To hasten her return, she whipped off the robe and threw it to the floor. Cell phone clutched high, she sloshed back through the water, clambered over, and crawled to her perch.
Just as she peeked, cell camera ready, Dittmer said, “That’s the five-minute warning knock.” He slithered out of the spa.
Her photos when she scrutinized them seconds later were of a pair of butts, one red, one tanned.
Chapter Thirty
Alexa sped Michael Phelps-speed through her pool and dashed, robeless, dripping, down the hallway through the waiting area and into the ladies’ locker room. Then she remembered the locker key in the robe pocket. “Crap.” She ran back to her private spa room, nearly knocking over Hanna.
“You’ve left?”
“Well, I needed to use the facilities,” Alexa said, panting.
Hanna blocked her access.
“I need my robe and towel.”
“I’m sorry. Your time is up,” the escort said. “You can see—”
“Yes! But I still need my robe. The key to the locker…”
Alexa shouldered past Hanna and tried the door.
Locked.
“Let me in!” She hadn’t meant to shout.
Hanna unlocked the door and stepped aside. Alexa rushed in, grabbed the robe, and dashed away, Hanna’s “I hope you had a pleasant soak” following her down the hall.
She had been tempted to sprint directly to the parking lot but spent three eternal minutes tugging off the clingy tog and shoving damp body parts into decency.
Dittmer’s black Honda was exiting onto Queen’s Drive.
“Damn.” She frantically searched the parking lot for another departing car, not knowing what to look for. In ten minutes, the only people who left were a young couple, arms tight around each other, laughing and nuzzling.
On the chance that Mystery Philip hadn’t left the spa, Alexa hustled inside. No handsome bald man in the gift store or having a second smoothie in the café. She couldn’t very well search the men’s locker room, though she was tempted.
The ticket line was empty. Alexa marched up to the same ticket agent she had earlier. “I need to know who signed in and paid for private spa Number Three this past hour. There were two people.”
“I’m not allowed to share that information,” the agent responded, her bright smile fading.
“I need to speak with the manager then,” Alexa said, digging out her badge. “This is a police investigation.”
The manager refused to divulge the information as well and said to come back with a search warrant.
Alexa left the spa, measuring equal parts defeat and victory. Released endorphins coated her brain as if she had run the length of the Kaituna. Instead of waiting until she returned to the station, she sat in her car and dialed, surprised the DI answered on the first ring.
“Horne here,” came the familiar bark.
“It’s Alexa.”
“Where are you? I thought you’d be back by now.”
“Rawiri Wright gave me some information that I followed up on. I’m leaving the Polynesian Spa right now and heading back. Will you be…?”
“The Polynesian Spa?” Horne asked.
“I’ll explain when I get back. I wanted to make sure you’d be available.”
“I’ll be waiting in my office.”
It was past five o’clock when she parked and entered the station. Sharon Welles was tidying her desk. Her cat eyes raked Alexa’s disheveled appearance. The hint of makeup Alexa had applied this morning long gone, her hair a windblown spa frizz, and—she looked down—blouse misbuttoned, jeans torn at the knee.
“Long day,” she said to Welles. “DI Horne is waiting for me.”
The DI was on his phone as Alexa knocked and entered. He motioned for her to sit while he finished.
“That was Trimble following up on the mayor’s whereabouts the night Koppel was killed. Security cameras confirm she left Tulip Fest at the civic center at 9:05 p.m. Her husband says she arrived home at 9:20. They watched tellie and went to bed.”
Alexa was chomping to tell about her afternoon, but she held back. “Koppel’s time of death was between nine p.m. and midnight, right?” she asked. “So we have to rely on a husband’s alibi.”
“Not ideal,” Horne replied. His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked her up and down.
“Is Trimble around?” Alexa asked, glad she had aligned her buttons. “I asked him to check out the evening janitor. Carl Rogers. He might have been the face I saw in the lab window last night. He could also be responsible for leaving the basement door ajar.”
“Trimble is in the conference room. He asked an hour ago where you were, and I didn’t know what to tell him.” Horne frowned. “What information did you get from Rawiri Wright, and where have you been?”
Finally.
She took a deep breath and launched into her afternoon, first with Wright, then at Dittmer’s shop, and ending with her spa visit.
The DI stayed quiet, his blue eyes intense and unwavering. “I have a photograph but it’s from behind. I’m not sure it will be of any use,” she finished, cringing at her unintentional pun. Horne’s phone rang. He ignored it and continued staring, making Alexa shift.
“I’m trying to process this information. But I’m stuck on the fact that you stepped beyond the bounds of your contract.” He shook his head. “You are not a police officer. You have been hired as a temporary forensics examiner.”
Alexa didn’t speak.
“You deliberately exposed yourself to danger and perhaps put the investigation in peril.”
Or perhaps solved it.
“From here on out, you need to limit your activities to the lab. Let’s see the photograph.”
“It probably won’t help,” she stalled.
“Do you have a photo or not?” Horne’s face turned stony.
She fiddled with her phone and located the picture of the bare butts. Even the heads of the men were cut off. “Here.”
