“We dont seem to hear much from him these days,” Yoshito said. “I guess hes pretty busy. Yeah? Ive tried calling him at night, but all I get is the answering phone. He must be working even later than usual.”
“Do you have any idea where I could reach him this time of day?”
“I suppose the best place would be the Madame Butterfly.”
After a few more words back and forth, Kay was about to hang up when it occurred to her to ask about Agnes Brinton.
When she identified Agnes as having worked at the Yoshi, Kays father began to piece together memories of her. “A little thing. Yeah? I remember her. Dont you remember her, Etsuko. You cooked therewhen was it?during Boys Day week one year. You remember that little haole waitress? Yeah?”
“Oh, my yes. Now I remember. She was small and real thin. And one day she came in with a horrible black eye. She said shed fallen down, but I knew better. Her boyfriend beat her, I just know.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Yoshito chimed in. “It wasnt the first time, either. She came in with bruises before. She wore heavy makeup to cover it up, but you could tell. Yeah?”
Etsuko added, “Some men are terribly brutal.”
Kay said nothing to enlighten them. Immediately after hanging up, she rang the Madame Butterfly, not really expecting to find Uncle Nate therebut he was.
“Hi, Kay. What are you up to?”
Maybe I should ask him the same question, Kay thought, but quickly dismissed the temptation. “Im looking for more information on the Hanamotos.”
The voice at the other end sounded amused. “You pretty much drained me dry last time, but fire away.”
“Im more interested in Winston this time than Richard.”
“With Winston, Ill be even less help. I really didnt know much about him.”
“Did he show much of an interest in girls?”
The hint of amusement changed to a loud guffaw. “Lord, no. Rich used to say his baby brother was going to grow up to be a hermit.”
“What was he interested in?”
“Darned if I know. He didnt have any friends I know of. All I really remember about him was that, except for following his big brother around, he was a real loner. It must have been tough on him in the army, being thrown in with a lot of other people and having to associate with them whether he wanted to or not. He didnt re-up, youll notice. Much as he figured hed done something his big brother couldnt do, he wasnt about to re-enlist. Most of the guys in the service dont like war. Winston didnt like the service. Period! And I can see why.”
“No friends, no interests,” Kay murmured, half to herself.
“Oh, he did have one interest all right. Still has, so far as I know. Stamp collecting. Hes an addict when it comes to stamps. Maybe it fits in with being a hermit, huh?”
Kay couldnt see where this new morsel contributed much to anything, except for being consistent with the rest of Winstons personality.
***
Following the conversation with Uncle Nate, Kay knew she wouldnt get much more work done until she had at least thought through the information she had garnered. For a few minutes she tried to read through a case file which she had been picking at earlier. She soon gave up, pushed her reading glasses up into her hair, swiveled her chair around and looked out at the sunny Hawaiian day just the other side of her office window.
What would it be like to be sexless? she wondered. Sex was the glue holding the framework of most peoples lives together. Of that she was certain. From the moment shed become aware of the drive in herself it had virtually dominated her life, not so much in behavior as in thought and talk. And the girls around her had been little different. They dressed because of sex, directly or indirectly. Their talk skirted around the subject when it wasnt downright involved in the topic. There were crushes on teachers, on movie stars and on football players. Even, she remembered, a policeman who did traffic duty school day mornings had produced giggles and blushes and mad dashes across the street from several of her classmatesand she had been numbered among the fascinated ones.
Growing older didnt make the glue less important. Quite the contrary, sex had become an even stronger adhesive. The psychologists talked of bonding, and sex was the basis of the bond, sometimes weak, sometimes strong, but almost invariably present.
It wasn't as though Kay was unaware of persons who seemed to lack the drive. But in each of the instances she knew of, and she ticked them off in her mind, there were other strong personal relationships which served as well, if not better. She thought of a maiden aunt, older sister to her mother, who had devoted over forty years of her life to the gradeschoolers she had taught. And from every indication it had been a thoroughly satisfying relationshipmany of Aunt Kumikos early pupils still dropping by to see her, long after she had retired.
And nuns and monks had the strength of companionship derived from association with their counterparts. But hermits? How could they be explained? Especially hermits living in the very midst of modern society. Suddenly, Kay sat up, selected a wide brimmed straw hat from a collection she had on an old fashioned hat stand, and went out by the reception desk where Leilani was transcribing some dictated notes onto the monitor.
As she walked by, Kay said, “If Sid gets back before I do, would you tell him Ill be back in time for lunch? Tell him Ive gone to the stamp store.”
Leilani was certain she had not heard correctly. Taking off her head phones she asked,“Where?”
“The stamp store,” Kay said, just before closing the door.“The one on Kapiolani, right across from the First National Bank.”
Leilani stared at the closed door, shook her head, put her ear phones back on and resumed typing.
***
WEST ELIMA STAMP AND COIN SHOP. Kay had seen the sign many times, but she would have been hard pressed to remember the exact name of the store. Even now, the name seemed rather odd. She found it hard to believe Elimas rural population, or even its growing visitor industry, could support an East Elima companion to go along with this store. Why not just “Elima” Stamp Store.
