The prospect of soon recovering his dishwashing facilities seemed to have made everything else acceptable. “Of course, of course. Please do.” Saifri stood and waved the lieutenant to his chair.
Hank moved swiftly around the desk, made himself comfortable in the oversize leather chair, then said, “We have some questions for you before you go. Please have a seat.” Hank gestured toward the place he had just vacated. Corky grinned at the startled expression on Saifris face as he suddenly found himself facing a questioner from the wrong side of his own desk.
The Iranian sat down, his face cleared, and he said, “Naturally. Whatever I can do to help. Mr. Ono will be sorely missed.”
Corky flipped on her recorder and used it as a base for her notebook during the questioning.
“Lets start with him,” Hank said. “What can you tell me about Masayoshi Ono?”
“As I am certain you know, he was the owner. He purchased the Malalani three years ago.” A tone of awe crept into Saifris voice. “He was the sole owner. One of the richest men in the world, you know. Amazing man. Terrible, this thing. Simply terrible.
“Mr. Ono loved the Malalani. He called it his second home and came here regularly, several times a year. He brought about remarkable changes, even in the short time of his ownership. The restaurant, for example. He flew to Switzerland to hire Joseph Schmitz, our chef. Hes Alsatian. Mr. Ono is paying him a kings ransom, but hes worth it. Im sure you have heard of our restaurants reputation.”
The prices, for sure, Corky told herself.
The manager continued with his reminiscence. “Yes. Mr. Ono was an amazing man. He turned this resort around when he purchased it.”
“Was he here alone?”
“Oh, no. He brought his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law. And, let me see, his executive assistant. He had a secretary, too. She went back to Japan several days ago.”
“Sergeant Honda, copy down the names and run them down. Well want to question them as soon as possible.” Turning to Saifri after Corky had gotten the names, Hank continued. “Have you informed Mrs. Ono yet?”
Saifri checked his watch.“Its still quite early.”
Hank rolled his eyes as he stood up. “Never mind, well take care of it. Cmon, Sergeant, well need a womans touch for this.”
Saifri was puzzled by the scowl on the sergeants face as she rose to follow the lieutenant.
***
The staff of Smith, Chu, Yoshinobu and Correa was stripped to the bone. Office Manager Leilani Pak, a heavy set, middle aged Hawaiian woman, was doing her best to fend off impatient clients.
Quality Smith, the senior partner, was acting as defense attorney in what was proving to be an interminable drug trial in Honolulu. Sidney Chus father had died, and Sid had flown back to San Francisco for the funeral. Laura Correa was now in full charge of their new law office in Wanakai on the other side of Elima. Keiko (Kay) Yoshinobu was the only one of the attorneys left to handle the deluge.
The answering machine was backed up with messages, the fax basket was full, and the phone was ringing as Leilani unlocked the door at seven-thirty.
“Smith, Chu, Yoshinobu and Correa. Leilani Pak speaking.” Pressing the receiver to her ear, Leilani flipped on the office computer with her free hand.
“Could I speak to Ms. Chu?”
“You mean Mr. Chus wife. Thats Ms. Yoshinobu. She wont be in until eight.”
“Would it be possible to see her, lets say at eight-thirty?”
Leilani tapped in the code for Kays schedule and watched the days calendar fill the screen. The whole morning was open, but she knew Kay had an overflowing in-basket, and there was no telling what was waiting for her on the answering machine or in the stack of faxes, to say nothing of the morning mail.
“If its important, we might be able to get you in sometime this morning.”
“It is important.
“Perhaps I could have her call you back. Could you give me your name and number? It would help if you could give me some idea of why you wanted an appointment.”
“My names Naoki Yamamoto.” The name rang no bell with Leilani.“Im executive assistant to Mr. Masayoshi Ono.” That rang a bell. “I dont know if youve heard, but Mr. Ono was found dead at the Malalani this morningmurdered. Thats what I wanted to see Ms. Yoshinobu about. Im at the Malalani. She can reach me at…
“Thats all right,” Leilani interrupted, “Im sure shell be able to see you. Im putting you down for an eight-thirty appointment right now.”
