While Kay was pondering this opinion, Hideko added, “Its really too bad everyone doesnt have Williams Syndrome.”
Chapter 10
Hank and the patrolman he had brought along for note-taking paused at the interrogation room door and peered through the one-way glass at the first of their suspects. “Hes one of those homeless vets left over from Nam,” the patrolman observed. “Him and one of his buddies almost drowned, out at White Sands. I was there when the medics showed up.”
“When was that?” “ Six, seven months ago. Maybe longer. I can look it up in my reports and get you the exact date, Lieutenant, if you want me to.”
“No. I justwanted to know whether hes a newcomer.”
“My guess is he got off the plane in Honolulu when they shipped him back from Vietnam, bummed around the islands, and finally ended up here and never left. Just drifted from beach to beach.”
***
It was exactlyhow William Fleming looked…as though he had drifted from beach to beachfor more than thirty years. The shabby unwashed shirt and cutoffs had undoubtedly come from the oldclothes counter in Father Duffys store-front mission. The sight and smell of him quickly convinced Hank it had been a long time between baths. His neardrowning must have permanently scared him away from water, Hank decided.
Before Hank could speak, Fleming started up from his chair behind the chipped and scarred wooden table. The words began to flood out of a mouth hidden by a wild graying beard. “You got it all wrong, Lieutenant. I was just goin up to the highway to hitch into Napua. I never seen that woman before. I couldnt have…”
Hank interrupted the flow. “Why did you run?” The answer to the question surprised him and softened some of his gruffness.
“I always run.” The eyes expressed fear, and despair, and something elseunknown, indefinable, born on a distant battlefield, nurtured amidst pungee sticks and mortar attacks. It was something which would never die until the final closing of those eyes. “Besides, if Id a done that, I wouldnt neverve come back.”
Raskolnikov flashed across Hanks mind. He had identified with the investigating officer in the TV version of Crime and Punishment. He remembered having felt annoyed at his counterpart who failed to realize much sooner how the young student, who came by with offers of help and with so much interest in the crime, was actually making a desperate attempt to confess, to be discovered.
William Fleming bore an uncanny resemblance to the actor who had played the role of the killer, but Crime and Punishment had been fiction. In the real world, in all his years in homicide, Hank had yet to encounter a murderer who voluntarily returned to the spot where he had committed his crime.
Hank shifted tactics and topic. “Were you in Nam?”
The change of direction merely served to increase the suspects visible fear. He gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Whereabouts?”
“Danang. The Delta.” A long pause. “Hue, during the Tet.”
Hank softened further. As an MP, he had missed the original fighting in the beleaguered city, but his company was flown in to “preserve order,” while the combat teams did the final mopping up. The stories he had heard from those men could easily explain the frightened, confused creature he was now questioning. The carnage greeting the troopsand left behind by thembore no resemblance to anything Hank had ever seen before or since.
Hank had tried to forget and had almost succeeded. The man he was now facing across the table had been trying to forget ever since the first rocket had slammed into the army barracks early in the morning so many years ago. Much as he had tried, William Fleming had never come even close to succeeding.
A few more questions convinced the lieutenant he had little reason to hold the veteran. He would recommend the charge of resisting arrest be dropped, and William would go back to his scavenging and his endless running. Just possibly his companions might have something to add.
When Jerry and Hank had found them back in the old microbus which they had driven along a back road to the edge of the gulch, the pair had denied any knowledge of the crime. Hank had had little basis for bringing them in. A search of the van undoubtedly would have uncovered a stash of pakalolo. It would have given him the basis for an arrest, but he had decided a little marihuana was not worth the time and effort. Instead, he had extracted a promise from them to come to the station for further questioning.
Hell, Hank had decided, on an island, where can they go? And they sure as hell dont have the price of a plane fare.
He had guessed correctly. They were waiting as Hank and the patrolman took the shaken and shaking Fleming out to the front desk to check him back out.
There had been a certain amount of charm surrounding the original hippies back in the sixties. Hank still remembered their early invasion of Elima. Though he had been a young conservative without knowing he was, he had still found it difficult to resist the open-eyed idealism. The beads and spangles, the colorfully painted vehiclesthose who had themand the presence of at least one guitarist, aspiring to be another Arlo Guthrie, had fascinated him.
These remnants he now had to deal with, however, held no appeal for him. The old and battered vehicle resting precariously at the edge of the gulch had been neither painted nor colorful. The only music was a blaring radio rattling its sound through the cracked diaphragm of a small speaker. The occupants of the van aspired to nothing more than tending their pakalolo patch carefully hidden away in some remote spot. The smoke from each harvested crop provided them with the oblivion they existed for.
***
Hank decided to talk to Dennis Kealoha next, and to use his office for the interview. A secretary from the pool sat unobtrusively in a corner taking notes, as Dennis denied any knowledge of the crime. Well before he had heard his pidgin, Hank had recognized Dennis was a local, a hapa haole. The Lieutenant was quite certain he had already established a police record for himself, and he was right.
