I glanced down. As I suspected, she wore pretty, sling-back sandals.
“Mr. Danny Morales?”
I was tempted to respond, “No, I’m his cousin Fred,” but said yes, hoping she wasn’t trying to sell me a timeshare. Or zom zoms.
“I’d like to discuss a delicate matter with you.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that awful smell?”
“It was a fire. It’s out now, though.”
She cast a doubtful glance at the extinguisher, and I didn’t blame her. The odor suddenly seemed worse.
“You wanted to see me about something?” I kept wondering where I could take her for a private talk. Not for the first time I cursed my idiotic decision to convert this space into an office.
Her eyes flickered in what I interpreted as anguish, and behind her, I noticed the beach police hauling off the homeless man who’d started the fire. He kicked and spat at them, but they kept a firm grip on him. Man, Waikīkī is getting crazier every day.
“Please, take a seat. Tell me what’s going on.”
I was almost surprised when she sat, especially when the homeless man suddenly shrieked obscenities at the top of his voice.
She pulled a face. “He sounds like my husband.” I had an idea she wasn’t joking.
“Would you like some tea?”
She looked surprised.
Maybe I should have been offended, but I know I’m a long, tall blend of Japanese and many Polynesian strains merged into a Neanderthal height of well over six feet, four inches. With my jeans, aloha shirt and big, cheesy grin, maybe she thought I looked more like the beer and burger type than the tea and talk type. Her glance seemed to rest on my short, dark hair, which never stays neat, probably because I am always sticking my fingers into it and grabbing chunks in frustration. And lately, I’ve been getting frustrated a lot.
“I have two kinds of tea,” I said. “Japanese cherry and green coconut.”
“Cherry sounds great.”
I had stainless steel thermoses filled with each and poured her a cup then one for myself.
She held her pale blue porcelain cup with delicate fingers, staring at me over the rim.
I wondered who’d referred her to me. I wasn’t sure why this spectacular creature wanted my services, but if she’d mistaken me for a gigolo I would have said yes, even though I’m gay. She was that gorgeous.
I waited for her to sort her thoughts. Besides, I had nothing better to do. I moved here from Kaua‘i to try out a new career as a private eye. At the age of forty, I needed a break from the sometimes harrowing work I did in the cold case unit. Charlie, an old Punahou school buddy of mine back here who used to sell vacation and time share packages and discounted island activities out of the tiny storefront space, quit to relocate to a more peaceful life in Kaua‘i. It’s hard to hawk the excitement of a shark swim when one has just taken off your left arm and part of your right foot.
So, Charlie and I did a straight swap. He took over my Hanalei Bay condo. I took over his storefront space. We haven’t talked much, probably because we’re both severely depressed and it wouldn’t take much for either one of us to convince the other to swap back again.
I sipped my tea, grateful that the smell of burning clothes seemed to have receded. “Take your time,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She took her first sip, closed her eyes briefly and with a twist of grief in her expression, glanced down into the cup. “If I tell you something, is it confidential?”
“Well, that depends. As my client, anything you tell me remains between us unless you confess you’re about to murder your husband, or you’re going to put a bomb in ‘Iolani Palace.”
She seemed to consider this, then tilted her lovely head to one side. “Do you have a problem with infidelity?”
Boy, what a loaded question. I did in my own life, but as a public servant, I’d learned to withhold judgment on other people’s lives.
“Not unless it’s related to me.”
“So if I tell you of a…marital indiscretion, you wouldn’t feel the need to report it to uh, to my husband?”
“No.”
She nodded. Her eyes were filled with pain when she looked at me. “The murder has already happened.”
I gaped at her. “Who was killed?”