***
“How could you, Leilani?” The slender, dark-haired attorney looked disapprovingly at the office manager, but she knew argument would be futile. Leilani had been with the firm since its inception, and gave the impression it could function only under her constant and closest supervision.
Kay, like the other attorneys in the firm, cared little for office matters and was at least half convinced Leilanis estimate of her own importance was accurate. As a result, she almost invariably deferred to the older woman on matters of appointments. Today was different. The work she already had before her seemed overwhelming.
“Now you listen to me, Kay. Masayoshi Ono was one big fish. If his assistant wants an hour of your time, hell be willing to pay plenty for it. This stuff can wait.” She waved her hand at the stacks of letters, notes and documents on Kays desk.
Kay sighed. “Just give me time to at least look through some of this. It wont hurt for him to cool his heels in the outer office for a few minutes.”
Leilani grinned. “Sure. Hell appreciate you all the more if you make him wait. Maybe hell pay more, too.”
“Leilani!” Kay exclaimed. “This isnt an auction house. Its a law firm. We dont sell to the highest bidder.”
Leilanis grin widened, as she heaved herself up from the Naugahyde chair. “You just go ahead and get to work. He wont be here for another half-hour. Ill let you know when he shows up, then we can keep him sitting in the reception area until nine, which should be about the right amount of waiting time.”
Kay shook her head and plunged into the mass of papers. After what seemed to be only a few moments, Leilani slipped back into the office, a worried expression on her face. “There are three of them,” she said.
“Three what?”
“Mr. Onos assistant and two other men. I dont like the looks of „em.”
Kay laughed. “This I have to see. After all these years of working in a criminal-law office, I would think you wouldnt be squeamish anymore.” Handing Leilani a sheaf of papers and gesturing to a larger stack on her desk, she added, “Im sure I have the worst of this under control. Send them in.”
Leilani shook her head as she went out to fetch the visitors.
It was not Naoki Yamamoto who had been the source of Leilanis trepidation. Though probably somewhere in his fifties, he was tall, slim and rather handsome. His suit had the exquisite tailoring and style which could have been produced by only the most exclusive of clothiers. Expecting a marked Japanese accent, Kay was pleasantly surprised to find his English was thoroughly American. It was also puzzling, since there was the indefinable mark about him of the Japanese national.
Later, she was to find out he had been born in Japan after World War II to a Nisei woman who had been visiting her parents country when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Married there, she had eventually divorced her husband and returned to Elima with her one-year-old son. Only after his mothers death, when he was twelve, did the boy go back to Japan to live with his father, and even then he had made several trips to Hawaii to spend extended vacations with his maternal relatives.
As he himself said, he felt more like a Japanese-American than an AmericanJapanese. He introduced himself as “Nick”, his American name.
No, it had not been the executive assistant whose looks had elicited Leilanis comments. The cause of her alarm had been the two othersnameless ones, since Nick did not introduce them. In a suit matching the quality of his superiors, one of them was slight of build and short, no more than
five-foot-two, and amazingly light on his feet. Kay was convinced he was a trained martial arts athlete. The grace and controlled swiftness of his movements were remarkable.
In sharp contrast, the third member of the group was of medium height, heavy but not fat. His face showed the unmistakable signs of acromegaly. Kay wasnt familiar with the condition, but the facial features and extremities of a giant on a normal size body were immediately evident. Large hands hung out from an ill-fitting sports jacket, which covered an unmistakable bulge near the left armpit.
There was no martial arts there, thought Kay, but probably bone crushing strength. Whatever else Nick might call them, these were bodyguards. For lack of names, Kay mentally labeled the small one with the graceful movements, “The Panther.” The name which immediately sprang to mind for the other one, the powerful figure with the wideset eyes, protruding ears and prominent nose, now lounging comfortably in a chair against the wall, was “The Rhino.”
Nick insisted on moving on to a first name basis at the outset. Hardly a typical Japanese trait, Kay thought with some amusement.
