Murder on Mokulua Drive

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne;

  While I was helping with captions for the images on the website, Joanne lamented her poor skills in digital picture editing. “It’s too bad we can’t groom nature,” she said, referring to strips of seaweed interspersed with bits of trash strewn on the beach.

  “It isn’t like you’re shooting an ad for the Hawai`i visitors Bureau,” I countered.

  “I think everything you’ve put together is beautiful, Joanne,” said Samantha.

  Before Izzy could express her opinion, Joanne held up a hand. “Thank you for your encouragement. I do recognize that this isn’t a photo contest. These pictures are for friends of Miriam’s who will be happy to feel like they’re seeing the life Miriam enjoyed here.”

  Borrowing from her journal, I sprinkled Miriam’s words throughout the site.…both my personal and professional life here has been fully satisfying…as full of joy as I or any other human being could possibly expect within a single lifetime…through Henri’s camera lens and the writing and personal consulting that I provided, we passed our years together in personal peace and harmony.

  The previous day, Izzy had filled me in on some of the other preparations for the memorial. “Thank you so much for the obituary you wrote. We’ve put it in newspapers in New York, London and Paris.”

  “I’m honored to participate,” I said.

  The day of Miriam’s memorial dawned like most in the Islands: The skies were clear, the temperature moderate, and there was a light breeze. After enjoying our usual early morning at the beach, Keoni and I tidied the house and patio for the guests we knew might float by that evening. A couple of hours before the event, John Dias dropped by to catch us up on the results of his continuing investigation. As usual, we ended up around the kitchen table. As he began, we sipped glasses of mint tea since we would be having champagne later.

  “You know, Keoni, I’m seeing you just about as often as when you were on the job. It seems like you and your sweetheart here are magnets for homicide. Three deaths per year is simply too high a rate for a private investigator. Do you think you two can take it easy for a while?” John requested.

  “Well, at least the cases we’ve been involved with have been unusual,” retorted Keoni.

  “That’s true. Regarding Miriam’s murder by mistake, it looks like Luke Turner did put out a contract on his wife. Unfortunately, he’s not alive to explain his motive or to straighten out the crazy things that have been happening in his financial portfolio. There may be some odd pockets of cash for Samantha to inherit, but there’s been some mysterious electronic emptying of his larger accounts. If we didn’t have the body at the Morgue, I’d suspect he’d staged a fake death.”

  “As to the apparent murderer, he’s not available to answer questions about the details of any instructions he may have been given. Even the woman who accompanied him to Hawai`i couldn’t provide much information. Monique Davis is a legitimate model from Quebec. She has no criminal record, no connection to anyone in this case, nor any criminal activity in Quebec or Vancouver. She works occasionally as a companion to wealthy businessmen. She said she’d been booked for this gig because of her height, weight and fluency in both written and spoken Parisian French and knowledge of French cuisine. The agency representing her seems legit. They quickly provided records of the deal that had been brokered by email with the guy they ID’d as Andre Chambre. Except for a dummy website, we can’t find any record of the man prior to the last couple of months.”

  “Sounds like you’re nearing the end of the line on him,” commented Keoni.

  The Lieutenant snorted and continued. “Andre wasn’t known to the agency before this transaction, but his references from Vancouver were impeccable—personally, professionally and financially. Said he was taking a vacation before and after a business consultation he had. While the pair shared a suite at the Hilton Hawaiian Village Hotel, they had separate bedrooms and bathrooms.

  “Well, at least that means she didn’t catch any diseases from him,” I noted.

  “Now there’s an acclamation for the perfect date,” laughed Keoni.

  “She had never met the man before and knew nothing about what he was doing when he was not with her. She was just along for a good time,” said John summarizing the relationship between the two would-be tourists. “And that’s what she experienced. Monique was booked on a first class roundtrip ticket to Vancouver, British Columbia, where she met Andre. Almost immediately, they boarded a corporate jet on a junket to Maui. With all their travel arrangements made in advance and him paying cash for everything else, she never saw any ID, checks, credit cards, or anything to make her question his story. Although there were periods when Andre was gone each day, he had reasonable excuses for his absences.”