After a few seconds of silence, Horne laughed, a chortle first but then a deep eruption, a release-from-tension laugh that left his eyes wet and sparkling.
“I’m sorry. By the time I got my cell phone…”
He ignored her, staring at the photo again, laughter fading. He touched the screen and stared harder. “Look,” he said, handing the phone back to Alexa. “I think that’s a tattoo.”
Wonder of wonders: mystery man had a tiki tattooed on his left cheek.
“Let’s head to the conference room,” Horne said, springing up. “And make a plan.”
Rangiora and a strange woman were studying photos on the conference table. The woman was using a magnifying glass.
“And you are?” Horne asked.
“Marija Robertova, forensic anthropologist,” she answered, standing back up. “I have arrived from Auckland.” Her accent was foreign, guttural.
“You made good time. I’m DI Horne, and this is Alexa Glock, temporary forensics examiner. She can fill you in on what was found on the island.”
“I’m doing that, sir,” said Rangiora. “I’ll be taking Dr. Robertova to Pirongia early in the morning.”
“What do you think?” Horne asked, pointing to the photos of the femur and grave site.
“I cannot judge based on these,” Dr. Robertova said. “It does appear the grave was shallow. The disarticulation indicates…”
Alexa caught Rangiora’s puzzled look. “Disarticulation is when all the flesh has disappeared, right?”
“That is correct,” she answered. “In shallow graves, this process takes between six and twelve months. In deeper graves, it takes longer. Let’s hope there’s a wider bone field. A skull will help determine ethnicity and gender.”
“How come the bones aren’t white? I thought ancient bones turned white,” Rangiora s
aid.
“The bleaching of bones only occurs if exposed to sunlight. It looks as if the decay process was subterranean.”
“All good,” said the DI. “We need to know how old the bones are and cause of death. A gentleman from Ministry of Culture and Heritage will be accompanying you. He’ll inspect the tomb to assess any possible damage and theft.” He looked around. “Where’s the rest of the team?” he asked Rangiora. “Are Officers Cooper and Walker back from the island?”
“Yes. They’re on the way to the station. Bringing sammies.”
“Glock has some information to share, but I’d rather wait until everyone is here. Let’s reconvene in fifteen.” He did an about-face and left the room.
The short break gave Alexa a chance to talk with the anthropologist. “Do you work at the forensics lab in Auckland?” she asked when Rangiora stepped away.
“No, no. I am working on a second PhD at Auckland University. I am required to take the occasional contract job.” The doctor was wide and blunt; her short, dark hair, interspersed with silver strands, swished back and forth as she talked. “I’m studying data-collection protocol.”
Alex thought that sounded as exciting as tooth decay. “Did Officer Rangiora tell you the skeletal remains might be that of a slave?
“No, but the shallowness of the grave in Maori custom signals the deceased was not revered; his gods and peoples had forsaken him.”
Alexa nodded, impressed.
“However, this is speculation.”
“How will you determine how old the bones are?” Alexa knew weather and soil were main factors.
“Estimating time of death is not an exact science, you know. First, I will search for artifacts. Bits of clothing, jewelry, remains of a casket. If those are not available, I will transport the bones to the lab and begin chemical testing. Do you suspect foul play?”
“Keep an open mind,” Alexa said. The aroma of deli meat, oil, and vinegar pushed her ravenous button.
“Come and get it,” Walker bellowed, setting a paper sack and napkins on the conference table.
The team dug in, and Rangiora introduced Dr. Robertova to Trimble, McNamara, Cooper, and Walker.
“Have a sandwich,” said Trimble, offering her the white paper bag.
The doctor declined. “I shall go check into my motel and be back first thing in the morning.”
As they sat around chewing, Walker filled them in on what happened after they left the island.
“Coop used a rod and trawling hook to snag what turned out to be a sleeping bag halfway down the cliff,” he said, admiration in his voice. “Looked like she was reeling in a big shark.”
Cooper’s mouth turned slightly upward.
“Where did the rod come from?” Trimble asked.
“Herera’s shack,” Walker answered, his voice coated with pride. “I remembered seeing it when we were there.” He stuffed the last of his sub into his mouth and wiped his hands.
“So you contaminated more evidence?” McNamara growled.
Walker, stunned, stopped chewing.
“Shove it,” Rangiora said to McNamara. “Good call, I’d say.”
Alexa, reviewing her notes, liked the way Rangiora defended his junior officer. She had just taken a large bite of roast beef, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and roll when she read the words mau rākau and thought of those certificates hanging in Dittmer’s office. She chewed and swallowed. “Anyone know what”—she knew she would mispronounce them—“m-a-u r-a-k-a-u is?”
Cooper looked surprised. “Mau rākau?”
Alexa nodded.
“It means to bear weaponry.” Cooper stared at her. “It’s Maori martial arts with spears and clubs.”
As the DI walked in, Alexa remembered the deft way Dittmer handled the greenstone club from the glass case.
“There’s a sammie left, Senior,” Rangiora said.
“No thanks.” Horne, all business, walked up to the corkboard. “Ms. Glock?”
Alexa choked down another bite, imagined pepper in her teeth, and hobbled to the board. She needed a swig of water.
