Nate was locking the car when Kay asked,“Do you think Winston could be capable of murder?”
Nate looked over the top of the car at her, then shrugged. “After combat in the service, who couldnt be?”
Again, Kay protested, saying there was no need for him to wait. “Lets see what time the next flight leaves for Napua,” he said. Then, smiling, he added, “Ill have the rest of the day to talk story with Yoshi and Etsuko.”
Kay took advantage of the half-hour wait for Flight 105 to run down the remaining names on the list of Hawaiian Harvests officers.
Nate shook his head over Joe Demos. “I met him a couple of times, but Yoshi did most of the negotiating with him. Zoe? Im sure your folks told you about her. They knew her long before my time in the business. I met her at one of HHs buyers parties, but I dont think Id recognize her if I saw her again. About all I remember is someone who was pretty flashymade up to look like a teenager.”
The next name either struck a nerve, or opened up a vein.
“Isobel Kim?” Nates eyes widened then narrowed into slits. “So Isobel is still working there. Sure, I knew her.”
From the expression on Nates face, Kay was reasonably sure he had known her well. She also suspected she would never get the full story of just how well Nate had known Isobel.
“I knew her before she married Stanley Kim, the state representative. She was Isobel Dunlop back then.” A smile spread over Nates face. “Tallest woman I ever went out with. She was strange, you know. She was a really cold fish in a lot of ways. There was no way of telling what she was thinking.”
Kay decided not to interrupt the reminiscence, but the airport loudspeaker system did. “Flight 105 now loading for Napua at Gate 14.”
The two of them stood up, and Nate gave Kay another of his bear hugs, told her to remember him to Sid and, as they walked toward the gate, urged her to keep in touch. His last words were. “Isobel could have done it. And if she did, she wouldnt have batted an eye.”
***
It was almost noon before Kay arrived at the office. Sid was in court. Qual was in his office with a client, and Craig was sitting in the outer office. Seeing Kay, he held up one of the old office magazines, saying, “Kay, have you ever eaten cuttlefish. Theres a recipe in here for it, and I wondered if it was worth trying.”
Kay smiled, “Youll have to check with Sid on that, Craig. Hes the great seafood fancier in our household.”
Leilani, who had been listening to the conversation despite the earphones she was wearing, made a face at the sound of the word “cuttlefish.”
“On the other hand,” Kay added, seeing the office managers expression, “maybe you should check with Leilani.”
Craig followed Kay into her office. “Wasnt it terrible about the OHearne fellow?”
Kay sat down in her chair, slipped on her reading glasses and riffled through the papers on her desk. Craig made himself comfortable with his magazine. She peered over her glasses at him and asked,“Whats the latest on what happened, Craig?”
“I was going to askyou the same thing. Qual and I heard the explosion, but we didnt think much of it at the time. It was over by the station in the parking lot outside the new apartment complex. The explosion was why I stopped by here this morning. I thought Qual might know something more than what we saw on the morning news.”
Kay pushed her glasses up into her hair and sat back. Craig was an ideal sounding board to bounce ideas off of, and Kay decided today she had a lot of ideas in need of bouncing. “Craig, why would anyone send a million dollars back when there was virtually no possibility of tracing it?”
Craigs wide set blue eyes seemed fixed in thought. After dog-earing his magazine, he placed it on the edge of the desk and said, “Conscience.”
“But the person who stolethe money is dead. He couldnt have been the one who sent it back.”
“It wasnt his conscience. He left the money with someone. Someone he loved and trusted. Someone with a conscience. Maybe Morton Dyers dying is what triggered it.”
Kay thought it over. “You have a point. But then, why was Dyer on his way back if he had the money over there? Why didnt he just disappear, or try to disappear? Certainly, he planned on disappearing eventually. He knew the fact the money was gone would be discovered sooner orlater. Now was the ideal time to disappear…unless…?”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he has disappeared.”
“Why, of course hes disappeared…thousands of feet below the Pacific.” Craigs face suddenly showed horror. “Kay! You arent thinking what I think youre thinking. That he blew up the plane?”