The store was half of an earlier retail outlet, with its own entrance and single window. The other half was a newspaper and magazine shop Kay occasionally went into. The stamp shops window contained a variety of stamps, mainly old Hawaiian ones, with prices ranging from five to fifty dollars. Some silver coins made a frame around the stamp display.
The proprietor was sitting on a high stool behind a glass case running the length of the store. On the patrons side of the case, there was room for several large stools, with enough space left over for one, not too large customer, to move along behind them to view other treasures in the case.
Kay made it a point to immediately identify herself, not as a collector, but as someone who wanted some information about stamps. Putting down his paper, which Kay realized was a stamp periodical, the ruddy faced proprietor flashed her a smile enhanced by at least three gold teeth and said, “Im always happy to talk stamps with anyone.” He was.
Waving his hand along the length of the case he said, “As you can see, my major interest is Hawaiian stamps. They have a lot of appeal to the tourist collector. And youd be surprised how many people buy one or two for a friend back home. Its one of the few things you can buy over here that you can be sure is genuinely Hawaiian. Assuming, of course, you buy your stamps from a reputable dealer.
“I handle a few stamps from other Pacific islands, but Hawaiis my specialty. Naturally,” here he pointed to the last segment of the case, “I stock recent US issues. Local collectors are mostly into that. Weve got general collectors, too, but not many these days. Just one years issues of world stamps would swamp anyone. But quite a few locals buy topicals.” The proprietor saw the blank look on Kays face. “Special items pictured on stamps, like butterflies, or plants, or bridges, and that kind of thing. One of my customers specializes in stamps with palm trees on them.”
The mention of local customers, and an opportune pause, gave Kay a chance to ask a ques
tion. “Do you have many local customers?”
“Oh, sure. Some kids. A few serious collectors.”
“Do you know Winston Hanamoto?”
The proprietors face lit up. “I sure do. Hes got a US collection you could stack up favorably with some of the best on the Mainland. And hes got a first-rate Hawaiian collection too. It includes a mint fifty-three Kamehameha the Third. I could get at least seven hundred dollars for the Kamehameha. I wouldnt even have to put it on display. I know at least two mainland collectors who would pay that much for it. And,” here his voice dropped to a conspiratorial level as he leaned over the counter, “he has a full seta full set, mind youof Columbians. They would be worth ten to twenty thousand, easy. More, if he were willing to break up the set and sell it piece by piece?”
“Columbians?”
“Thats right. US stamps commemorating the discovery of America.”
“But those came out back in ninety-two, didn't they? How could stamps get to be worth that much in such a short time?”
The proprietor broke into a broad smile. “Not nineteen ninety-two. Eighteen ninetytwo.”
Properly surprised at the value of bits of paper, Kay went on to ask,“Does he buy much here?”
“Some. He depends on me for regular US issues. You know, you can buy those through the Post Office, but Winston says its too much of a hassle. Of course his real buying is on the mainland. And he does a lot of shopping around with the big stamp companies in Europe.”
“Do you mean he flies over there just to buy stamps?
Kays informant guffawed. “You can sure tell you arent into stamps. Someone with the wherewithall wouldnt hesitate a minute to fly to London for a good bargain. But, actually, its cheaper to just be on mailing lists. There are auctions going on all the time. Someone on the list gets a fax of the offerings and then calls in a bid. Sometimes its a conference call and dozens of collectors bid over the phone. It can be pretty exciting when something hots on the market. Why I can remember once when a three penny, blue…”
Once more Kay found herself paying the price of having to listen to a long monologue from an expert, in exchange for information of perhaps no significance.
When Kay got back to the office, she decided her brief excursion into the world of philately had in fact told her little, except how owning some of those tabs of paper could require substantial investments. And the one thing she was certain of was that Winston Hanamoto had somehow managed to accumulate the means for such an investment.
Chapter 17
Hank dropped down heavily into the chair in Corkys crowded quarters. One of the few sergeants on the force with anything resembling an office, Corky made do with one which measured only about a hundred square feet, with room for a desk, a swivel chair, a filing cabinet, a wastebasket and a cramped sitting position for someone of Hanks size.
Corky knew what hed come looking for the lab reports. “Dont hold your breath waiting for the results on those car sweepings, Hank. Newmansays the labs way behind. May take several days.” She pushed the report from the audio lab across the desk.
“I didnt bother to bring this over, because it wasnt worth the trip. The tape was a mess. No print possible. The one item worth considering is what Stan told meoff the record.”
“ What was that?”
“He thinks whoever made the call may have been trying to disguise their voice. Theres a lot of background noise in addition to the static, and the voice sounds muffled. Stan says it was probably someonewhos watched old thirties movies and used the stunt of covering the mouthpiece with a handkerchief.”
“Does it work?”
“Stan says it sure wouldnt do much to improve fidelity. Anything acting as a mute cuts down the tonal range and makes it much tougher to work out any kind of voice pattern. He thinks it was a man, but it could have been a woman with a deep voice. There was something else. It looked good at first, but then turned out to be a dead end.”
“What was that?”
“The call was made on a cellphone?”
“Dead end! Shit, the call can be traced. The company keeps a record of every call so they can bill the caller, and they know what phone it comes from.”
