The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2

by John A. Broussard

  Mrs. Dyer, set the alarm, and then left.”

  “Right, and there's something else.” Kay looked around at the puzzled expressions.

  “Whoever the someone was must have known about the alarm and known how to set it.” ***

  Hank was exasperated. Corky was amused at the visible signs of exasperation:

  frequent grunts; an occasional rolling of the eyes heavenwards; and “shit,” used as a

  supplement to both of the other expressions. The prosecuting attorney was too

  preoccupied with the preliminary postmortem report in front of him to pay any great attention to Hanks reactions. Besides, Emil Bautistaa tall, slender Mediterranean type, noted for the cautious playing out of his rolehad long ago ceased to be bothered by Lieutenant DeMellos rather differing expectations of how a prosecuting attorney should

  enforce the law.

  Emil, having finished reading the pm, said, “You know, Hank, she could just have

  tripped and hit her head on the base of the floor lamp.”

  “Shit! So its just a coincidence OHearnes in the house when it happened.” “Were not even sure of that. Clyde says she could have gotten the skull fracture as

  much as anhour before OHearne could possibly have gotten there.”

  Hank gave a grunt. “Or she could have been hit a minute before Jerry saw her.” Emils dark eyes searched the older mans set face as though looking for some signs

  of compromise. “What about motive?”

  “Hell! Since when do you have to demonstrate motive.”

  The concerned look on Emils face softened into amused lines. “It helps, you know.” Another grunt was the response. Corky decided to try easing the deadlock. She had

  spoken briefly to OHearne and did not share Hanks certainty about the suspects guilt.

  On the other hand, she wasnt about to air their differences in front of the prosecutor.

  “Hank and I are going to see what we can find out about this affair OHearne claims he

  was having with Mrs. Dyer,” she said. “If hes lying about that, then were back to the

  interrupted prowler bit. If he isnt lying, maybe well find out if it was a rocky romance,

  one on the verge of breaking upwhich would give us motive aplenty.”

  Emil smiled at the sergeants effort at bridging the gap. “O.K. Ive talked to Sid, and

  weve got a four oclock bail hearing with Judge Wong. If you can get something positive

  on the suspect by then, Ill push for at least manslaughter.”

  Hank glared. “And if we dont?”

  Before Emil could reply, Corky stood up, saying, “Cmon, Hank. Were off to

  Hawaiian Harvest. By four we can have an airtight case.”

  As they were leaving, Hank muttered, “Shit! Were going to need that, plus three

  witnesses and a signed confession.”

  ***

  The call came through while they were on their way to the macnut factory. Storm

  clouds hovered over the western horizon, and though the sun was shining far too brightly

  for them to be seen, Corky was certain lightning flashes were crackling between the tall

  cottony billows stretching far up into the blue sky. The reception on the police radio was

  incredibly bad, surprisingly so, since the technician whod installed the receivers had

  sworn they would be virtually impervious to lightning static.

  Hank, who was driving, looked over at her as she leaned toward the car speaker.

  “Could you make out what he said?” he asked.

  Corky shook her head, turned up the volume, asked for a repeat, then said to Hank,

  “I think it had something to do with the plane crash off of San Francisco.” Hank grunted. “You sure its our station? With this crazy weather we may be picking

  up the mainland.”

  For a moment, the static cleared. The operators voice boomed out through the

  speaker, making it rattle.“Morton Dyer was one of the passengers on Flight 212…” A

  burst of background noise drowned out the rest of the message.

  Corky again called for a repeat. A long, steady rumble of distant thunder indicated

  she wouldnt be having much luck.

  “It must be the husband,” Corky said.

  “I doubt there was more than one Morton Dyer headed this way yesterday,” Hank

  commented wryly.

  “It cuts down our work, anyway, Hank.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  “One less person to question.”

