Unknown Victim

by Kay Hadashi

  “Why?” he asked. “Not really your business, is it?”

  “Because there’s more to him being on my front porch than just a place to sleep.”

  “My suggestion is to stick to what you know best, and right now, that’s being a gardener.”

  “I know. I will.”

  “Did you hear what I said, Gina?”

  “I heard.” That got her attention. It was more than a simple scolding. It was something he wouldn’t ordinarily say. There had to be more of a message to it than telling her to keep her nose out of the police investigation. It was important enough that she wrote the warning verbatim on her list. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “I’m being yelled at to come eat lunch. Call your mother later. She needs to hear from you.”

  Gina assumed the headache she had that morning was from the Tuyo she’d drank the night before, along with the cheap wine. She tried chasing it away with aspirin and coffee. While waiting for her head to stop pounding, she gave her conversation with her father some thought. One thing that was certain was the fact she was as interested in solving the man’s murder as she was in discovering his name, in spite of the little white lie she’d told her father.

  “Why did he tell me to stick to being a gardener? He made a point of it. That was weird. Why’d he say that?”

  She flipped to a new page on her yellow pad. She already had a list of facts and evidence, things she knew about the dead man, and things she still wanted to know. With a few small boxes and arrows that pointed here and there, she tried organizing it. That’s when she thought of Detective Kona’s use of a Venn diagram.

  Gina drew three circles on a fresh page to make a simple but vacant Venn diagram. She began filling in each circle with what she’d learned in the last few days. When she got to the grass clipping circle, there was nothing new to add.

  “What did Dad say to me? Stick to what I know best, and that’s being a gardener.”

  Gina poured another cup of coffee and sat with the yellow pad in front of her. Trying to sort through her thoughts, and ignore the desire for a cigarette, she began to doodle. That led to a small drawing of a watch next to the Rolex circle, followed by a bottle cap, jacket, and cat near those circles. When she tried to think of how to doodle a lawn clipping other than a single line, she drew a side view of grass growing in dirt. She added a stickman pushing a mower across the top.

  “Is it that simple? Did he mean I should focus on the grass clipping I got off the guy’s shoe? I know more about lawn grass than I do about Rolexes or beer. I still need to figure out why he wasn’t wearing the windbreaker on the day I found him, and decide if that means anything. And what a black cat with a dead rat might have to do with a dead man on my porch.”

  It was time to cut into some of the fruit that had been sitting in the fridge all week. Cutting two in half that looked suspiciously similar, she found small black seeds that looked like fish eggs in one, and a hard pit in the other. Taking one half of each to the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee, she scanned her notes while she ate the fruit.

  “What did Dad say about the Rolex? Something about whoever lost the Rolex never came back to look for it because it didn’t belong to them. They didn’t care if it was found again. But it was a Rolex. If I’d lost one, even one I’d stolen, I’d sure look for it. Somebody somewhere has got to want it back.”

  After finishing half of one fruit, she started in on the other, allowing her tongue to decide which it liked better. While she ate, she drew lines to connect clues in the circles of her Venn diagram.

  “Okay, that’s a big keyword, stolen. Why did I just say that? Because there’s no way a homeless guy should have an expensive Rolex? Or do I have some preconceived idea that all homeless people are somehow crooked?”

  She ended up with too many circles, too many clues, and too many lines connecting them. Giving up on her diagram at least for a while, she collected her fruit peelings and took them outside to toss into the brush pile. The last thing she wanted to do was attract rats and flies into the house looking for something sweet to eat.

  “Oh, you’re back,” she said to the black cat that seemed to be waiting for her on the porch. “Sorry. All I got is fruit. You’ll have to find your own rat for breakfast.”

  The cat followed Gina to the brush pile that had been assembled during the week. When she tossed the rinds into the pile, something deep inside moved before darting out one side. It wasn’t a rat, but something else that looked like a squirrel. As the cat gave chase, the little critter ran faster until it got to some rocks near the stream. It ducked into a gap just before it became breakfast for the animal one notch higher in the food chain.

  The cat seemed particularly enamored with Gina that morning and followed her around the estate grounds. Without anyone else around, Gina wanted to see what had been accomplished during her first week there. It was turning out that Felix was something of a politician, and that even though he spent most of his time working on the interior of the house, he was sure to point out the progress that had been made each day in the gardens to Gina. That was mostly a few branches had been pruned from the fruit trees, and a shallow hole had been dug in the ground in search of the old koi pond. Other than the weeds being knocked down on the double track that circled the estate, and a brush pile started, not much looked different. Because of that, her mind wandered from her project to her investigation.

  “Dad said to stick to what I know best, and that’s being a gardener. What’d he mean by that, anyway?”

  She sat in the shade under the broad avocado tree behind the house. That seemed to be the cat’s hunting ground, as it went off in search of a meal in the deep grass.

  “Okay, people at home keep calling me a gardener, including Dad. What’s that mean to them?”

  She watched as the cat’s tail twitched over its back, one paw rising and lowering at a time as it stalked something.