“Do you mind if I tape this interview?” she asked. “If we cant be of help with the matter bringing you here, Ill erase it immediately.”
“No problem,” Nick replied, not trying to hide his appreciation of the attractive attorney facing him across the paper-strewn desk.
Kay flipped on the recording switch of the small cassette recorder and settled back in her chair. “Now, what can we do for you?”
“Let me get right to the point. As you know, my employer, Mr. Masayoshi Ono, was murdered this morning at the Malalani. I want you to find out who did it.”
“Im sorry, but I dont see why youve come to us. Im sure the police are following up on all the leads. Besides, were a law firm, not a private investigation agency.”
Nick intertwined his fingers and leaned forward in his chair.“Before I go any further, I should tell you Ive contacted the acting Chairman of Ono Electronics in Tokyo. He has given me carte blanche to do what I think best to find the killer. As for why I have come to you…” He paused and smiled. “You have an excellent reputation for the kind of investigative work you say your firm doesnt do.”
Kay shook her head. “No. Really. Whatever Ive done in the past has been solely in the course of representing a client. Now, if someone has been charged by the police, or is even suspected, I could represent them.”
Nicks forehead creased in thought. “Suppose someone felt they might be suspected. Would that meet your requirements?”
“I suppose so. Its a rather unusual situation, though. I would have to contact the firms senior partner to see if it would be acceptable for us to go ahead on such a basis. Are you volunteering yourself?”
Nicks frown disappeared, to be replaced with a broad smile. “I must admit such a possibility hadnt occurred to me. In any event, I have a more suitable prospect if you feel one is necessaryone the police would consider far more likely.”
Kay raised an eyebrow.
“The widow, naturally,” Nick answered the unasked question.
Chapter 3
Corky found the Lieutenant sitting behind his desk glaring at the sheet of paper he was holding.“Whats with you, Hank? Bad news from home?” She balanced her coffee cup precariously on the edge of the desk as she pulled the secondhand chair up to it.
“ Bad news from Chief Yamada. Hes being bombarded with phone calls from everyplace from Tokyo to New York. The reporters are sitting outside his office clamoring for a news conference.”
“Why doesnt he humor them? It should take about three minutes to tell them everything we know.”
“The artificial finger is what has him worried. If he tells them about it, the Honolulu papers will be filled with wild speculation. Then the Elima reporters will start ringing his phone off the hook too. If he doesnt tell them, and they find out later he was holding back, then theyll write nasty columns about him. With retirement just around the corner, hes not exactly looking forward to having them on his case. And now he has this to worry about.” Hank tossed the paper he had been reading across the desk. The short message was on the mayors stationery, over her signature, and was addressed to Chief Yamada.
“Did he go along with the mayors suggestion?” Corky asked, glancing up from the letter.
“Naturally. Can you picture him saying no to the mayor about anything?”
Corky skimmed the brief communication again and shook her head. “Wait until Clyde hears about this. Hell go right through the roof.”
“I know. Thats why the chief passed the buck down to me. I was just about to call dear old Clyde when you came in. Want to hear a grown man scream?” Hank reached for his phone, punched in the speaker button and the pathologists number. A familiar voice boomed out.
“Clyde Victorine here.”
“This is Hank. Have you had time to do anything with Ono?”
“Cmon, Hank. The boys just wheeled him in. Whats the hurry?”
“There isnt any, as a matter of fact. I just called you to tell you not to do anything with him yet.”
“You sick or something? Youre usually hounding me from the minute the body gets here. Whats going on?”
“Blame Yamada. Onos company got in touch with the mayor, and she passed their request along to the chief. The company is askingno, insistinga private pathologist be brought in,at their expense. The chiefs given his OK.”
Hank looked across at Corky, and both waited for the explosion. It was only a moment in coming.