  Chapter 4

  While Hawaiian Harvest had never been Elimas number one tourist attraction, it certainly rated a spot in the top ten. The approach off the main highway was through Hawaiian Harvests own macadamia nut orchard, some three hundred acres bisected by the broad asphalt road. A windbreak of wild olive trees lined the approach, but the darker green foliage of the macnut trees themselves was clearly visible behind it. At the end of the halfmile drive, a broad parking lot, with spaces clearly marked for visitors cars and tour buses, welcomed the tourists eager for a touch of Hawaiian Harvests hospitality and free samples.

  If hard times had struck the macnut industry, there were no signs of any calamity here. Whoever was in charge of the face shown to the public had made sure the makeup was carefully applied and always in place. The giant machinery of the industryhullers, shellers, roasterswas on prominent display. Even examples of harvesting equipment with informational signs posted nearby stood ready for inspection and presumably for action. Inside the spacious retail store, attractive salesclerksthe men in shorts and colorful Hawaiian shirts, the women in flowery muumuusgave smiling service. A walkway over the processing floor provided a direct view through sloped windows of the nut on its way down the canvas belts through the skilled hands of sorters, and on to jars, or vats of chocolate, or cardboard boxesthe prelude to being shipped off to destinations ranging from the local 7-11 to variety stores in Australiathe original home of the tasty seed.

  While Hank was asking to see the manager, Corky took advantage of the samples and decided macadamia nut brittle didnt measure up to the straight roasted nutand, besides, it stuck in the teeth. One of the muumuu-clad clerks led them across the walkway and down a hall past a string of offices to a large room where a secretary receptionist announced their arrival over an intercom. A womans voice, strangely flat and expressionless, answered, “Have them come in.”

  Isobel Kim was obviously not the Korean her surname implied. When she stepped out from behind her desk to shake Hanks hand, Corky noted she was at least his height, perhaps even taller. Somewhere just this side of fifty, Corky guessed, while she admired the nicely tailored blouse and skirt the tall, dark haired woman was wearing. Mostly haole, Corky continued to speculate. Maybe some Hawaiian, but not much.

  After their interview, Hank and Corky agreed it was difficult to determine the extent of Isobels surprise at the reason for their visit.

  “Charlotte Dyer dead?” Isobels eyes had widened ever so slightly as she leaned forward in her chair, looking back and forth between the officers. “What happened?”

  “We dont know. Thats why were here. Early New Years morning a patrol car answered her burglar alarm. She was dead when they arrived.”

  Isobels eyes opened even wider, but she said nothing.

  Hank continued with a question, “Do you know a Leonard OHearne?”

  Isobel shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “He was in the house at the time. He says he was a friend of Mrs. Dyers. Claimed he was having an affair with her. Were trying to verify his story.”

  While Hank asked the questions, Corky was taking notes and occasionally looking up to observe Isobel. She sure reminds me of Leonard OHearnenot looks, but something else.

  “Wait a minute,” Isobel said, “Maybe I do. Charlie knew someone named Len. She was coy about him, and I got the impression there was something going on, not that I gave a dam
n. And Im pretty sure I met him. Joe, Joanilos Demosyou know, the ownerhad a party out on his boat. There was quite a crowd. Charlie introduced me to a dark-haired, nicelooking guy. I dont remember his name, but later she talked about a Len something or other, and Im pretty sure it was the same guy.”

  Well, Corky decided, if she is related to OHearne, she sure as hell isnt about to admit it.

  Hank shifted topics. “Where were you Saturday morningaround four?”

  “In bed.” For the first time, Isobels face showed a clearly interpretable expression. She grinned and added, “Alone.”

  Hank decided this was perhaps as good a time as any to break the news about Morton Dyer.

  Isobel shook her head in disbelief. “But it cant be. Morton was in Colorado. He wasnt supposed to come back until the end of this week. Are you sure?”

  “We heard it over the police radio, but it was a badconnection. Youd better check with the airline.”

  Before leaving, Hank turned to Corky and asked if she had any questions. Remembering Clyde Victorines uncertainty concerning the actual time of death, Corky asked,“What time did you go to bed?”

  Isobels expressionless eyes turned to the new questioner. “Around eleven. Maybe a bit earlier.”

  “And what time did you get up?”