The dark haired, dark skinned thirty-year old, with a three-day stubble of beard, had a string of offenses to his credit. They included possession of a controlled substance, breaking and entering, shoplifting, and several traffic offenses. As Dennis continued to protest his innocence, Hank thumbed through the file. He could find no signs of violence figuring in Denniss repeated encounters with the law.
Pushing the papers aside, Hank asked,“What time did you drive to the gulch where you were parked?”
“Barb, she duh one who drive,” Dennis answered, irrelevantly. “Maybe ten, duh night befoh. Maybe aftah dat.It stay plenty dark and, we wen go down duh ol railroad bed. Get only one dim light. Barb almos put us ovah in duh gulch.”
“Anyone else come around?”
Dennis shook his head.
“Did you stay there all night?”
Dennis nodded. Hank suspected the wordless answers were concealing something.
“Youre sure you stayed there all night?”
“I no lie you.”
“Did you stay in the van overnight?”
“Got to. Skeetos buzzin like „coptuhs. No can stay out li dat.”
“What about in the morning? What time did you get up?”
Dennis shrugged. Hank felt any attempt to get even an approximate guess concerning time from him or his companions would be an exercise in futility. Nevertheless, he gave it a try.
“Was it daylight yet?”
“Duh sun stay up, maybe fo one hour when I go out fo make shishi.”
Hank decided if the answer was anywhere near accurate, the day had begun for the trio sometime around eight.
“Then what did you do?”
For the first time, Dennis seemed uneasy.
Flem, he say he li go Napua, so he go up duh gulch fo hitch one ride.”
“What did you and Barbara do?”
“We talk about breakfas. Den we hear duh shot and Flem come runnin back.”
Hank knew there was something missing, but decided to try his luck with the last of the party. After telling Dennis to w
ait at the front desk for his statement to be written up for his signature, Hank told him he could leave the interrogation room.
As Dennis stood up to go, the Lieutenant warned him to stay on the island, an unnecessary piece of advice, as Hank well knew. Dennis, even if he had the fare, would never be able to muster up the initiative to board a plane and go elsewhere. The interviews with Fleming and Kealoha had just about convinced Hank the three hippies were a blind alley.
Barbara Cunningham turned out to be differentvery different.
***
Forty; maybe forty-fiveor more, Hank estimated, eyeing the rangy woman who had pulled a chair up to the desk with strangely masculine gestures and brusqueness. Barbara Cunningham was tall, with long brown hair pulled back from a face somewhere between plain and pretty. The shapeless but surprisingly clean blouse and long skirt hid whatever figure she might have had.
Hank was most impressed by her hands, which were far larger than Denniss, and surely as big as Flemings. Interlocking them behind her head, slipping down onto the end of her spine and relaxing against the worn chair-back, she initiated the interview.
“Whats the point to all this? Dennis and me told you everything we know. It was a damn stupid thing to book Flem. Shit, he wont even swat mosquitos.”
Hank knew she had given the upcoming visit to the station a lot of thought, knew she had decided to be uncooperative. Even so, he had not anticipated how vituperative she had planned on being. It took only moments for him to realize she was going to unload on him the full burden of her many dealings with the law. “You got a record?” he asked, trying to take back the initiative.
She glared and said nothing.
“Youll save yourself a lot of trouble if you tell me.”
Amusement showed in the hard blue eyes. She weighed the alternatives. Refusal to cooperate was a tenuous charge at best, difficult to bring to trial and probably more of a problem for the officer involved than for the one arrested. She knew he was bluffing, and he knew she knew. On the other hand, she was not eager to call his bluff. “Sixteen months in Tehachapi for soliciting and dope dealing. Other kid stuff, but no time.”
“How long have you been on the island?”
“Just got here a month ago.”
Hank waited. She added, “From California.”
“You picked up with Kealoha and Fleming then?”
“Yeah. Ive known Flem since before he went into the army. I was just a kid back then. Hes the reason I came over here. I wouldnt have if Id known how fucked up he is.”
Hank glanced over at the pool secretary in the back of the office. A middle-aged Japanese woman, she continued taking notes, seemingly oblivious to the obscenity. Shed better be prepared, Hank thought, because this slut is for sure going to dump all her shit on me. Hank found it impossible to hide his dislike for the aggressive woman staring unblinkingly into his eyes. In turn, Cunningham made no effort to hide her contempt for him and the whole process.
Hank tried to control his voice, but he knew his anger was showing. The knowledge it was made him even more angry.“Tell me what happened from the time you woke up this morning.”
Another flicker of amusement crossed her face.“The usual. About daybreak, we piled out to pee, and then we crawled back in the sack for another snooze. Flem decided he was going to hitch into Napua. He said he was getting tired of living off of green bananas and guavas. Said he was going to see if he could get a hot meal at the Mission.
“I told him to get his ass in gear, because Father Duffy closes down the line at eightthirty, but Flems never been able to get his shit together since Nam. He farted around, kept Dennis and me from going back to sleep, and finally headed up to the highway.”
“When was that?”
“Damned if I know, except it couldnt have been more than four or five minutes later when I heard your cannon going off. It pissed me off because Dennis and me were just getting in our morning go round.”
