Nick of Time Read Online Free PDF

wanted to rib Nick about his upcoming wedding. Everyone had a joke or a remark or some spurious piece of advice about the wedding ceremony or the challenges of adjusting to married life—or even his wedding night. And the more they talked, the more irritated Nick became. When he was at Vidocq he was a professional among colleagues, but they were treating him like some kind of . . . person . He didn’t understand; he was exactly the same person he had been at the last meeting—Dr. Nick Polchak, forensic entomologist, member of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, diplomate of the American Board of Forensic Entomology—but somehow his upcoming change in marital status had overshadowed all that. It made him feel naked and exposed; it made him feel disrespected and demeaned.
    It made him feel like getting out of there—but he wasn’t sure where he would go.
    After lunch, as the waitresses served coffee, the first of the presenters stepped up to the podium—a homicide detective from some little town outside San Antonio. The Vidocq members had heard more than three hundred cases since the society’s inception, and on average they now considered two new cases per month. The lights dimmed and the homicide detective began his PowerPoint presentation: crime scene photos of a woman’s body sprawled awkwardly at the foot of a bed; a close-up of the face with that familiar vacant stare; more close-ups of the hands and entry wounds and blood spatter on the floor and the foot of the bed; and there was a wooden ruler in each photo to provide scale and perspective.
    In half an hour the detective concluded his presentation and the floor was opened to questions and comments. That was the time when each Vidocq member began to contribute from his area of specialization, asking questions and challenging ungrounded assumptions and offering suggestions for possible new avenues of investigation. That was the part of the meeting Nick loved, when his mind took on a razor edge as he searched with his colleagues for missing connections and overlooked details . . . but today he was having trouble concentrating.
    Nick wasn’t the only one who loved these meetings; Pete Boudreau practically lived for them. When Pete made the decision to retire from teaching at Penn State, Nick thought it was a mistake; when Pete and Lila moved back to Philadelphia to set up shop as a private forensic consultant, Nick knew it wouldn’t work—there was barely enough work out there for a forensic entomologist, and forensic botany was an even more obscure trade. And when Pete lost Lila to ovarian cancer six years ago—well, he lost just about everything he had left. A brilliant palynologist, a true forensic pioneer, with nothing to do and no one in need of his services . . . Vidocq was all Pete had left. Pete lived for these monthly Vidocq meetings, a place where someone actually had need of his knowledge and experience. He spent countless hours between meetings consulting with presenters, offering his services free of charge whenever he was asked. Vidocq was where Pete belonged; Vidocq was where Pete came alive—and Pete had specifically asked Nick to meet him here today.
    So where was Pete Boudreau?
    When the presentations concluded, the meeting broke up; some members left while some remained behind to offer their business cards or further suggestions to the presenters.
    Kegan turned to Nick. “Where to now?” she asked.
    “I don’t know,” Nick said. “I was supposed to meet Pete and catch up, so . . . I’m not sure.”
    “Well, good luck with the wedding,” Kegan said. “Let me know what it’s like to be married.”
    Nick turned and looked at her. “You’re not married?”
    “Nick—after all the times we’ve worked together, you don’t even know if I’m married?”
    “I never asked.”
    “All those late hours working together, all those weekends— you think I would have put in that much time if I was married?”
    “I