  “Seven. Thats when I caught the news on the radio and heard about the crash. It certainly never occurred to me Morton was on the plane.”

  “And you slept right through from eleven to seven?”

  “Yes.”

  Corky stood up and glanced over at Hank who was wrapping up the interview. Looking at Isobel who was reaching for the phone, Corky made a note on her pad: “Check neighbors.”

  As they were walking off to their next appointment, Corky asked, “Dont you think its kind of strange, her not knowing Mrs. Dyer was killed two days ago?”

  Hank shrugged. “Were not living on Oahu, Corky. Or hadnt you noticed. The local paper doesnt even have a Saturday edition, and the Sunday papers pretty much locked up and put to bed Friday evening. Wheres she going to hear about it? KETY doesnt even check the police blotter. So she couldnt have heard it over the radio. Shit! It would take an explosion to get any of the local reporters off their butts to look for a story.”

  Corky still seemed dissatisfied with the explanations. Before entering Winston Hanamotos office she underlined the last two words at the bottom of Isobels sheet. ***

  “Howd it go?” Kay looked up from the papers she was leafing through, pushed her reading glasses up into her hair and directed the question at Sid who had just walked through the open door of her office.

  “Terrific,” Sid answered.“Judge Wong was in the best mood Ive ever seen him in. I think he must have something hot on the fire for this afternoon, and thats why he decided to have his hearings this morning. Best of all, Emils acting embarrassed about even bringing in a charge.”

  “Manslaughter, I take it.”

  “Right. Five thousand bail. No arguments at all. What a contrast to Ikeda.”

  Kay grinned at the look of relief on Sids face as he sat back in the Naugahyde chair. “Youll never forget our former prosecutor, will you?”

  “Nope, never! Hed have wanted murder one and no bail. But even with him, I think I could have gotten OHearne out about as easy. The evidence is pretty shaky. Theres no sure sign she was struck or even pushed. Besides, OHearne makes a good impression. And hes got a steady job and a home over on Oahu. His ex-wife and two kids hes supporting live there, too. No police record, either. So it was clear sailing. Its still damn nice to have a reasonable county prosecutor, though.”

  “Whens the trial date?”

  “Wong suggested two months from today, and his clerk confirmed the date. Id as soon get it over with, but OHearne didnt mind since he can go back to work in the meantime. He seems pretty confident hell get off.”

  “He isnt leaving right away, is he?” Kay seemed perturbed.

  “Uh-uh.” Sid sounded amused. “Youll have plenty of chance to question him again. “He said hell be here for at least a couple of days. Said he had some business to attend to. I told him to come by at nine tomorrow so we can start to brief him on what he has to face.”

  “Good. Ive got a lot of questions to ask him.”

  Sid leaned back in his chair and scanned Kays face, reading it as unsuccessfully as he always did. “Whats up?” he asked, then added, “Hell! Weve had clients who confessed or were caught red-handed and you were willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Now we have one whos got everything going for him, and youre acting like hes guilty.”

  Kay seemed not to be listening. “I want to walk from the airport to the Dyer house,” she said, as though thinking aloud. “And I want to find out more about how the Dyer burglar alarm works.”

  Sid gave a snort. “Thats it! You just want an excuse to play private eye again. Well, youd better hurry if you want to check out the Dyer place. I ran into your old flame, Jeff Bentley, at the courthouse. Hes representing the First National Bank and he has a court order to seal off the Dyer property as soon as Hanks boys will let him.”

  “Seal off the property?”

  “Yup. Seems as though Morton had it mortgaged to the hilt and was way overdue in payments. Jeff says whatthe bank doesnt get, someone else willcar, furniture, jewelry, everything.”

  “Which answers one question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Charlotte Dyer wasnt killed for her money.”

  ***

  “Whos next, Hank?” Corky asked, sampling a chocolate covered macnut on her way out of the demonstration building, and deciding it was a big improvement over the brittle shed had earlier. The additional sample cup of Kona-macadamia nut coffee she, as a long time coffee connoisseur, regarded as being mediocre at best, though a vast improvement over the station house brew.