“If it werent for one thing, I would be absolutely certain he did.”
“Whats the one thing?” Horror was still written on Craigs face.
“The money.”
Craigs expression changed. He seemed suddenly relieved. “Of course. Of course. No one who blew up a plane of innocent people would even have a conscience, nevermind one which would make him send back a million dollars he stole.” ***
Kay had called for a conference. By one oclock, both Sid and Qual were free. Craig brought along an extra chair as they settled down in Quals office. Qual had no inkling of what the subject of the conference was going to be. Sid did, and was none to happy about what Kay was going to propose.
Qual had something of his own he wanted to discuss, but deferred to Kay. As she outlined her suspicions, Quals face remained expressionless, Sid looked grim, while Craig nodded at every salient point.
“Lets start over from the beginning,” Qual said. “You and Sid have been a lot closer to this case than I have, so youll have to fill me in on the details.”
Kay shook her head. “I cant do anything but give you an outline full of hunches.”
“Ill settle for that,” Qual said, laconically.
“The major thing is I think Morton Dyer may still be alive.”
“So how come he was listed as a passenger?”
“I dont know, but thats what Id like to look into.”
“And you think he blew up the plane?”
“Thats what stumps me and what makes me think another answer is more likely.”
Sid was the one who said, “Its not like you to have two sets of competing hunches, Kay.”
Kay grinned. “This other one really isnt mine. Its Craigs. Hes opting for a loversomeone who was trusted with the money and who sent it back following the crashin which Morton Dyer died.”
Qual nodded. “Craig's idea does make a lot more sense. It could also explain why Dyer was on his way back to Hawaii. He figured on tapping the till again.”
It was Craig who picked up on the amused expression on Quals face. “Qual!” he said. “You know something we dont know. What is it?”
Qual broke into a grin, reached over to a fax he had been reading when the others had come into his office and announced, “Sullivan Jabagat strikes again! He copied a stack of invoices at Hawaiian Harvest when he was over here and had his crew call the companies who did the billingsuppliers to Hawaiian Harvest. A significant portion of the orders are phony. The companies simply dont exist. Sullivan figures Dyer set up fake addresses all over the country, received the payments for goods Hawaiian Harvest never got, then fiddled the paperwork at this end so no one noticed the leakage. And the leakage ran to at least six figures, according to Sullivan, maybe seven.”
Sid was the first one to speak. “I cant believe it. How could Dyer get away with it? Didnt someone ever check on shipments? What in hell was their accountant doing?”
“Thats why we have to keep this quiet,” Qual answered. “Sullivan says either Winston is even stupider than he thinks he is, or else he colluded with Dyer. In either case, he wants us to keep this under our hats until the AG has a chance to review Sullivans findings. He only sent this to me because he thought it might help with our case.”
“Help?” Kays voice rose in pitch. “Hell, it leaves me completely baffled!”
“Well, hooray!,”
Sid said, “So now we can stop playing games and get back to paying cases.” He looked over at Kay who was glaring at him. Glumly, he added,“OK! OK! So we dont get back to other cases.”
***
“So, now where are we?” Corky asked, sitting back in Hanks office chair with her usual cup of station coffee.
“Im not sure, but I know where I wish I hadnt been over the weekend. Between Chief Yamada, reporters, and citizens certain theyre going to be attacked by terrorists, I might just as well have spent my Sunday here the way I did Saturday.
Corky looked amused. “Thats the price you pay for being a lieutenant, Hank. Any word from Clyde?”
Hank looked at his watch. “He should have the final done by now. You dont catch him working over the weekend.” Punching inthe pathologists phone number, he switched the phone button on to speaker.
Clydes voice came booming out of the box. “Victorine here.”
“This is Hank. You finished with OHearne?”
“Im just about to put pen to paper. Thats speaking figuratively, of course. I just washed up so I wouldnt get blood on the computer keys.”
“No need to be formal. A verbal report will do for the moment.”