  “So what were the two of them doing?” I asked.

  “Typical tourist stuff. They drove around the island, visiting most of the popular beach parks and shopping centers.”

  “Good cover for checking out Kailua, Lanikai, and Diamond Head Beach Park,” said Keoni.

  “Yep. I’d say ‘planning’ was one of his greatest talents. Saying he needed to see clients, the man scheduled an amazing number of appointments for her: hair styling and mani-pedis; massages; and hula classes. Monique said she never saw him with a briefcase or talking to anyone unrelated to whatever they were doing. He didn’t seem to have any electronic toys, except a complicated smart phone. He never left it anywhere and never placed a call in her presence. And no, we never found that device. Monique admitted to peeking in his suitcase, but said there was nothing special in it. Every day he sent his clothing out to be cleaned and his shoes polished, so she had never had an opportunity to look through his pockets.

  “Guess he was pretty generous and quite the gentleman. They never had sex and he didn’t even try to kiss her. She said he purchased clothing and trinkets whenever she expressed an interest. Whatever the price, Andre produced cash for everything. Pulled out chairs, opened doors, and selected the best food and wines. Helped her with her shawls if the wind came up…even rubbed on sunblock.”

  “What a prince…if you discount a couple of murders,” joked Keoni.

  “Yeah,” smiled John. “The ideal escort. On top of the pleasure of the trip, Monique had been paid a high fee for a month of her time. With no family, boyfriend or kids, she would be an ideal candidate for a hit man seeking a temporary companion as his cover. Knowing that no one would report her missing for a while, he probably figured he could easily murder her at the end, ensuring there were no loose ends in his mid-Pacific crime spree.”

  Keoni and I shook our heads.

  “I’m waiting for some follow-up reports from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but I don’t think anything of substance will be revealed. Not with the guy’s attention to detail! We’ve also been checking on Luke Turner’s staff. We’ve identified the older married couple who served as his housekeeper and gardener. According to them, Luke paid all the remaining staff for three months of service and provided one-way tickets to San Diego for those wanting to go to the mainland. That couple was thrilled; it’s where they have a home. They didn’t know why they were being released from their annual contract and didn’t care.

  “Once Samantha moved out, there were no parties and there was little work to be done at the house. As to the collateral staff, we’ve hit dead ends with all three of them. They probably gave false names to everyone they dealt with, so we can’t even trace them to flights to San Diego.”

  “What about Andre? You said he’s in a coma. What’s the prognosis?” Keoni asked.

  Reaching into his briefcase, John said, “Funny you ask. I just received a report from the hospital. Doesn’t look like our friend Andre will be with us very long. Look for yourselves. Since the docs did a CT scan, there’s almost as much detail as an autopsy.”

  Keoni accepted the sheet of paper John handed him and I looked over his shoulder.

  The pat
ient is in a vegetative condition due to Traumatic Brain Injury caused by a compound skull fracture. A single sharp-force transverse wound caused by a frontal/parietal blow.…the anteriomedial upper left forehead within the hairline…measuring 4 inches in length and .35 inch in depth…pierced the skull…damaging…dura membrane and brain tissue…resulting in significant cerebral injury…Edges of the wound were smooth, free of abrasion or tissue bridging and consistent with the blade of a straight edged single-bit axe found at the scene of the injury…To relieve the swelling of brain tissue against the inflexible bone, a ventriculostomy drain was inserted to remove cerebrospinal fluid. Further neurological exams revealed the unlikelihood of the patient’s recovery due to the severe damage caused by a subarachnoid hemorrhage….

  The final description of minor injuries caught my attention immediately.

  …dusky purple discoloration…two blisters and one ulcer from Portuguese man-of-war stings…sustained within the last two weeks.