  Hank was flipping through his notepad.“Secretary said Richard Hanamoto isnt in yet, and the big boss isnt expected back from Oahu for a couple of days, so…working our way down the list of people around here who probably knew Mrs. Dyer, leaves the head accountant, Winston Hanamoto. Hes over in the annex where the bookkeeping staff is.

  While both Hank and Corky were to hear later how Winston was sadly lacking in accounting skills, they were in complete agreement no one could have mistaken him for being anything else but an accountant. Thin, smallno more than five-fivebalding, with steel rimmed, thick glasses appearing to do nothing for his myopia, since he seemed to have difficulty focusing on the two officers sitting across the desk from him, Winston seemed right at home behind his ledgers and mounds of paper. In an age where numbers were now crunched by machines, his fingers were still ink stained. In the pocket of his short-sleeved shirt was a plastic case holding a half dozen pens, any of which could have accounted for the stains.

  It seemed to take several minutes before the news the officers brought could sink in.

  “Charlotte Dyer dead?” Winstons voice was high pitched and sounded strained.

  Again, Corky wondered why no one at Hawaiian Harvest seemed to have heard the news of Charlotte Dyers death

  “Yes, it happened Saturday morning,” Hank replied.

  “But, what happened? An accident?”

  “We arent certain. We do have a suspect, however, and thats the reason we wanted to talk to you. Do you know a Leonard OHearne?”

  The accountant shook his head, his expression still one of puzzlement.

  A sudden thought occurred to Corky, and she interposed a question. “Did you know a man, someone in his mid-thirties, who knew Charlotte Dyer, or who she spoke about. Hes five-ten. Has dark hair, dark eyes, slight limp…”

  Winston broke in, “Oh, yes. At least I think so. It was at a party on Mr. Demos boat. Im pretty sure. He came with Charlie. Yes. Now I remember. He did have an Irish name. We spoke for a bit. Is he the suspect?”

  “Yes,” Hank answered, mildly annoyed at how Corky had been able to find the question to askthe question which had eluded him. “Do yo
u know anything about his relationship to Mrs. Dyer?”

  Winston paused for several moments before answering. Corky couldnt decide whether he was naturally slow or was being especially careful in his answers. “Morton and Charlie have a pretty open marriage. Hes gone most of the time, and my impression is he doesnt care what goes on while he isnt here. As a matter of fact, I dont think he much cares what goes on even when he is here. But I really cant tell you anything about this OHair fellow.”

  “OHearne,” Hank automatically corrected.

  Further questions along the line of those theyd asked Isobel Kim resulted in the same two words at the end of the page in Corkys notebook marked Winston Hanamoto. Again, she wrote, “Check neighbors.” And, again, she underlined the words.

  Chapter 5

  Absolutely the best part of the day, Sid decided, looking out at the spectacular sunset from his leather recliner. He wondered how he and Kay could have ever had any doubts about moving out of town and up on the shoulder of the ridge running the length of Elima. Here, on an acre of land, with a splendid view of the ocean and the islands west coast, Sid was pleased at how he had adapted so well to what he called “ranch life,” and was equally pleased at how Kay had seemed to adjust even more rapidly to these country surroundings.

  At the moment, their three cats were busy with their post dinner washing while Jenny, their large Shepherd, was finally more or less satisfied with the attention Kay had given her. The dog was now lying on a hooked rug in the middle of the large living room, one eye open, alert to the possibility of yet more affection from the mistress she worshipped.

  Sid was still enjoying the sunset behind the remnants of the days earlier storm which had never reached Napua, when Kay came out on the lanai to share the view of the reddening sky and the scattered Rorschach of clouds along the western horizon. Jenny sidled over to Kays lawn chair and stretched out beside it.

  “That was a first we had tonight, Sid.” “ Huh? First what?” Sid turned fromthe unfolding spectacle to look at Kays face which was taking on the colors of the sky.

  “First, hundred percent meal out of our garden. Well, almost one hundred percent. Chard, and taro, lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers, and onions, and all sorts of herbs, right from the patch.”