“I guess he had to be a genius as well as being crazy,” Craig said, reluctantly. “Otherwise he would have never figured out you were at the meeting of the League.” Kay smiled but said nothing. Sid, looking sheepish, broke in. “He didn't have to be a genius to figure it out. All he needed was someone stupid enough to tell him where Kay had gone. He found someone who was. I not only told him, I even said she knew who the killer was.”
“Sid's been berating himself about that, but it was really my fault. If I'd told Sid my suspicions, he would never have said a word about my whereabouts to Wayne.”
For the first time Leilani spoke. “The important thing is you're back and safe. You're just in time for the big celebration.”
“Celebration? What celebration?”
“You mean you haven't heard?” Craig asked, the disbelief showing in his voice. “Hasn't Sid told you?” “ Sid's been too busy waiting on me, asking me how I feel and just generally treating me like an invalid, to have taken time to tell me about anything important this last twenty-four hours.”
“You haven't heard about the Hondas' baby?” Craig looked aghast. Everyone else was grinning.
“I haven't even heard of the Hondas. Is this some new midget car or something. Oh! You mean Alan and Corky. What's going on?”
“The baby is arriving on the one-thirty flight from Honolulu. We're all going to the airport to celebrate.”
“A baby coming in at the airport? I've heard everything now.”
*** Corky seldom looked nervous, but today she most certainly did as she watched the 727 coming in for a landing. Alan would have been nervous too, but Corky's fingernails, which were sunk into his hand, kept him from thinking too much about the reason they were waiting at Gate C with a crowd of friends and acquaintances behind them.
The first person off the plane was a stewardess with a bundle in her arms. Corky rushed out to meet her, and the guard at the gate grinned and let her through in spite of the regulations. Alan followed. The stewardess said, “He's a doll. The attendant who took care of him on the trip from Korea says he laughed and slept all the way. He never cried once.” Uncertain how to take him from the stewardess's arms, Corky somehow managed. The baby seemed to be making contact with her eyes and started to blink.
“He is smiling” Alan said.
“Hey Alan,” Sid said, “he looks like you.”
Alan grinned, Corky looked resplendent. Hank, in a hushed voice, said, “I never thought I'd see the day.”
They walked out to the lobby, and heads turned to watch the couple at the center of the moving crowd.
“Is he going to be a policeman or an electrician when he grows up?” Craig asked.
“Not a policeman,” Alan said. “It's much too dangerous.” Corky looked up from the bundle in her arms, saying, “Being an electrician isn't exactly risk free. You could grab the wrong wire by mistake any time at all. We need a nice safe profession for him.”
“Why not an attorney, then?” Qual said.
Several pairs of eyes turned in Kay's direction. “There just has to be a safer profession than that,” she said.
END
THE BODY IN THE HOBART
Chapter 1
As Monday mornings go, this one had gone well. The car, acting as though it didnt need a new battery, had started with the first turn of the key. Better yet, the streets of Napua had been even more deserted than usual for four in the morning. So, even though Mary Ann had started off to work a few minutes late, she made good time through town. As for the highway, she had it all to herself.
The only eventful part of the trip was the red glow on a shoulder of the ridge above Napua. Mary Ann recognized it as a brush fire in a rugged area where neither buildings nor farms could be threatened. She gave it no further thought. More important to her was finding a parking space close to the employees entrance in the Malalanis parking lot, and she managed to change into her pajama-like uniform and punch in with minutes to spare.
Wonder of wonders, she found Herbie Burns already there when she got to the kitchen. It wasn't as though Mary Ann Cambra was ever particularly happy to see Herbie. She had a teenager of her own at home to deal with, which was bad enough. Another at work, especially one who knew he could get away with murder because his father was an assistant manager at the hotel, was sometimes almost more than she could stand.