  “It means I mow lawns and prune shrubs like Mister Mancuso does back home. There’s more to this project than mowing the lawn, though.”

  Gina grabbed a handful of long grass and pulled it free from its roots. The cat took another careful step.

  “Maybe that’s all I am, a glorified lawnmower, with other people doing most of the work for me.”

  The cat leapt like a spring being let loose, pouncing on something hidden in the grass beneath a tree. Gina couldn’t see what was being consumed, but it hadn’t been big. Whatever it was had apparently got away, because the cat chased after it in a zigzagging pattern.

  “This job makes me responsible for several different gardens on the estate, not just mowing grass.”

  When she tossed away the blades of grass in her hand, one blade stuck to a finger. Pulling it free from the sticky spot left over from holding the fruit rinds, she remembered something her father had mentioned about the dead man’s shoes.

  “The grass clippings had stuck to his shoes not because they’d been wet. Most of it would’ve fallen off once it had dried, and it had. There were only a few clippings on each shoe, not a lot. But the one blade that I pulled off had been stuck down as though adhesive was holding it in place. It wasn’t water, but something stickier.”

  She pulled free a few more blades of grass, this time looking at them a little more closely. She tried imagining what would be on someone’s shoes that could make grass stick so well.

  “Not like that guy had been walking through a glue factory. What else could he have walked in before walking on the grass? Where was the lawn that he walked across? If I can figure that out…”

  Gina realized that she really was trying to solve his murder, not just learn his identity.

  “That’s Detective Kona’s problem, not mine.”

  After allowing herself a quick fantasy of Kona, she shook herself free from it just as the fun stuff was starting. When she got back to the house, she got her city map.

  “Okay, I have a good idea the man got his Tuyo beer at Bunzo’s
Bar because of the bottle cap in his pocket, and the two missing bottles from the case in the back hallway. I just don’t know how long he’d been carrying it around in his pocket, or why. Why save a bottle cap from a crappy brand of beer? Just so he knows what not to get a second time?”

  She found the location of Bunzo’s on the map, and traced her finger to Pinoy Boy’s Emporium a few blocks away. What she hadn’t noticed while driving around there a couple of days before was a city park. It was roughly triangular in shape and looked like it took up the space between a busy boulevard, the freeway, and a botanical park with a stream that went through the middle of it.

  “Kapalama Park. That’s the name of that part of town.”

  She got her phone and brought up cellular data. Searching for Kapalama Park, she looked at a few pictures of the place. It was flat, had a few small pavilions and picnic tables, and the lawns appeared threadbare. Orienting a couple of the pictures in her mind with the map on the kitchen table, she wondered if the trees in the background were a part of the botanical gardens. She looked at pictures of the elegant gardens for a moment, and was instantly jealous of them.

  “Queen Lili…Lili’uo…what?” She tried pronouncing the long name of past royalty. “Whoever she was, I hope she was important for having a name like that.”

  She looked at more pictures of the gardens and the stream that ran through it. While she looked at those, her mind began assembling images for the Tanizawa Estate, and if she’d be able to accomplish the same thing as what the Queen’s gardeners had.

  “Forget the gardens. I need to know more about that Kapalama Park.”

  She read a few things about it, about how it had originally been part of the botanical gardens next door, but had become a city park in recent years so there could be a place for picnicking and some playground equipment. In even more recent years, however, it had become a place for homeless to live. The park was still maintained by the city, with ‘emptying the garbage cans and cleaning the public restrooms daily, and the occasional landscaping’, the city’s website said.

  “Mowing the grass at a park used by homeless people only a couple of blocks from Pinoy Boy’s store and Bunzo’s Bar,” she said. “He had lawn grass clippings on his shoes, and a cap from a bottle of beer that can be found only in one place.”

  Gina dressed quickly to get out early before the day got hot. If there was one thing she’d learned from her work crew, it was that Honolulu’s climate was best enjoyed from sunrise to noon, and again in the evening. Putting on a hat, she left the house in her little Datsun.

  It was easier finding Kapalama that day, since she’d already been there a couple of times. Driving around a few of the surface streets, she discovered why she hadn’t noticed the park on earlier trips. It was nearly hidden from view by the freeway on one side, and was barely discernible from the botanical gardens. There was little parking, only a few spots along one side. No other cars were there when she parked.

  Unlike back home in Cleveland, there were no tents pitched in the park. Instead, cardboard boxes were being used as structures, and tarps were spread over picnic tables and shopping carts. While Cleveland’s homeless camps looked like shabby campgrounds, Kapalama Park was even more ramshackle and disorganized.

  Only a couple of men were up, mostly sitting on benches next to their little homes, smoking cigarettes for breakfast. Gina wondered how someone could afford cigarettes but not a proper tent in which to live.

  She walked through the park, checking out what there was to it. The pictures of it she’d seen online projected a different image, that of a neighborhood park that could be enjoyed by all. What she found was playground equipment being used as props for tarps, and a subtle sense of desperation.