“My next door neighbor.” She swallowed the tea in one gulp and slid the cup toward me. She knocked her forefingers together on the desktop. I wondered if she knew I have a Japanese mom or if this was just an old habit, but Mom does the same thing. She once told me it came from the old country and was a polite way of saying, “More please.” I gave her a refill, thinking she needed a stiff belt of cognac instead. She took another sip. “Ah, that’s good.” She tilted her head at me. “My name is Sachi Hammond, and I’m married.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.” I was still trying to follow everything, but so far this trail of breadcrumbs wasn’t falling into a straight line.
“For the past year, I’ve been having an affair with my neighbor, Takeo Watanabe, and well, he disappeared about five weeks ago. He came back last Monday, but he’s not the same man.”
Oh, poor lady’s been rejected and can’t handle it. I tried a tactful approach. “What do you mean? He’s acting strange? Is he—“
“No, I mean he’s a completely different person.” She shifted in her seat. “I’m in a very bad marriage. I won’t deny it. My husband and I have lived separate lives almost since the day we got married two years ago.” She held up a hand. “It sounds like a line, I know, but it’s true. I live in the downstairs portion of my house, and Bobby, my husband, lives upstairs. We rarely speak, but I am respectful, and I keep my private life private.”
“Where do you live?”
“Mānoa.”
“Go on.”
“Takeo moved next door a few months after Bobby and I got married. I used to see him often and we’d talk. We began a…er, relationship about a year later. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me, but for obvious reasons, I have kept it a secret. Even my closest friends don’t know.”
I looked at her. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“You’re going to ask why I stay with my husband.” Her cheeks flamed and she squirmed again. “I married him to help him with his green card. Believe me, if I didn’t need to keep up the façade, I would have left long ago.” She arched a brow at me. “He’s a horrible man, but he paid me a lot of money. I needed it to save my home and pay off the debts my father left me when he passed. I grew up in that house. My father grew up in it, too. He had three mortgages, including one he took out in my name. I had no idea. He’d also opened credit cards in my name…oh, it’s been a mess.”
Her story sadly, wasn’t unusual. As a cop, I’d had teenagers report their parents fraudulently using their credit. Identity theft had become an international pastime.
“I have to stay married for eleven more months to fulfill my end of the bargain and to receive the other half of the money Bobby owes me.”
“How much is that?”
“A hundred thousand dollars.”
I stopped myself from letting out a whistle. That was a lot of clams. “I assume he’s paid you that much already.” When she nodded, the obvious question became why he’d shelled out so much when obtaining immigration status would have been much cheaper.
Before I could even ask, she said, “Bobby is from Yemen. He grew up in England but he was born in Yemen. It’s not exactly a popular country to be from when you want U.S. residency.” She sipped her tea again, and her expression grew dark.
“We met at a book signing one night at The Pacific Club. In fact, it was his book signing. He’s a retired boxer, and he’d written his autobiography. Have you ever been to The Pacific Club?”
I shook my head. “I know it costs a gazillion dollars to be a member.” I paused. “
And you need something like seven other members to sponsor you just to join.”
“Exactly. So I went. I’m an aspiring writer, and he zeroed in on me. I was impressed. I’ll admit it. He swept me off my feet. Literally.” Once again she looked embarrassed. “I was taken in by his charm, good looks, his elegant clothing. I’d never been to a book signing like his. I mean, they served the most delicious food and drink, and the club makes you feel like you’ve gone back to the old Territory days. It’s elegant and gracious. He’s a member, so…”
“How did he swing that?”
She shrugged. “He has a lot of friends in high places.”
“When did he bring up the issue of his immigration problems?”
“A few weeks after I met him. He really played me. I’ve lived here all my life and I fell for a classic con artist.”
“A rich one, apparently.”
She nodded. “He knew I wanted to be a writer and said when I finished my novel he’d help me get it published and he’d guarantee me that I’d have a book signing at The Pacific Club. He had no idea I was drowning in debt until he was with me one day and the bank served me with a foreclosure notice.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “It was devastating, but he was so understanding, and so kind. He mentioned his attorney told him he should get married. According to this attorney, Bobby had no special skills that would make it easier for him to become a legal resident.”
