Unknown Victim

by Kay Hadashi

  “And you’re a devout Catholic?” he asked.

  “Not anymore. I haven’t been to church since then.”

  “Pretty harsh self-punishment, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe, but I just can’t shake the feeling I’m no longer welcome,” she said quietly.

  The CSI van came across the bridge and parked. Detective Kona told them what the situation was and what he wanted done. Both technicians got out high-tech metal detectors, and while wearing headphones wired to the detectors, one of them swept the area in front of the house in a gridwork pattern. While he did that, the other swept the haystack of grass clippings that Gina had made that afternoon.

  “That wasn’t the only thing I found on your service record. You also received a commendation for above and beyond the call of duty, recommended by your field training officer. Pretty unusual for a rookie to get something like that. What happened that time?” Kona asked while they watched the others work.

  Gina crossed her arms. It seemed nothing was private about her previous career. “It was nothing.”

  “They don’t hand out commendations for nothing, Miss Santoro.”

  “I think it was more of an over-reaction by Butch, Sergeant Morrison, than anything real. It was mostly a way of diverting my attention from the shooting onto something positive.”

  Detective Kona simply looked at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Earlier on that same shift as the shooting at the church, we got a call that a robbery was in progress at a liquor store. By the time we got there, the perp was long gone. But before he left, he’d taken a couple of potshots at the store clerk on his way out.”

  “The clerk was hit?”

  She shook her head. “Thankfully not. It was a young pregnant woman working the counter while the owner of the place, her husband, was stocking shelves. She’d done everything we tell them to do, give the perp whatever he wanted and keep their hands up. When the perp shot, the bullets hit bottles behind her, which splashed booze all over the place. It really scared the daylights out of her.”

  “I still don’t understand the point of the commendation. I can see you providing comfort to the woman, and helping her decompress after a traumatic situation, but why the comm?” he asked.

  “Like I said, she was pregnant. Her water broke and the shock put her into labor. I gotta tell you, that kid came fast. The paramedics barely got there in time. As it was, she delivered the baby right there on the floor behind the cash register in a puddle of booze and broken glass.”

  “And you stayed with her and talked her through it?”

  “Unfortunately, she was stuck with me as her coach. There’s something I don’t ever want to do again.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Gina scratched her head. “Just something about hysterical women.”

  “Where was the husband?” Kona asked, chuckling. “Why wasn’t he helping her?”

  “That’s what we wondered. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to be her coach anyway, that her sister was going to help her at the hospital when the time came. Butch was busy just keeping the husband under control outside. Honestly, I wanted to be out there with him.”

  Detective Kona chuckled. “Not big on babies?”

  “I like them just fine, as long as they go home to someone else’s house at the end of the day. Otherwise, let me know when they turn eighteen so I can have a conversation with them.”

  Detective Kona put the small evidence bag containing the watch in a pocket and tucked his yellow pad under an arm. He looked finished except that he wasn’t leaving. “Need to have a little talk with you, Miss Santoro.”

  “Uh oh. This doesn’t sound good. But whatever you’re thinking about me having something to do with that guy’s death, forget it. I had nothing to do with that, except finding him on my front porch.”

  “Which is a lot. Let me explain,” Kona said. “You used to work as a police officer, and weren’t even out of training before you walked away. That makes you a junior investigator at best.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me finish.”

  “Sorry.”

  Kona seemed to reload his lecture. “There’s something suspect about the man’s death, and I can’t put my finger on what that is. But right from the very moment I got here this morning, you’ve been involved with the investigation. Now, here I am, back again on the same day, collecting what might be evidence that you seemed to have found, even trying to direct my thinking into it belonged to the body you found a few hours before. At that time, the man had nothing of value in his pockets, but now suddenly a Rolex shows up. Miss Santoro, what should be a simple case of a homeless man dying of natural causes has become an investigation that I don’t have time for, and you’re right in the middle of it.”

  Gina was wondering how far she needed to walk to find a store that sold cigarettes. "Sorry."

  Detective Kona stood up straight with his chest out. “Even though it seems no crime has been committed, I feel compelled to put your name on a suspect list, and there are no other names.”

  Gina was numb as she watched him get into his car and leave.

  “He’s right. I should’ve listed that stupid watch on eBay.”

  Chapter Ten

  For an old estate that was lost in the woods, the place was looking like Cleveland’s main transit station near the stadium on game day, with all the people coming and going. No sooner had Detective Kona and the CSI van left, when another vehicle came across the little bridge, a small pickup truck. It was mid-evening by then, and in the dim ambient light that the moon offered, she couldn’t tell if she’d seen the vehicle there that day, if someone from her work crew was coming back for some reason.

  “Maybe someone discovered they lost their watch,” she muttered, waiting for someone to get out. She walked slowly to where they parked at the side of the house, reluctant to get too close. When she saw a woman get out of the little pickup, she forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Hi, Millie. You’re out late this evening. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’d like to talk with you for a while. Have you had dinner?”

  Millie must’ve heard about the dead man found on the porch and Gina steeled for yet another lecture. “I was just about to make minestrone. It’ll take me an hour or so, but you’re welcome to join me.”