Today, The Motorcycle Monthly was commanding all of the gawky blond adolescents limited attention span. Engrossed in his reading matter, he was sitting on a stool with his back against the dishwashing machine at the end of the long kitchen. Neither of the control lights was on. It wouldnt have hurt him to start the water heating, Mary Ann thought, but quickly decided not to let him spoil a morning which had otherwise gone so well. Tying on her plastic apron, she walked into the warm, humid dishwashing area, where the smell of chlorine and Pine Sol was still strong from the night before. Herbie looked up and stopped chewing gum long enough to say“Hi.”
Mary Ann threw the heater switch. “You got the trays in yet from last nights flight?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Uh-uh. I just got here.”
“Well, bring „em in. We got less than an hour to get the first batch ready for the kitchen crew.”
Reluctantly, Herbie stuffed the magazine into his back pocket, found himself an apron, then strolled back to the loading dock. Waiting for him was the double row of heavy catering trolleys deposited there several hours earlier by a Paradise Airlines crew.
Mary Ann flipped on the air conditioning and eyed the vast bulk of the washer. She recalled the morning she had found the Hobart stacked with crusted plates left unwashed by the night crew. Worse yet had been the time when she had come in to find the machine noisily churning away amidst clouds of steam. The conveyor belt had been carrying a load of phantom dishes through yet another of the meaningless circuits they'd been making all night. Mary Ann shook her head at the thought. The clatter of the airline cart Herbie was pushing added a drum beat to the humming of the air conditioner. The noise roused the kitchen to the life of a new day.
Mary Ann quickly unloaded trays from the cart, scraping paper and plastic ware, along with the remains of meals more or less consumed, into the trash container and the slop bucket. Never having become used to seeing the wasted food, she rescued a couple of raisin cookies still encased in their wrapper. Stuffing them in her apron for a late morning snack, she again shook her head and dumped dozens more of the same kind in with the rest of the refuse. As she worked, she stacked dishware in sorted piles, while Herbie went for the next cart.
When they began to run out of space along the stainless steel counter corralling one end of the dishwasher, Mary Ann began feeding trays and dishes into the rows between the ranks of upright plastic fingers and pressed the Hobarts „on button. The machines roar joined the rest of the cacophony. Jets of hot water sent billows of steam out around the hanging strips of plastic curtaining each end, then the belt began the journey which usually continued uninterrupted until the night shift went off at ten to twelve.
Today was different.
Leaving Herbie to continue feeding in the last of the trays, Mary Ann moved toward the back end of the machine. She stopped when she reached the exit of the chamber where the final rinse took place. At first, she thought it was a dummy, some kind of a hoax, maybe something Herbie had done as a joke. It was no joke.
The steaming hot face came out first. The mouth was agape and overflowing with scalding water. The dripping, wide-open eyes stared reproachfully up into her own. Mary Anns hand moved to her mouth to stop a scream. A crash behind her made her turn.
Herbie had fainted.
***
Lieutenant Hank DeMello seemed especially tall next to the tiny Filipina he was guiding to a chair in the supervisors office opposite the dishwashing area. Dark-haired but graying at the temples, and bulging a little at the waist, Hank DeMello regarded these signs of aging in himself as marks of maturity. An admiring wife help
ed to preserve his illusions, but this sudden encounter with Mary Ann Cambra was momentarily dispelling them.
They had occasionally run into each other since the high school days when they had dated. After all, Elima was a small island, and the city of Napua was no metropolis. Yet this was the first time since the senior prom where both had sat together in the same room. Hank quickly decided Mary Ann had weathered an unhappy marriage and four children surprisingly well. The thought made him immediately wonder if the years had been as kind to him.
Mary Ann was the first to bring up what had been on both their minds. “Its been almost thirty years, Hank.”
“All of that. Elimas changed a lot since then. So have we.” Especially me, he added to himself.
Neither cared to dwell on memories, and Mary Ann quickly moved on to describe what had happened. Hank flipped on his tape recorder. Watching Mary Ann calmly relating the events of the morning, he reflected she was as unflappable as ever. The memory of an embarrassing moment in their past flashed before him. He remembered she had shown as much aplomb then as she was showing now.