“And you believed him?”
“Yes. I met the attorney and he showed me all the paperwork he’d filed for Bobby.”
“What’s the attorney’s name?”
“James Ivy.”
I knew the guy. He wasn’t an ambulance chaser. But he was dangerously close. “Go on,” I said.
“Well, I learned a lot in the hour we were with him. Apparently before 9/11, Bobby’s boxing career could have been enough to get him a green card, especially if he was actively fighting. Since he planned to coach football at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, that held extra appeal, but without the green card they wouldn’t take him.”
“And his friends in high places couldn’t help him?”
“Not when it really mattered, no.”
“So, getting married was mutually beneficial.”
“Absolutely.” Her eyes still shone with unshed tears. “We had a beautiful wedding with a big luau at The Pacific Club. That was the happiest day of my life. At first, Bobby was sweet, but it didn’t last. He’s moody and gets angry easily. He hit me once, and I called the police. There’s a report on file with Honolulu Police Department. It’s the Beretania Street division. After that, Bobby apologized and promised it would never happen again, but I took my little dog, Susie, and moved downstairs. It’s a much smaller space, but I’ve made it very comfortable. He has the better part of the house, but Susie is safe with me, and I never leave her alone.”
My God. The things people got themselves into for the almighty dollar.
“I have a contract with him for everything I told you. I can email it to you. In a little under twelve months when we complete the final immigration interview and his green card comes through, he’ll move out, and my life will be mine again. We’ll get divorced, and I don’t care what happens to him after that.”
As I tried to absorb all of this she added, “Right now, he’s petrified I’ll divorce him. We both stand to lose a lot if our true arrangement is ever revealed. I could go to jail. Did you know I could face a five-year prison sentence and a $250,000 fine for marriage fraud? And after what I went through with my dad? That’s more than Bobby even has to pay me, but it would be worse for him. He’d be forced to return to Yemen, and he’d never be allowed back into this country again. Something happened there. And in England. The idea of going back frightens him.”
“Have you Googled him?”
“Yes. There’s nothing there but he doesn’t talk to his family or anyone involved in his past. It’s strange, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like it.” Still curious, I asked, “What’s he doing for work now?”
“He trains boxers. That’s partly how I’ve managed to keep my relationship with Takeo a secret. We meet when Bobby’s out of town with his fighters, or when he takes them to camp on one of the other islands. He’s fond of high-altitude training, and he’ll go to one of the cabins at Haleakalā or Kīlauea with his clients.”
Suddenly the trail of breadcrumbs of this woman’s story seemed to lead straight to Bobby.
“Is there any chance Bobby found out about you and Takeo?”
She shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. I’ve been very careful. Bobby thinks I’ve become a frigid bitch, and I prefer it that way.”
“When was the last time you saw Takeo?”
“Friday, July fifth. I saw him at our favorite coffee shop. We usually get together Friday nights because Bobby has dinner and watches the ESPN fights with some of the guys from the gym over in Pearl City. Takeo and I have a ritual. He comes to my entrance downstairs through the hibiscus forest at the back of my property. There are no lights, and it’s hard to see. We keep an ear out for Bobby. It isn’t hard to tell when he’s home. First of all, Susie goes berserk and secondly, he’s usually drunk and he hits the fence as he’s coming down the driveway.”
Wow, he sounds like a gem. “So that night, Takeo didn’t come?”
“No. He didn’t. His car was there when I looked over the fence. I called him. I even sneaked next door and knocked, but he never answered. The house was dark. The next day, the car was gone and I didn’t hear a word from him.”
“You tried to contact him again?”
Her dark hair bounced around her shoulders as she nodded. “Yes. Several times. I stopped leaving messages and then his voice mail got full.”
“And nobody saw any sign of him during this time?”
“No.”
“And nobody thought to call the police when he disappeared?”