“What?!! Who the hell does Yamada think he is? I dont work for him. What does a Japanese electronics outfit know about pathology? Who are they bringing in? The company veterinarian? Why, Ive been doing autopsies since…”
Hank decided it was time to interrupt. “The pathologist is already on his way. Theyve got him on a Concorde, one thats still used for special flights, just for him. Can you picture how much thats going to cost? He isnt Japanese, by the way. Hes German.” Hank scanned the sheet in front of him while the speakerphone continued to sputter. “Names Werner Rhinemuller.”
There was a pause in the sputtering. Then the voice at the other end of the line changed completely. Corky and Hank both detected the new tone of awe. “Werner Rhinemuller? Hes the most famous forensic pathologist in the world! I used his text during my internship. Werner Rhinemullers coming here, to Elima?”
“Right.”
“Sorry. Ill get back to you later.”
“What? Hey, wait a minute! Where you going?”
“Gotta clean up this lab.”
***
Clyde Victorine was nervous as he watched the twin-engine jet turn off the runway and head toward where he waited at the terminal. It was hard for him to believe how only a short while ago a Concorde, with special permission to land at a long military runway on Oahu, had brought the Werner Rhinemuller to Hawaii. The waiting corporate jet took off immediately from Honolulu for the Napua airport, with the noted authority and his wife aboard.
The German pathologist turned out to be short, stout and loquacious, greeting Clyde in incredibly fractured English saturated with an atrocious accent. From the first, he insisted they move to a first name basis since, “While that in America the custom is.”
Fanny (Mrs. Rhinemuller), resembling her husband in height and girth, differed in being taciturn to the point of almost complete silence. Clyde didnt realize it at the time, but her reticence was due to her poor command of English and not because of any inability to compete successfully with her effusive husband.
“I have my car along,” Clyde said, “We can go right to the Malalani. Im sure youll want to rest up after your trip.”
“No, no. First to eat. Then to work. Ono Electronics for all pay. We should ourselves enjoy.”
A quick glance at the prices when they arrived at the Malalanis restaurant, and Clyde was only too happy to know Ono Electronics was paying for all. Even so, he could not bring himself to order the filet mignon. Werner had no such
compunctions, though he was able to place his order with the baffled waiter only after several attempts. Clyde settled for mahimahi, and Fanny chose a lamb dish, accomplishing the feat by pointing to the entree on the menu.
“Now must you to me our case explain,” Werner said, reaching for a roll and slathering it with butter. Mouthfuls of bread did little to increase the comprehensibility of his remarks and questions. Occasional nods were what assured Clyde the gist of his description was getting through. “Death by messer…knife,” Werner commented, while signaling for the waiter to bring more rolls. “Not so interest…interesting as stumpfes instrument…blunt.”
More bread, thickly laden with butter, disappeared.
The circumstances in which the body was found stopped a roll on the way to Werners mouth. “No froth?”
Clyde recognized the question as directed at the absence of saliva usually found on the mouth of a victim dead from a lung wound. Shaking his head, he answered, “The initial jets of water in the Hobartthe dish washing machineare as high as two hundred degrees. The final rinse is in the neighborhood of a hundred and eighty degrees.”
Catching the blank look on Werners face, Clyde punched some numbers into the numeric pad on his wristwatch to convert the figures from Fahrenheit to exact Celsius equivalents for his listeners benefit. “The water runs at about eighty-two to ninety-three degrees, and the body got a good soaking, very likely when it went in and a few hours later when it came out. If the machine can get dried egg yolk off a breakfast plate, it can certainly wash away blood, or any other external deposits of bodily fluids.”
Having digested the information along with his rolls, Werner launched off into what Clyde had already realized was the German pathologists favorite type of woundhead injuries. Clyde noted the reaction of the waiter. In spite of the language barrier, the substance of the monologue was getting through to him as he hovered nearby. He was eager to be of service, but was also turning slightly green.
Werner waxed eloquent about displaced eyeballs, and spoke fondly of bits of skull smashed into living brain. He punctuated his remarks with forkfuls of salad, only briefly interrupted on their way to his mouth. Through it all, Fanny placidly consumed her plate of greens.
The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2 Page 34