  But the grass had been mowed recently, which was why she made the trip. Picking up a few blades, they were still soft and mostly green. She put some in a ziplock bag she’d brought for closer examination later.

  Gina didn’t notice him until the man had walked right up to her. He was wearing an old team shirt of some sort, with a number on the front, and Islanders stenciled above it.

  “Can’t smoke that stuff,” he said.

  “I suppose not.” She looked around to see if anyone else was approaching. She noticed the restroom not far away, maybe where the man was headed.

  “You could, but it wouldn’t accomplish much.”

  She wiped her hands together to rid them of dirt and grass. “Just taking a look around.”

  “You a cop?” the man asked.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You look like a cop.”

  “I’m not sure if I should feel insulted or flattered.”

  He stuck his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts for a second, and she took half a step backward. He must’ve noticed her subtle protective stance, because he took his hands out again. “Haven’t had any cops around here in a couple of days. It’s about time one of you showed up.”

  “If I were a police officer, why would I be looking at grass clippings?”

  He gave it some thought. “I don’t know. If you’re not a cop, why are you here so early in the morning? Most of us are still sleeping. No reason to roust us out so early.”

  “Seems like I’d have a partner with me if I were going to roust people around, wouldn’t I?”

  “You still look like a cop,” he said, walking toward the restroom.

  One thing was for sure, Gina felt like a cop right then. She checked out the women’s restroom and found nothing terribly remarkable except that it was overdue for some scouring powder.

  “Or at least hosed down,” she muttered, going back out into the bright sunshine. “I wonder if anyone comes by on holidays?”

  She saw the man in the Islanders shirt leave the restroom and went in his direction. Maybe he could be useful to her.

  “Hey, you seem like you know what’s going on around here.”

  “More than you do.”

  “Thanks. That I’ll take as a compliment,” she said, closing the distance between them. “I’ll tell you a secret about something if you answer a couple of questions.”

  “About what?” he asked.

  “First, how often do they mow here?”

  “The grass? What kind of stupid question is that?”

  “I thought you were going to cooperate?”

  “Once a week, except in the summer,” he said.

  That answered her question for how long he’d been living there. “What day of the week do they mow?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he said.

  “You seem to have a lot of answers. What day do they mow?”

  “Fridays. Except the last couple of weeks. Friday been holidays, right? The city don’t mow on holidays.” He sniffed derisively. “City don’t do nothing on holidays.”

  “Maybe because the workers want days off. When was the last time they mowed?”

  “Sunday.”

  “They mowed on a Sunday?” she asked.

  “Law against mowing the lawn on a Sunday?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Might be a union rule or two, though.” Since the guy was convinced she was a cop, she figured she could push that impression in the direction of a little white lie. She got out her phone and brought up the picture of the dead man. “This guy look familiar to you?”

  When he looked, he inadvertently touched the screen, which sent it to the next picture. That was of the bloody knife that had been found in the dead man’s pocket. Gina swiped her finger across the screen to bring back the picture of his face.

  “Look hard. Does he live here at the park?” she asked.

  “He your old man?”

  “No. Have you seen him here?”

  “He looks like a lot of people who live here.”

  “He looks like them or they look like him?” she asked, purposefully trying to confuse him. With that, she was trying to restart his memory. “Maybe he wears a white T-shirt and dark trousers, with old leather sh
oes.”

  “Maybe he hangs around sometimes.”

  “He doesn’t live here?”

  He shook his head. “Just hangs around.”

  “Ever talk to him?”

  “Everybody talks to somebody sometimes.”

  “Did he tell you his name?”

  “We don’t know names here. Too many coming and going. All the time, coming and going.”

  “Thanks.” Gina wanted to reward the guy, but her purse was back in the Datsun. She had an old pack of cigarettes hidden at the bottom of it, both as a challenge as an ex-smoker, and to hand out a couple to cooperative witnesses. They weren’t doing her any good right then, though.

  “You said something about telling me a secret?”

  “Yeah. I’m not a cop. But don’t tell anyone else that.”

  She saw another man walking across the park in the direction of the restroom. Even though the morning was already warm, he had on a windbreaker.

  “Yellow with green stripes on the sleeves,” she muttered. She watched as he went by, waiting to see the back of it. “Oahu Cable. That’s the same windbreaker.”

  Gina hung around outside the restroom waiting for the man to emerge. She never heard the toilet flush or the water run before he came out. He stalled when he saw her and took a corrective step before he got started again. He gave Gina a clumsy but polite salute, before struggling to walk in a straight line.

  Gina went after him. “Hey, bud, I want to talk to you.”

  He kept walking when she caught up with him. He gave her another smile that was more related to what he’d just inhaled, consumed, or smoked in the restroom.

  “How long have you lived here at the park?” she asked him.

  “You another one of them homeless…what’re they called?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “They come here sayin’ they’re on our side. Wanna protect us.”

  “Church people?” she asked, trying to make sense of what he was going on about.

  “Nah. Wanna be our voice. Young people, most of the time women. They wanna find a better place for us to live. That kind of people.”