When she had finished her story, Hank asked, “Got any idea who he might be?”
“No. From the way hes dressed, I think he must have been a hotel guest. Im sure he was Japanese.”
“Have you seen him around the hotel?”
Mary Ann shook her head. “The kitchen help doesnt have much contact with the guests. In fact were supposed to stay clear of any public areas.”
“Guess thats it, then. Sergeant Honda should be here in a few minutes. Shell arrange to have your statement transcribed, and one of my officers can come by your house to have you sign it. Im afraid you wont be able to use your washer for a while.”
Mary Ann managed a feeble smile. “Thats OK. I dont feel much like using it right now anyway.”
As Hank recrossed the kitchen, Clyde Victorine was peeling off his plastic gloves and had just stepped back from the corpse still stretched out on the conveyor belt. The pathologist looked so much like Hank DeMello they were frequently mistaken for brothers, though neither man could see the similarity.
“Dont ask me,” Clyde said, as he caught sight of the lieutenant.
“You mean how he died?”
“Uhuh. Thats easy.” Clyde pointed over the corpse to a large butcher knife lying on the other side of the conveyor belt, half-hidden by the body. “Didnt you see that?”
“Sure, but you always tell me not to jump to conclusions.”
“Well, this is one conclusion you can safely jump to. One stab wound right across his throat and into his chest. Id say right now someone slashed out at him. It was an overhand attack. Then he either fell forward on the knife or his assailant lunged toward him. Either way, the force of the blow was enough to penetrate his chest wall and kill him. The knife missed his heart, but it opened his carotid artery, and he was probably unconscious within seconds and dead in two or three minutes.”
“So you dont think he was stretched out on the belt before he was killed?”
“Not likely! My guess is he was standing up when it happened, but I cant be sure until Ive examined his body cavities to see how the blood puddled. If it happened somewhere here in the kitchen, youre bound to find stains. Blood must have spurted out all over the place. It wouldnt have been easy to clean it all up.”
“So what is it Im not supposed to ask?”
“Time of death. It could have been anywhere from last evening to maybe an hour or so ago.”
Hank looked puzzled.
Clyde grinned.“Hot water, Hank. It does wonders for rigor mortis and makes it just about impossible to do any kind of meaningful temperature check.”
“How about if we find out what temperature this thing runs at. Would it help you to narrow it down any?”
“It wont hurt to know, but dont get your hopes up. We dont know if he was stuffed in there near midnight when the water was still hot, or late this morning, when it could have been room temperature. Hell! There are all sorts of possibilities. If it was a short while ago, the killer might have taken time to heat up the water.” Clyde paused, then added. “It does seem kind of farfetched, but it gives you some idea of how hard its going to be to use body temperature to determine time of death.”
Hank sighed. “OK to move him now?”
“Yup. Thats about all I can do here. Id guess hes Japanese. From the looks of his dental work, hes a Japanese national or a local who goes over there for his dental work. Late seventies. Maybe older. Any idea who he is?”
“Thats the next order of business,” Hank said, as he signaled to the waiting sceneof-crime personnel to start their work. “He wasnt carrying any ID, but the morning shift will be showing up soon. It doesnt seem likely hes a complete stranger who just happened to drop by to get himself killed, so one of the staff should be able to identify him.”
Sergeant Corky Honda stepped through the swinging doors leading in from the loading dock. As she crossed the tiled floor and approached the handful of police personnel clustered around the dishwashing machine, she said, “Hey, Lieutenant, I hear you got a big one this time.”
“You mean him?” Hank asked, nodding toward the body. “Who is he?”
“Do you mean to tell me you dont know?”
“Cmon, cmon. Dont be coy. Who is he?”
“Why its Masa Ono, himself, the owner of the hotel and half of Japans electronics industry.”