She paused then added, irrelevantly it seemed, but Hank knew the addition was intended to get a rise out of him and possibly to embarrass the secretary,“Dennis gives great head. He was right in the middle of it and had a hard-on like a mule when the gun went off. He jerked so hard, I thought hed been shot. His damn beards like steel wool.”
She grinned, rubbed her crotch and added,“Hes too fucking lazy to shave everyday. Guess Id better just let him grow a beard.”
Hank looked over at the secretary, who continued with her note taking, seemingly unperturbed by the content of the material she was recording. He was aware his own ears were reddening, and he resented Cunninghams ability to get under his skin with such ease.
Hank also knew his opinion of the mornings events were colored by his intense dislike of this contemptuous woman. Increasingly certain, when he had interviewed Fleming and then Kealoha, that the trio had had nothing to do with the crime, he was now swinging back full circle as he surveyed the large, strong hands clasped around a skirtcovered knee.
Maybe Corky was right, he thought. Maybe Chichis stop at the gulch was completely unpremeditated. About to squat down, occupied with her own bodily functions, Chichi neither heard nor saw this crazed Amazon who smashed her head in for no better reason than her happening to be there.
The phone interrupted his reconstruction of the crime.“DeMello here.” The station operator apologized for the interruption but said the county pathologist was on the line and wanted to talk to the lieutenant.
“Put him on,” Hank said, quickly deciding a break in the interview might heighten the anxiety he hoped was hiding under the suspects aggressive exterior. Besides, he needed a break himself from what he now planned would be a long interrogation session.
“Hi, Hank. I thought you might like to get the prelim on Perreira.”
“Fire away.”
“Well, she was hit at least a half-dozen times.”
Hank reflected to himself this was hardly news.
“Whoever did it, wanted to make damn sure she was dead.” Which is what I would guess too, thought Hank, but said nothing. “She was hit over and over again while she was lying face down.”
Hank looked across the desk at the impassive face and found it easy to picture it twisted with rage, with a brain behind it continuing the savage attack on a helpless individual, who was in fact probably already dead. Cunningham brushed her hair back with her oversized hand, and Hank could envision it holding the rock.
“The main finding is her bladder had only about twenty ccs of urine in it. There were no sign of any recent micturition, not even from death spasms. And, for sure, she emptied her bowels at least a half-hour before she was killed.”
The meaning of the new evidence did not penetrate at first. Clydes next words pushed it rudely into Hanks consciousness. “So its pretty obvious she lied to her friend when she said she had to go to the can. There cant be much doubt but she went down into Shishi Gulch for some other reason.”
Hank could think of at least a couple of reasons, none of which had anything to do with the three people he had just questioned. Grunting a good-by, he slammed down the phone. Turning to the secretary waiting with pencil poised, he said, “Wrap it up. Type up the interview and have her sign it.”
Chapter 11
The afternoon had been a terrible one. Leilani had tried to shelter Kay from the phone calls and the unannounced visit of a client and his entire family, but Kay could not escape all of the interruptions.
The filing of an appeal which had to meet a deadline, and the hour she had to take off for a court appearance on a bail request, took up precious time. The usual search through the papers on her desk to find out what could be put off for at least another day left few spare moments to even think about the Ono and Perreira murders.
At four, she pushed everything else aside and took the time to make two phone calls. The first was a quick one to Sigrid Ono. Kay had expected her client to agree to seeing Dr. Northrup. Yet, it still came as a surprise to hear Sigrid acquiesce with no
questions asked and without the least hesitation. Then she once again seemed to read Kays mind.
“Im used to being interviewed by psychologists. Its r ather nice to have so much attention.”
Kay suspected Sigrid was aware of the underlying reason for the interview, but decided to leave elaborate explanations for later. The next call was to Corky.
“A mixed bag, believe me,” Corky said, before beginning to describe her day at the Malalani following Kays departure. “Hank must not have spread the word the suspects arent to leave the island, because the whole crew left. Everyone except Mrs. Ono.”
“For good?” Kay was aghast.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. There was some kind of meeting of a branch of Ono Electronics in Honolulu. I guess theyre already divvying up the business. The whole crowds supposed to be on the last plane back tonight. So the only one I could find to talk to was Mrs. Ono. Hank was the one who interviewed her the day of the murder, and he didnt tell me anything about her.”
“How come you didnt talk to her then?”
“I was on my way with Hank to tell her about Ono when I was beeped by the station. The trades were coming up and blowing the fire up there toward Ridge Road. They needed all the police they could get up there in case they had to detour traffic off to the old jeep trail. Hank broke the news to her, and he never did fill me in on what shes like. So I was in for a surprise. Shes really something else!” Kay smiled into the phone.
“Whats your impression?”
“Right off, Id say she was about as likely to have killed her husband as Mother Teresa was to run a concentration camp.”
“Suppose her husband attacked her with a knife?”
“Shed have looked surprised and never put up a fight. I take it youre thinking the same way too?”
Kay answered with a hesitant, “Yes,” but Corky didnt wait for her answer.
“Wouldnt she be a great con artist, though?”
Kay could not help laughing at the way Corkys mind worked.
The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2 Page 40