  “Andre complained about his battle with Portuguese men-of-war during our picnic. Now that I think about it, there was quite a swarm of them in Lanikai the week Miriam died,” I commented.

  “Another bit of evidence linking the man to the neighborhood around the time of Miriam’s murder,” observed Keoni.

  “If he’s in a coma, who will make the decision to disconnect him from life support?” I inquired.

  “With no ID, there are no known relatives. So, he’s basically a ward of the State,” said John. “The docs have said there’s little likelihood of recovery no matter what they do. Who wants to foot the bill for a man who’s probably killed two people here, and who knows how many elsewhere through the years. It’s not like he’s a Nelson Mandela that the world didn’t want to lose.

  “Looks like the man was a pro for a long time. With that tan, he hasn’t been inside the walls of a prison any time recently, if ever. That means there’s little likelihood of finding a match for his DNA. And with those burned off fingertips, it doesn’t look like he’ll ever be identified. That’s the why the State of Hawai`i has become his personal representative. They’ve got to follow a set protocol, but eventually someone will sign the papers to get him disconnected. And unless authorities on one continent or another come up with something, another John Doe will go into a county grave. And Miriam’s case will end up in the cold case files.”

  * * * * *

  Despite our disappointment over the disposition of Miriam’s case, everything about her memorial was as lovely as the weather. Keoni was positioned at the side gate of Mokulua Hale to direct everyone into the back yard. At five fifteen, a van pulled up with the minyan of ten adult Jews. I was surprised to see that they were all young and mostly women. A few minutes later, the Smiths, the Ho family and several other neighbors arrived. Behind them were John Dias, Ken`ichi Nakamura and Miriam’s attorney, Curtis Leighton. Except for members of the minyan, Izzy greeted each guest with a fresh lei of white carnations and lavender. Then her niece Malia escorted them to chairs set in a wide semi-circle, facing ten chairs set in a line for the minyan who would recite the Mourners’ Kaddish. As I watched the procession, I looked up into the trees and noticed Miss Una perched on a branch where she could enjoy the event at a safe distance.

  Despite notices in foreign newspapers and within international organizations, we had not expected anyone to come from outside of Hawai`i. To share the day with those who could not attend personally, Joanne had set up a video camera to record the gathering for the memorial website. Miriam might have departed this plane, but her Ladies proudly shared her home and life with both those in attendance and those who would participate online. The site suggested that people across the globe lift a glass of champagne in honor of Miriam and Henri at the time of the memorial in Hawai`i.

  Just before five-thirty, Keoni closed the gate and came to sit beside me. Surrounded by the scent of Miriam’s lavender bushes and the blooming plumeria trees, I could imagine the romance of Miriam’s first year in the cottage with her beloved husband. After welcoming everyone, Joanne explained the significance of the Hebrew hymn that would be recited and we all stood with the minyan to hear the words of praise Miriam’s ancestors had chanted for unknown generations.

  After that, The Ladies shared their stories of becoming Miriam’s housemates. Then several of us read from letters and emails that had come from afar. One surprising element was that several arrived with only the senders’ initials and a postmark to indicate their cities of origin. Many of these messages shared a common theme—had it not been for Miriam, it was unlikely the writers could have fulfilled their goals for education and career…or even survived their former circumstances.

  CHAPTER 22

  By mutual confidence and mutual aid —

  great deeds are done, and great discoveries made.

  Homer [c. Eighth - Ninth Century BCE]

  After the memorial, most people, including members of the minyan, remained to learn more about the woman we were honoring. By the end of the buffet dinner, many of us had expressed a desire to set new goals for our own lives. Samantha confirmed her desire to get a degree in European languages, while Joanne was going to look into volunteering at the local high school’s newspaper to help students develop their photographic skills. Without concern for survival on her limited income, Izzy wanted to augment the education of her grandchildren and great grandchildren by taking them abroad after graduation from high school.

