The Yoshinobu Mysteries: Volume 2

by John A. Broussard

  “The main thing,” he said, on being told the full story, “is to keep all this quiet until youve had a chance to talk to Dyer.”

  “What about the legal aspects of it, Qual?” Sid asked.“The Feds arent going to be terribly happy at knowing we knew Morton was alive but didnt tell them right off.”

  “Weve got an easy out, there. We arent absolutely positive it is him. Our excuse will be we had to check him out first. And, regardless of what he has to say, youll have to tell him youll be notifying the authorities immediatelywhich you will.”

  “Sid and I have decided we both should fly over,” Kay said. “But, first of all, were going to stop off in Honolulu and talk to someone at Paradise Airlines headquarters about flight 212 and its passenger list.”

  “Not mentioning Dyer,” Qual added the words of caution.

  “Naturally. Were just going to inquire about the possibility names may have been switched on the flight.”

  Qual got up. “O.K. Leave as soon as you can, and be sure to call me just as soon as youve finished talking to Dyer. It isnt going to be just the Feds wholl be interested in knowing hes alive.”

  Sid grinned and said, “Yeah. I imagine Hank will want to do a little interrogating of his own.”

  ***

  “What in hell kind of a report is this?” Hank asked.

  Corky had just handed him the lab results from the car sweepings, was making herself comfortable in the old leather chair in Hanks office, and was taking a sip of hot coffee when the outburst caught her off guard and made her spill some of the brew on her blue shirt. Rubbing away at it with her handkerchief, she asked in return, “What the hell is what? Thats just the results of the car sweepingsthe Demoses cars.”

  Hank flipped one of the sheets around and pointed to the box marked “license number.” “Were you the one who got cutesy and wrote “His” on this one and “Hers” on the other one?”

  Corky looked up from her cleaning job and grinned at the irate Hank. “Thats their license numbers. Havent you ever heard of vanity plates?”

  Hank growled and pulled the papers back, saying, “Sure, but I didnt think anyone would be idiot enough to go around with a plate saying“His” or“Hers.” I wouldnt have done that, even when I was in high school.”

  Corkys amused eyes showed over the rim of her coffee cup. “Ill bet thats about the only thing you wouldnt have done when you were in high school.”

  “Nevermind.” Hank peered at the report he was holding at arm's length, then finally resigned himself to slipping on the glasses hed recently been fitted for. “Did you read this?”

  “I sure did. Traces of dynamite powder in hers, right behind the drivers seat. Same as what we found in the shack. Same as they dug out of OHearnes corpse. No powder in Joes. It fits with his lying on his confession. Kay figures Joe must have had some evidence Zoe handled dynamite recently, and this seems to bear out the theory.”

  Hank leaned back in his chair, looking puzzled. “You mean he saw the dynamite in her car? Nope. It doesnt make sense. If I found dynamite in Tonis car, Id kind of be inclined to ask her what she intended to do with it. Sure as hell he didnt vacuum the car and check out the sweepings the way we did.”

  Corky pursed her lips. “He must have found some other kind of evidence to show shed been carrying dynamite. Maybe the wrap…” Corky almost spilled her coffee again. “Hank! Thats it! Those sticks come wrapped in pairs. He must have found a wrapping in the car. One wrapping. A wrapping holds two sticks. Thats why he confessed to placing two sticks in OHearnes car.”

  Hank sat forward abruptly in his swivel chair. “Damn, but youre on to something there. You know Corky, youve got a good head on your shoulders, for a…”

  “Dont you say it, Hank.” Corky glared at him. “Dont you dare say it.” ***

  Neither Sid nor Kay took much stock in the Vice President title on the door. Both were aware the prestigious title was frequently handed out to members of corporations who were actually far, far down the managerial chain. But they had been assured by this official, himself, that he could give them full details on Paradise Airlines method of compiling passenger lists in general and flight 212 from San Francisco in particular. But the piece of information had been forthcoming only after he had received repeated assurances the attorneys were not representing the families of any of the deceased in any law suit against the company.

  Charles Matsunaga was about what they had expected. Carefully groomed, wearing an expensive suit, he radiated self confidence and hearty good will. Underlying his seeming willingness to be of help was his evident curiosity concerning the real reason for the visit to his office. Sid took the lead in reassuring him, by passing along a story he and Kay had concocted on the flight over from Elima.

