one hand,
     a knife in the other. “Please tell me you’re not going to.”
    “No, of course not,” said Suzanne. Feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t told him
     the whole truth, she took a quick gulp of wine, then said, “Oh, and then Claudia Busacker
     showed up to take the grand tour and see exactly where her husband spent his last
     few moments on earth.”
    “Bad day at Black Rock.”
    “You have no idea,” said Suzanne. “Poor Claudia, I felt terrible for her. Can you
     imagine what she put herself through by going back into those woods? To visit the
     very spot where her husband was killed? Of course, I also thought she was incredibly
     strong-willed to be able to do that.”
    “I’ve seen a lot of that over the years,” said Sam. “People who just need to have
     a sense of certainty and gain a sense of closure and peace.”
    “Even though the circumstances of their loved one’s death might be considered horrific?”
     asked Suzanne.
    “Yes,” Sam replied. “The bereaved often have the need to physically view the place
     where their loved one died. They need to burn the particular details into their memory.
     Otherwise, they end up regretting it for years after, wishing they’d gone back for
     a look. So for Claudia’s mental health, it was probably better in the long run that
     she saw the place where her husband was killed.”
    “She didn’t seem better off,” said Suzanne. “In fact, she seemed more upset.”
    “That’s because she’s still processing it,” said Sam.
    “But the circumstances…” Suzanne hesitated. “It keeps gnawing at me. I mean, how exactly
     does someone get decapitated by a stretched wire?”
    Sam looked at her with some concern. “You want the clinical details?”
    Suzanne nodded. “Maybe I do.”
    “I’d say Busacker’s death was brutally clean and efficient,” said Sam, switching to
     a more professional, medical tone of voice. “It would appear the wire caught him directly
     on the neck, under his chin, where he was most vulnerable. Couple that with his high
     rate of speed on the snowmobile, and it was a recipe for disaster.”
    “He was decapitated,” said Suzanne. “So that’s the
cause
of death?”
    “After being deprived of circulating oxygenated blood, his brain died within minutes,”
     said Sam.
    Suzanne winced. “Did he feel any pain?”
    “Most likely not,” said Sam. “I think the whole episode happened too quickly for him
     to experience pain or for his brain to register any reaction. Kind of like…the old
     French guillotine.”
    “Wow.”
    They were both quiet for a moment, almost as if they’d mutually agreed to observe
     a moment of silence for Busacker. The only things moving in the room were the candles
     flickering in front of them, slowly dripping rivulets of white wax.
    “I’m nearly positive I heard a second snowmobile,” said Suzanne. “Just minutes before
     Busacker was killed.”
    “You think someone else was out there?”
    “I do, but I can’t prove it. The snow was pelting down like crazy, pretty much obliterating
     any other tracks.” Suzanne sighed. “So…I don’t know. Maybe Busacker was being chased?
     Maybe that’s why his sled was running so fast when he died?”
    “Could have happened,” said Sam. “Now it’s up to Sheriff Doogie to sort everything
     out. I imagine he stopped by today?”
    “A couple of times,” said Suzanne. “First