“I had a busy afternoon,” she started and then stopped. Everyone in the room had had a busy afternoon. “I met with Rawiri Wright, the curator of Rotorua Museum, about looting and selling antiquities. He assured me he didn’t deal with looters but his predecessor, a man named William Dittmer, might have.”
“Wait. What are you going on about?” McNamara interrupted, his mouth full. “You’re wasting time.”
“Let Glock—” Horne began to say.
“I dropped in on Mr. Dittmer at his antiques shop on Tarangi Street.” Alexa didn’t need the DI to run interference. “There are two greenstone clubs in his shop. He argued for increasing the museum’s collection, and I believe he practices Maori martial arts.” She looked toward Officer Cooper and nodded.
“I followed him when he left his shop and was able to listen to a meeting he had with a man named Philip. Dittmer told Philip he had a whalebone spear, greenstone clubs, and a skull.”
“A skull?” Rangiora interrupted. “Like the one missing from the bones you tripped over?”
“Well, we can’t be sure it’s missing until we go back and properly search. But Dittmer’s buddy mentioned an overseas buyer.”
“Slimy bastards,” McNamara said. “Stealing from the Maoris.”
“What connects Dittmer to Koppel?” Horne asked.
“Gotta be the money,” Trimble replied. “That secret bank account.”
“That cashier’s check from the account. Who was it made out to?” Horne asked.
Trimble searched his notes. “Wei Zhong. Found him. He’s an engineer in town. Works at Concrete Answers. Koppel paid him a deposit to fix the cracked foundation at his house.”
“Are you having me on?” McNamara bellowed. “Who risks his jolly good life for home repairs?”
Alexa remembered something and cleared her throat. Everyone turned to stare.
“Dittmer mentioned his supplier had an accident and would no longer be able to assist them.”
The room hushed, the team digesting more than sandwiches.
“This Dittmer chap. He could be our man,” Trimble said. “Did you tape the conversation?”
“No. Events happened too quickly,” Alexa explained.
“Sounds like a smuggling ring,” the DI said. “More than one person is involved. Herera either got in the way or was contributing.”
“So you don’t know who Dittmer was talking to?” Rangiora asked.
“I got a good look at him.” All of him. “My hunch is that this Philip is connected to an auction house.” She checked her notes. “He mentioned ‘being busy at the house’ and a catalog.” She looked at the printout Dittmer had supplied. “Bailey & Barre Auction House. In Auckland.”
“Where did this meeting take place?” Trimble asked. “How were you able to listen in?”
“The Polynesian Spa,” Alexa replied, ready for what all. “In a private spa. I booked the spa next door and heard the conversation.”
“Why didn’t you call us?” Rangiora said, scowling. “You aren’t a detective.”
“I should have.”
“You got balls, I’ll give you that,” McNamara said.
“Ms. Glock got a photo. Would you share?” Horne wasn’t asking; he was commanding.
Alexa pulled the photo up and handed it to Rangiora. As the phone made the rounds, Alexa watched the reactions. Rangiora looked at her with disbelief. McNamara shook his head. “Pervs, eh?” When it got to Walker, he squawked, “Bare arses? I’m supposed to ask a suspect to bare his bum?”
Cooper was the one who noticed and enlarged the man’s left cheek. She handed the cell back to Rangiora.
“Mr. Spa has a tat,” he said, studying it. “Tiki man.”
The team formed a
plan, including putting a tail on Dittmer, and dispersed.
Alexa dashed after Trimble as he left the room. “Detective?” she called.
“I tried to find you earlier.” He waited for her to catch up.
“What did you find out about the night janitor?”
Trimble opened his folder right in the hallway. “Carl Rogers has a record,” he said. “Possession of a controlled substance and drunk driving.”
“Are you kidding?” Alexa said. “And he works at a police station?”
“He did three months at Mount Edens Corrections Facility. He’s part of a recidivism reduction program for nonviolent offenders. Provide jobs for ex-cons, and they’re less likely to…”
“Yeah, yeah. Less likely to return to prison.”
Trimble frowned.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“I spoke with his boss. The guy said Rogers was showing up, doing a good job. He works five nights a week from six until midnight.” He paused. “Think he was your face in the window?”
“Could have been. Was he in the station when Jenny was attacked?” Alexa asked. “And have you spoken with him?”
“Not on the list. He’ll be coming on duty in a few minutes. I’ll talk with him then. I didn’t want to spook him into not showing.”
“Good thinking. Have you checked his phone records?”
“On it. Waiting on the phone company release.”
Part of the plan the team formed was for Alexa to identify Philip via mug shots on the off chance he had a record. Her eyes blurred and her stomach rumbled as she munched the second half of her sandwich and studied an online parade of defiant or desperate faces.
No luck.
Next, she scrutinized the Bailey & Barre Auction House website, but the only names revealed were those of the owners.
Walker stopped by, looking tired, his ginger hair tousled and an oil stain marring his uniform shirt. “Any luck?”
“No.”
“Senior said for us to head to Auckland first thing. To check out the auction house and see if we can find your man. Meet me at the station at six a.m.”
“You’re sure?” Two hours ago, the DI had told her she was restricted to the lab.
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