She winced. “Believe me, I thought of it, but he’s an unusual man, Takeo. He’s a hermit who ventures out sporadically. He doesn’t even go to the market. He shops by phone, and they deliver. It isn’t unusual for him to skip a cooking class. That’s his passion, vegan cooking. We also do, er did, volunteer work together, and it’s not unusual for him to skip that, except he skipped delivering two Meals on Wheels. His day is Friday. That’s when Amy got concerned, too.”
“And Amy is?”
“Our district coordinator.”
“So she got concerned and did…what?”
“When she couldn’t reach him by phone, she went to see him. By that stage, I’d encountered the man next door and knew he was masquerading as Takeo. She met the guy and realized it too.”
I looked at her. “So please explain why you think Takeo isn’t um, Takeo.”
“Because he isn’t.” She leaned on the desk, her eyes lit from within. I could tell she loved talking about him. “When he came back, I saw him on the lānai. I was so pleased to see him. I waved, but he didn’t wave back. I thought it was odd. I thought he looked different.” She blew out a sigh. “I was really concerned about him. From afar, he looked thinner than he had before, but it was Friday night, and he didn’t come to my house, so I went to him.”
“The man who opened the door was a stranger, even though he’d cut his hair to look like Takeo. There was no recognition in his eyes when I greeted him. He was rude, actually. I tell you, it was weird because unless you knew him, he could pass for Takeo, but I promise you, he is not.”
She rifled through her cell phone and showed me a photo. “This is Takeo.”
I studied the image of a young, very handsome Asian man with a boyish haircut, the front flopping into his eyes.
“I have a few of photos of the two of us together.” She showed me three, and in each of them, it struck me how in love they seemed. They complemented each other perfectly. They
appeared to be on a beautiful Asian sandalwood bed. Right beside them was a small black dog.
“Is that Susie?”
Her smile told me it was. Then she showed me a photo she’d taken of “Takeo” since he’d returned.
“There are three.” She handed me her phone.
“How did you get this?”
“I followed him when I spotted him in the Ala Moana center a couple of days ago. I couldn’t believe it worked. I had just bought these eye glasses that have a camera hidden in them. I noticed him, followed him into to Barnes and Noble and pretended to bump into him. I said hello but he wasn’t happy to see me, that’s for sure. I couldn’t wait to get home and download the images. As you can see, there’s a very strong resemblance but it is not the same man.”
“Have you ever confronted him?”
“Yes. The first time I went to his door. I asked for Takeo, and he said, ‘I’m Takeo.’ I said, ‘No, you’re not.’ I thought it was a joke at first, then I realized there was something about him. His manner was chilling. I knew he wasn’t Takeo, but I wasn’t going to stand there and argue. Quite frankly, he scares me.”
She let me download the images to my laptop. Until I compared the photos side-by-side, the differences weren’t obvious. Looking at them together, it was clear that Takeo and this new guy looked nothing alike. The big giveaway was their teeth and the shape of their faces. Takeo’s front teeth had a gap. The new guy’s didn’t. The new guy’s face was longer and lacked Takeo’s unusual, downturned eyes. He could have had dental work and a facelift, but it didn’t explain why he had no idea who Sachi Hammond was.
“Wow. And you haven’t taken your suspicions to the police because of your involvement with him, and of course, Bobby?”
“Exactly.” She nodded emphatically.
I stared at the photos. “Why would somebody impersonate Takeo?”
She spread her hands. “I have no idea. But it’s obvious he kept our relationship a secret too, because this new guy had no idea who I was. None at all.”
“And you think he killed Takeo?”
“I know he did. Little things have been happening. Takeo was an amazing person and this man knows nothing about the life he actually led. Takeo stopped volunteering at the local animal shelter. People think it’s odd, and when Amy Jaeger went to visit him, the man didn’t know who she was, either. Amy freaked out and called me. Takeo, I mean the real Takeo, would have known who she was because she’s not only our Meals on Wheels coordinator, but Takeo’s ex-fiancée.”
Paradise, Passion, Murder Page 23