“I thought youd probably settle for that. Let me check my notes.” The sound of papers rustling came over the speaker. “How does „massive head and internal injuries as a cause of death suit you?”
“I kind of figured that might be it.”
“Hank! Has anyone ever told you youre very perceptive?”
“Sergeant Honda tells me how I am with monotonous regularity.”
“I had a chat with your explosive expert, Newman Ihara, and were pretty much agreed on the deadly weapon. Hes sent some of the foreign fragments I found in the body off to the lab. Says theres a good chance theyll be able to narrow down the source of the ingredients in the explosive. Homeland Security is in on all this of course, though they're willing to concede this is probably a local matter and not terrorists. All are agreed it's dynamite, by the way.”
“Thatll help.”
“Were also agreed the charge was set somewhere near the floor. The wound pattern fits the picture. Major damage was to the legs below the knee, the arms, head and upper torso. Lower part of the body comparatively untouched. I got great stomach samples to send off.”
Corky grimaced. Hank showed little expression.
Clyde went on.“Newmans guessing it was a pretty simple device. Just a push button depressed when OHearne stepped on the pedal. Nothing fancy like an electrical circuit to the ignition. So just about anyone who knows about dynamite, or someone without sense enough to be afraid of it, could have set up the charge.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope. Just a lot of anatomical terminology for the formal report.”
“Spare me.”
As Hank hung up, Corky sat back in her chair and drained the last dregs of the coffee, long ago grown cold. Setting the cup on the corner of the desk, she rested her elbows on the arms of the chair and pressed her two index fingers to her lips. Looking over at Hank who had now leaned back in his swivel chair, she asked, “Where would someone get dynamite on Elima?”
“Good question. I doubt theres any retail outlet on the island. It would probably have to come in from Honolulu.”
“Whod use it?”
“Construction. Maybe the big resort hotel going up down south.”
Corkys eyes lit up. “Any place else? How about clearing for a farm?”
Hank sat upright. “Dammit! Youre right. A farm! A macnut farm. Hawaiian Harvest has a new field up on the ridge. Sure as hell theyve had to do some blasting on the blue rock up there.”
In a moment, Hank had the Desk Sergeant on the phone. “Get whoevers on patrol on Ridge Road over to Hawaiian Harvests field at…” (Corky supplied:“Mile Eight.”) “Mile Eight. Tell him to take the names of any workers who are there and to wait for me. Ill be there in…” He looked at his watch. “Ten minutes.”
Corky shuddered. As they slammed out of the police station parking lot, siren blaring, light flashing, she knew Hank would keep his promise.
***
The rest of the morning at the law office had gone quickly. Qual was off at court, Craig had headed to Uchimas Market to buy supplies for the evening meal, Sid had a complex motion and accompanying memorandum to put into final form for immediate filing, and Kay had two clients in a row, each of whom were convinced she had only their case to consider and work on, and absolutely nothing else to do. By eleven-thirty, she finally managed to free herself from the more persistent of the clients, walked into Sids office and flopped down in the office chair.
Sid looked up, pushed the papers aside, and said, “Its finally together for the secretary.” Earlier, Sid had suddenly remembered today was his birthday. He wondered why Kay had made no mention of it. She had a knack for remembering such events, but no word had been said.
This morning had been like most other mornings. Theyd piled out of bed at the sound of the alarm, quickly showered, fed Jenny and the cats, eaten their own hasty breakfasts while skimming the morning paper, and then driven off to the office with a busy morning schedule hanging over them. While he felt some mild annoyance at having been forgotten, he assumed the press of work and the excitement attendant upon the demise of their recent client probably accounted for her uncharacteristic forgetfulness. Her first words as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes confirmed his conjecture.
“Im bushed. What with trying to deal with a burglar and an embezzler, while all the time trying to keep from thinking about explosions, and missing company executives, and suddenly appearing millions.”
“Too bushed for a game of tennis? All Ive got pressing is this motion, and Leilani can have it filed in court this afternoon.” Sid gestured toward the sheaf of papers now neatly stacked in his out-basket.