Chapter 2
Corky Honda was an attractive Portuguese-American, with a slender, boyish figure. Over the years, the bantering relationship developed with Hank masked a genuine friendship and respect for each others talents. The growing mutual respect bridged the gulf between their clashing values. Corky, some twenty years the younger, frequently shook her head over the traditional views of her superior officer. She still cringed at his outmoded notions regarding the place of women in society.
Hank, on the other hand, found it hard to accept his sergeants free and easy attitude toward sex. During the years they had worked together, Hank had mellowed. At least he was now less apt to slip into the male chauvinist role Corky so resented. For her part, she had settled down, married and now had a child. Now, there was something Hank could understand and approve of.
Today, though still struggling with the aftereffects from having gotten out of bed before six, Corky was making the most of her one-upmanship.
“Howd you find out who he was? And without even seeing him?” Hank asked, after theyd settled down in the supervisors office while waiting for the scene-of-crime personnel to finish.
Corky yawned and flipped open her pad. “Kitchen helper. Lets see. His names Herbert Brown. His old man works here too. Assistant manager, or so Herbie says. Anyway, Herbies sitting out on the loading dock when I drive up. Hes looking white as a sheet. Thats when he tells me about the body coming out of the dishwashing machine and how he recognized it right off.”
“So thats where he went. Mary Ann Cambra said her helper keeled over when the body came trundling out. Then he took off while she was out calling security.”
“Mary Ann Cambra? I know her. She used to babysit me, way back when. You mean she works here?”
“Yeah. Shes the one who turned on the dishwasher, right after she got to work.”
“What have you found out so far?”
“Not much more than you. Someone knifed him, lifted him up on the conveyor belt, then turned the dishwasher onjust long enough to move him inside. Since the button controls both the sprayer and the belt, he probably got a good soaking of steaming hot water if he was put in there shortly after the kitchen closed down for the night. In any case, Mary Ann gave him a hot bath when she got here.
“Thats about it. We should get some kind of estimate on how hot the water gets, but Clydedoesnt expect its going to help much with pinpointing the time of death. It had to be after twelve, when the night shift went off, and before four-thirty when Mary Ann and the Brown kid showed up…Come in,” Hank called out in response to a
knock.
One of the officers entered, holding a plastic bag. “I thought you might want to see this right away, Lieutenant. We found it under the body when the ambulance personnel picked him up. Its a finger made out of some kind of plastic or rubber. Top joint. Pretty good job.”
Hank and Corky peered at the sacks contents. The officer nodded. “Its his, all right. It would fit just perfect over his little finger, what there is of it. It must have come off in all the hot water.”
Corky said, “Yakuza!”
Hank said, “Shit!” ***
“When can we use our kitchen again, Lieutenant? And the Hobart? The small washer in the coffee-shop kitchen would never be able to keep up with the dirty dishes. We have a tour group coming in on the seventhirty flight, and theyre scheduled to have breakfast here. Then we have to move right into brunch.”
Corky had decided the managers nickname, though never used in his presence, was incredibly appropriate. Old Hooknose had the most impressive nose she had ever seen. Long, slender, with an overhanging tip and a distinct outward bulge in the middle, it was clearly a hook centered in the slender dark face.
Hamad Saifri seemed to deliberately capitalize on the feature to give himself a convincingly demoniacal appearance. Black hair, slicked down and carefully parted in the middle, a disdainful mouth and dark narrowed eyes added to his demonic look. At the moment, however, the Iranians satanic features merely indicated he was upset.
“Were close to one hundred percent occupancy.” The voice rose.
Hank looked skeptical. “How do you wash dishes when theres a rolling blackout?”
A touch of haughtiness quickly replaced Saifris testiness.
“We have our own generator which automatically cuts in if the electricity goes out.”
“OK. OK. The sergeant and I will go over it once more and then you can have it. In the meantime, wed like to use your office for questioning people.”
The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2 Page 33