  Thinking of the challenges faced by people with physical injuries like that to his ankle, Keoni was considering teaching self-defense to women and children at Hale Malolo. I was thinking of volunteering in the shelter’s literacy and workforce re-entry programs.

  The day after the memorial, elegant envelopes arrived at the doors of White Sands Cottage and Mokulua Hale simultaneously. Ken`ichi personally delivered one to The Ladies. Keoni and I received ours from John.

  “The reason this is being hand-delivered is so you know it’s legit,” said John. “I’m not going to say any more than that. Just be there, at the Moana Surfrider Hotel in Waikīkī tomorrow at eleven a.m. Okay?”

  Keoni looked at me. I nodded. “Okay…but how about we get together for a drink after this mysterious meeting!”

  “Sure thing. I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to learn at your little tea party.”

  “What do you mean by what we’re going to learn? Aren’t you’re going to be there?” I asked.

  “Maybe someone forgot to include me on the VIP list. I haven’t a clue about what’s going on. But Captain Makani said to make it happen. So that’s why I’m here instead of using up some of my comp time on the golf course. You may recall that’s where I was the last time you called to report murder and mayhem.”

  As we laughed at the weak joke, Keoni opened the ivory linen envelope. As I looked at what he held in his hand, I was impressed by the quality of the raised print in gold foil.

  M. Keoni Burgess Hewitt and

  Mme. Natalie Harriman Seachrist

  Are cordially invited to a private tea

  Honoring Miriam Sophia Reznik Didión

  Tomorrow morning at eleven o`clock ante meridian

  In the Lanikai Room of the Moana Surfrider Hotel

  2365 Kalākaua Avenue

  Honolulu, Hawai`i

  I have attended some elite functions before, but never had I received such a distinctive invitation to an event intended for so few attendees. By the abbreviations preceding our names, I guessed that our host or hostess must be French. For such an elegant affair, perhaps the most fitting attire would be what we wore to Keoni’s birthday party, the night before Miriam died.

  While Keoni walked John to his car, I rushed to call The Ladies to see their reactions to the invitation. We were all curious about the identity of the man or woman who had invited us to the mysterious event. Not knowing how long we would be in Waikīkī, we decided to take t
wo vehicles. Given the formality of the invitation, I doubted that we would need to stop for lunch, but perhaps Keoni and I would decide to stay and play in town following our meeting with John Dias.

  Driving toward Waikīkī the next morning, I thought about Miriam and how her life had impacted so many people. I think that my favorite quote from her last public speech was, “When we stand in righteousness, with the law behind our words and actions, we answer and undermine the narrative of the terrorist.” The truth of her words had certainly been shown in the strength of the people of Boston in the aftermath of the attack on that city’s marathon. It was especially sickening to think that although Miriam had been killed by mistake, the method of her murder, garroting, reflected the silencing of her voice.

  Due to Keoni’s concern for punctuality, our two-vehicle caravan arrived at the Moana Surfrider fifteen minutes prior to our appointment. With its distinctive white colonnade and porte cochère entrance, the First Lady of Waikīkī has often been mislabeled a classic Victorian since her opening in 1901. Her architecture is actually of Beaux-arts design, with features added that were inspired by the Italian Renaissance, Art Déco and Bauhaus movements. Once the home of the old Hawai`i Calls radio show, today she usually hosts events that range from outrageously expensive weddings and honeymoons to formal balls and political fundraisers attended by Island elites.

  Today’s invitation gave no hint of where the tea would fall in the scheme of special events being held at the Moana Hotel. As we entered the lobby, John Dias came forward to greet us. With few words, he escorted us to a ballroom located on the makai, or ocean side, of the lovely old building. When he opened the doors to usher us in, the room appeared to be set up to fête a wedding party of over one hundred, with its tables featuring a purple and ivory theme, and a multi-tiered cake sitting on a table by itself.