“Sure. Only it didnt help this time.”
“Why not?”
“The phone was a clone.”
Hanks level of exasperation was now showing at an explosive level, so Corky decided it was the better part of valor to give him the full story.
“Theres a big racket going on, mainly on the mainland. Hot-shot electronics experts listen in on cellphone networks, pick up the code off of private phones, program other phones with the number and then sell them to anyone who wants to avoid paying the regular rates. Its a one-shot payment and the user cant be traced. The drawback is the original owner of the code may notice the bum billing, but its amazing how few do pick up on it, and then only if its really extravagant.”
“How do you know this was one of those clones?”
“Simple. I checked with the person the phone is listed to. Hes a retired judge living in San Francisco. And before you get any ideas about how his honor might have been sitting outside the Dyer house watching all the proceedings, he happened to be filling in at night court right there in Frisco while the call was being made here.”
Hank mumbled something unintelligible, then said, “We have to check the neighbors again.”
“Im way ahead of you. Ive called everyone in the cul-de-sac and a half-dozen other houses nearby. Zilch! Sounds like someone was setting OHearne up, doesnt it?” Hank didnt care for the conclusion and made his feelings clear.
***
Kay was sitting in Sids office when the call came through. He flipped on the speaker button, and a fresh, young voice boomed out in answer to Sids “Hello.”
“Hi, this is FrankFrank Krocsany.”
“Have you got something to report already?”
“What I have to report, youll never believe.”
Kay sat forward in her chair, the better to hear the words, though the voice was clear, the words unmistakable.
Sid jutted out his lower lip, then said, “Try me.”
“I drew a blank in Omaha. After checking around, I located Dyers last stop, a small plastics factory in Denver specializing in custom jars and bottles for foods. Dyer was supposed to hit there sometime between Christmas and New Years. He had three other towns to go to after that, but never showed. Well, he did get to the Denver factory. He talked to the manager and owner of the plant who knew him and remembered him. He arrived on…” The sound of pages being turned came over the speaker. “December twenty-six.
“When I talked to him, the manager didnt know Dyer had cashed in his chips. In fact, he didnt even know Dyer was going back to Hawaii so soon. As far as he knew, Dyer was planning on driving down to Colorado Springs to a container company there. Id already checked them out, and Dyer never got there. So I figured the next step was to account for his time between December twenty-six and December thirty-one. I checked the car rental agencies and the flights from Denver to Frisco. He dropped his car off at the Denver Airport on the thirty-first and took a flight out due to arrive in Frisco on the same day at eleven-ten p.m.
“Sounds like youve done a hell of a lot of work,” Sid remarked, the admiration showing in his voice. Kay nodded emphatically.
“All it takes is time and persuasion.” The voice at the other end sounded amused. “But, after that, it took more than hard work. I hit it lucky. I went back to the plastics plant and did some inquiring. Dyer had dropped by there a couple of times before on earlier trips. Each time, he said he was going to drive to Colorado Springs, same as this time. So I checked the packaging company and came up with a lead. The first time, he got there in about five hours. Five hours measures up to a really leisurely trip. The second time he took over ten hours. This third time, he never got there. So it wasnt too hard to figure out something or someone, somewhere between Denver and the Springs held some sort of special interest for
Morton. I decided to work the Denver end first, and thats when I had an incredible stroke of luck.
“One of the warehousemen had a long talk with Morton Dyer on his second trip. They both came from De Kalb. Thats in Illinois. They even had some acquaintances in common and got to gabbing about this and that, including restaurants. Dyer told the warehouseman about a good one hed stopped at in Southmere, a town between Denver and the Springs. The warehouseman couldnt remember the name of the restaurant, but I figured it was still a good lead. It was.
“As it turned out, Southmere isnt much more than a wide spot on a county road off of Highway 25. Theres only one restaurant in town, so I knew Id found the place. Foods plain, but good. Real mashed potatoes without any lumps. Steak done the way you order it. Vegetables arent watery or cooked to death. So I sat over a late lunch gabbing with the proprietor. I was about to break out the photo of Dyer to see if the owner recognized it, whenand this is what you wont believeDyer himself walks in.”
Kays face was radiant, and it was all she could do to keep from cheering. Sid merely shook his head. Frank had been waiting for some comment and, hearing none, went on. “Damned if he didnt sit right down next to me at the counter. I struck up a conversation with him, but didnt probe. Im leaving the questioning up to you. Hes working at a hardware store in a mall nearby on the main highway. He now goes by the name of Morton Dawson, by the way and…”
Kay broke in, trying to hide the excitement in her voice. “Im Kay Yoshinobu, the other attorneyon the case. Can you keep him under surveillance to make sure he doesnt take off before we get there?”
“Piece of cake. Id planned on doing it anyway.”
“Just be sure not to arouse his suspicions.”
“No problem. Its the kind of work I do all the time. But you dont sound surprised at finding out hes still alive and kicking.”
Kay broke into a laugh and said, “Im not the least bit surprised. But a lot of other people are going to be.”
***
Qual canceled a meeting with a client in order to make it to the conference in Sids office.
The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2 Page 66