  “Must be easier now to cook?”

  That was an odd question. “Why?”

  “With the new hot water tank, you have plenty of hot water now, right?”

  “Oh, you heard about that? Yes, I can do the dishes and shower with hot water. Now I just need to get the stove to work right so I can cook a few things.”

  “There’s nothing on the stove right now?” Millie asked.

  “I haven’t started anything, no. Why?”

  “Let’s go somewhere.” Millie handed over the keys for the pickup to Gina. “You can drive.”

  Gina reluctantly took the keys. As much as she’d been looking forward to making a pot of minestrone, the idea of restaurant food sounded better. She was also hesitant about driving someone else’s vehicle. “Me?”

  “There are a few tricky things about this little pickup that you need to know,” Millie said as they got into the truck.

  “I’m not sure why you’re telling me about your truck.”

  “It’s yours now, or at least yours to use for as long as you stay here.” The woman pointed to the ignition switch. “Key goes here. Before you turn it, pull the throttle on the left side of the dashboard halfway out. Then pump your toe on the gas pedal three times before turning the key. That’s the only way this thing will start.”

  Gina searched for something to pull. The interior was clean, but old and basic. Instead of buttons and touchscreens in modern cars, there were knobs to turn and levers that needed to be pushed back and forth. There was a vacancy in the dashboard where a radio must’ve been in years past. “Throttle?”

  “Old kind Japanese cars had throttles, including this
Datsun. Once the engine starts, push the throttle back in. Otherwise, you won’t go anywhere, and waste a lot of gas not getting there.”

  Gina followed the sequence and got the truck started. “What’s a Datsun?”

  Millie reached across and pushed in the throttle knob. “You’ve never heard of Datsun?”

  Gina shook her head. Now she needed to deal with a stick shift, something she knew how to drive, but preferred automatics like every other sensible person. “It sounds Japanese?”

  “Datsun became known as Nissan in the Eighties.”

  “Before I was born, I guess,” Gina said. She carefully backed up in an arc, then after struggling to find first gear, she drove toward the little bridge. Basically, the thing had four tires, a steering wheel, and a gas pedal, which qualified it as a vehicle. “Why are you giving me this?”

  “You’ll need something for errands, to go to garden nurseries, take things to the transfer station. We had this thing parked in a shed, so we got it tuned up and washed off. It’s ugly, but it runs okay.” They got to the street outside and Millie pointed to the left, toward town. “Go down there and turn right on Dole Street.”

  Driving a strange car that belonged to someone else, Gina drove slowly and carefully.

  “Sometimes we’re in a hurry, Gina, especially on busy streets when there’s no one in front of us.”

  Gina gave it a little more gas, and the pickup’s little engine eventually responded. Nothing looked even vaguely familiar about the street. “Where are we going?”

  “To a restaurant.” Millie pointed for Gina to turn left onto another busy street.

  “Which direction am I going?” Gina asked.

  “Just keep going makai down this street.”

  “Okay. Makai?”

  “Toward the ocean. Mauka is toward the mountains.” When they stopped at a red light, she pointed to a building. “This is the Japanese Cultural Center.”

  Gina gave it a good look. “I’ve heard about it.”

  “Maybe you can visit there on a day off sometime.”

  After a few more blocks, there was another right turn, followed by a left, then crossed a bridge over a wide canal, and followed by another quick left turn. That put them on a broad boulevard through a classy part of town, with a large park with pampered green lawns and swaying palm trees, hotels and apartment buildings, and convenience stores. It also left Gina disoriented.

  She also wanted to be home to think about what the detective said to her about being on his suspect list. ‘Suspect list for what?’ had consumed her thoughts ever since he’d said it. Something didn’t make sense about the dead man. A lot of things, in fact. But here she was, entertaining her boss with a drive through town.

  “I have absolutely no idea where I am.”

  “We’re on Kalakaua Avenue in Waikiki.”

  “This is Waikiki? I thought there was a beach here?”

  “There is.” Millie pointed. “Just over there. Can’t see it right now because the buildings are in the way.”

  With the window down, Gina was picking up a scent. The only time she’d ever smelled the ocean before was on a trip to New York City. What she smelled today was similar but somehow different. They were getting to a busy commercial area, with high-end shops for clothes, jewelry, even luxury automobiles. Sidewalks were filled with people going in every direction, some carrying shopping bags, others holding hands.

  “Wow. I didn’t know it was like this here. Do you live in this part of town?”

  “Not many local people can afford this part of town. The real estate is even more expensive than it looks.”

  “Too rich for my blood, or any Santoro blood. It looks like most people live in condos here?”

  Millie nodded. “If someone has an ocean view, the price is twice that of a mountains view. And if the view is unobstructed by other buildings, the price doubles again. Funny thing about Waikiki that even after World War Two, most of this was still rice paddies.”

  After a couple of minutes, they were driving alongside a palm-lined beach. She could hear the waves break on the sand, but couldn’t quite see them as she drove. There were as many people walking on the beach as on the sidewalk, some still in bikinis and swimsuits.