Kay sat up. “Maybe tennis is just what I need to clear out the cobwebs. Lets quit early this afternoon and go by the courts? Then we can…”
Sids phone interrupted her. In a moment he had handed it to her, saying, “Corky.”
There was a long silence while Kay listened. Finally, she said, “Sure. We can make it. You name the time. OK. Bye.”
Before Sid could ask, Kay said, “Change of plans. Corky wants you and me and Qual to come by Hanks house at three. Shes obviously got some news to share, and Hank wants a conference of sorts about the OHearne case.”
Sid looked puzzled as Kay stood up. “Lets make it an early lunch,” she said, “and well still be able to get in a couple of sets before the meeting. In the meantime, Ive got some phone calls to make.”
Before Sid could ask, Kay added, “Give me ten minutes, and then we can go.” ***
The winter storm promised by the clouds for the past week broke finally, as Hank roared up Ridge Trail. The drizzle did nothing to slow him down. A black and white was waiting for them as they pulled up to the rutted driveway near the eight mile marker.
The officers were surprised to see the driver was Jerry Freitas. “I thought you were still on night shift, Jerry,” Hank said, as he slipped out from behind the wheel.
The young patrolman grinned. “Scottys getting married. She talked a half dozen of us into taking over her patrol this week.” Before Hank could ask, the patrolman quickly explained the current situation to his impatient superior. “Itll take a four by four to get up what passes for a road, Lieutenant, especially with this rain coming on. I didnt try. I did walk up to the knoll,” he gestured toward a nearby cinder cone sparsely dotted with stunted kiawe trees and clumps of fountain grass, “and theres no one out in the field. So I thought Id wait for you here.”
Hank nodded, paused for a minute, then asked, “Any vehicles or buildings out there?”
“A dozer and a small shack a couple a hundred yards from here. Looks like a lua. Its right next to the field they were grubbing.”
“Bring some wrecking tools,” Hank said, starting up the driveway on foot. Corky ha
d gone back to the car for raingear and was handing him his set. “A pry bar or anything similar should do,” he added, slipping on the raincoat as he walked.
Corky stayed on the raised center strip where the brown stubs of grass and broken shrubs of spiny amaranth testified to frequent car and truck passage up and down the road. Hank moved on ahead in one of the wide ruts, kicking up flecks of mud behind his heels. By the time they reached the shack, Jerry, carrying a heavy toolbox, had managed to catch up with them.
The rickety looking building wasnt an outhouse, as the patrolman had surmised, though it wasnt much larger than one. A heavy wooden door and sturdy hasp and lock indicated there would be no easy way in. Corky started around the building and tried, without much expectation of success, to slide open the dirt encrusted, old wooden sash window in one side of the building. To her amazement, she was easily able to push the bottom part up with one hand. Hank came around the building, looked at the open window and grinned. “Well, Corky, youre the only one small enough to get though. Up you go.”
Corky shrugged, saying,“Ive done worse things,” and squirmed her way through the narrow opening. Turning back and almost bumping heads with the curious Hank who was peering through the opening, she said, “Hand in a flashlight, will you? Its damn dark in here, and my penlight's about to fail.” Jerry quickly snapped a small light off of his belt and handed it through, past Hank.
“Whats in there?” Hank asked impatiently.
“Shovels, and picks, and boxes, and a lot of other crap like that.”
“What about the boxes?”
“Im looking. This ones crankcase oil. Heres an open one.” There was a pause. “Ugh! Its mostly cockroaches. Hey! This is what were looking for. Its a heavy wooden crate, marked 'explosives.' Hand me the crowbar.”
A hand passed the bar through the widow. “Be careful,” Hank admonished.
“Dont worry. Im always careful about number one.”
“Shit!” Hank said, peering through the window and trying to make out the box Corky had found behind the tools. “Im concerned about number two, out here. And Jerry doesnt want you to sell number three short, either.”
The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2 Page 59