  “When does it get cold here?” Gina finally asked, hardly believing it was still December.

  “Cold? So far, this is the coldest day of the year. We’re going to turn left at the next big intersection. The place we’re going to will be on the right after a couple of blocks.”

  Gina followed her directions, made the turn, and parked in the lot where Millie pointed her. They’d left the luxury area behind when they made the turn, and were now in an ordinary commercial district, even though they’d barely gone a half mile. It was an older building, not glitzy at all, but had a fresh coat of paint on the outside. She tried making sense of the sign over the door.

  “Mahalo Kaitenzushi,” she said slowly as she read it a second time. “What’s that?”

  “A sushi bar. It’s fun. You’ll like it.”

  What Gina didn’t need right then was something else new to try. She tried locking the doors of the pickup, but turning the key in the lock only made the tumblers spin, accomplishing nothing.

  “Don’t bother with the locks. Those haven’t work in years and nobody would want to steal that thing anyway.”

  The interior of the restaurant was nothing like the drab exterior. Everything was painted white, and the linoleum floor was pristine. There were no tables to sit at, only a long counter in a horseshoe shape, with chairs filling the length of it. Most of the chairs were filled with people with black hair. The sound of voices was a mixture of English and something else, she wasn’t quite sure what. Mixed with that was lively but quiet foreign pop music with a high-pitched female singing. The strange thing, however, was that a conveyor belt ran along the length of the counter before turning and going back again in a circular pattern. Small single-serving plates of food under transparent lids were carried along the conveyor, traveling through the restaurant as though they were on a road trip. Millie led Gina to a pair of chairs at a narrow bar.

  “This kind of sushi place is called a Kaiten, or conveyor belt. They’re popular in Hawaii and Japan. Do you have one in Cleveland?”

  Gina watched as plates passed her by, wondering what was on them. She recognized a few as sushi, but others were too elaborately arranged to guess. “Not in Little Italy.”

  A waitress brought them mismatched cups of tea. Gina sneaked a sniff of hers before taking a sip. She did her best not to shudder at the bitterness of some sort of tea.

  “Green tea. Not everybody likes it at first,” Millie said. She took a plate and set the lid aside, exposing a small ball of rice with a red piece of meat on it. “Do you eat fish?”

  “Not until after it’s been cooked. What is it?”

  “Ahi. That’s yellowfin tuna. Most people consider it the tuna with the best flavor.”

  “Okay, so, I know this sushi stuff is really popular, but I’ve never had it. Honestly, I don’t understand why it isn’t cooked, and even what’s happening with food going by on a conveyor belt.”

  “I guess it does seem strange to be served like this. It’s a fad that started about twenty years or so ago. The idea is that you take a plate of what you like, and have as many or as few as you want. The different colors of plates are different prices, so you have to watch out for that. It can get expensive in a hurry. You keep all your plates until it’s time to pay, and the waitress tallies up the total.”

  “You eat here a lot?”

  “Not often. It’s more of a special occasion place, or when I need to meet with someone. It’s a little out of the way for me to come here.”

  Gina watched something go by on a plate. “How do I know what I might like?”

  Millie took a plate off the belt and set it in front of Gina. “This is called inari. There’s no fish, just rice and a miso flavoring inside that wrapper.”

  Gina insp
ected the chopsticks in front of her before setting them down again. “Are there forks?”

  “Only for the haoles.” Millie showed Gina how to hold the sticks in her hand. “Just think of them as extensions of your fingers to pick something up. It’s more of a finesse thing that strength. The harder you squeeze with them, the more something can go wrong.”

  On first try, Gina was able to grab the peculiar lump of wrapped rice and take a bite of it. She inspected the inside of it as she chewed.

  “Not just rice. There’s another flavor.”

  “That’s the miso and the wrapper.”

  “This is something real? I’m eating real sushi?”

  “Very real and very popular.” Millie put another plate of something in front of Gina, this one with a piece of raw fish held down to a ball of rice with a belt of something green. “I wanted to meet with you this evening, Gina, not just for dinner.”

  “Uh oh. Am I fired already?”

  “Why would you be fired?”

  “I don’t know. My crew barely got any work done today, the house still isn’t finished inside, and Felix said the outside needs to be painted pretty soon. And then there was a problem this morning.”

  “First of all, whatever happens with the house is none of your problem. You’ve been hired to manage the gardens. Don’t let anybody talk you into something else.”

  “The roofer, Kenzo, seems to have my number. He’s had me up on the roof helping, and with the new hot water tank. At least Felix is satisfied working alone in the house putting up wall board.”

  “If Kenzo asks for your help, it means he needs it,” Millie said. “I heard about the man on the porch. That’s not your fault.”

  “Sure feels like it. It held up my crew for a while, until I sent a couple of them to the hardware store to get a few things, more as a way of finding something productive for them to do. A full day spent, and there’s not much to show for it. Who told you about the man on the porch?”

  “Things like that get around in a hurry. We call it the coconut wireless,” Millie said.