  “We represent the business partner of someone who hasnt been heard from since New Years Eve. He was supposed to be flying over to Hawaii, but wasnt booked on Flight 212. We want to find out if theres any possibility he might actually have been on 212.”

  Matsunaga shrugged. Spreading his carefully manicured hands out on his desk in a gesture calculated to convey both his eagerness to cooperate and the difficulties of doing so in this instance, he said, “It certainly is possible he exchanged tickets with someone else, sometime after going through security, which seems very unlikely. Everyone who was aboard has been identified. And I would think the original holder of the ticket would have said something by now, if there had been a last minute switch.”

  Neither Sid nor Kay thought much of Matsunagas reasoning. “Is there any possibility the seat count was off,” Kay asked.“I mean could an additional passenger have boarded without being accounted for?”

  The answer to her question was accompanied by a warm smile. “That is even more unlikely. As soon as the doors close, our flight attendants count the number of passengers and report the count back to the office.”

  “Was it done with Flight 212?” Kay persisted.

  The smile was not quite as warm this time. Matsunaga reached over to the corner of his oversized desk and pulled a manila folder toward himself, opened it and leafed through a few of the top pages in the thick file. Finding what he was looking for, he pushed the open file across to Kay who sat forward in her chair to examine the faxed page.

  “As you can see,” Matsunaga said, “the report from the flight attendant tallies with the number of boarding passes counted by the office. The originals are, of course, on the mainland. But these are exact copies.”

  Kay called Sids attention to something on the page, turned the file around, pointed to a figure on the sheet and asked,“Is there any way you can find out why this figure from the office was changed. Im not sure what the original figure was, but it does look as though it were corrected.”

  By now the smile had completely disappeared. Matsunaga glared at the obvious correction and reached for the phone.

  It took almost twenty minutes of calls, one of them to San Francisco, to finally clear up the mystery to Matsunagas satisfaction and to bring back the initial warm smile. “Just a minor mix-up,” he assured his visitors. “Evidently, one of the passes was dropped by the ticket taker at the boarding gate, so the office count was one lower than the flight count. The error was caught almost immediately when the pass was found at the boarding gate.”

  Kay looked over at Sid, and gave him a slight nod. Sid thanked the Vice President for his help and the two of them left behind a smiling and affable Matsunaga as he accompanied them to the door of his office.

  Kay was the first to comment as they were walking down the hall. “Another mystery cleared up.”

  “I dont see any clarification,” Sid said. “The seat count and the office count were the same, and everyones accounted for, including Dyer.”

  “You mean you didnt notice?” Kay asked as they entered the elevator.

  “Notice what?” Sid sounded exasperated and punched the button for the lobby with vehemence.

  “Both figures were altered. Theres no question in my
mind that the counts tallied out correctly the first time. Then, when the boarding pass was found, there was no way to check with the flight attendants to verify the new count because the plane had already crashed.”

  Sid turned to look at her as she emerged from the elevator, his face showing his amazement. “You mean they doctored the flight count on the ground to match the corrected count in the office?”

  “You can just bet they did. They couldnt afford to have a mistake show up on this flight. Besides, the final office count was verified by friends and relatives of the passengersincluding Dyers. So far as the office was concerned, it had to be right and the flight count had to be wrong. Im sure discrepancies must have happened before, except the flight count is usually rechecked. This time itcouldnt be.”

  ***

  “What did the chief have to say about the investigation?” Corky asked Hank the question as she tipped the top of the metal coffee percolator forward to get out the last dregs.

  “He couldnt care less,” Hank said, shaking his head over hisSergeants insatiable thirst for coffee. “When I went in to talk to him about the OHearne bombing, he was putting a golf ball around his office. He told me he was practicing up for his retirement, and he only half listened to what I had to say.”

  “Did you tell him about the lab report?”

  “Naturally. All he said when I told him was „Joe must have been driving his wifes car. Then he let out a cheer when he sank a ten-foot put into his coffee cup.”

  Corky took a big mouthful of the dark, semi-warm brew laced with grounds, as they walked back to Hanks office. “Maybe hes really happy to go out with a bang,” she suggested.

  “Very funny. My guess is hes just as happy he wont be around when Joe Demos comes to trial. Obviously, hes washing his hands of the whole mess.”

  “So what do we do? Shall we do the same? We could. As long as we have someone charged with the murder, no one can fault us for not carrying on the investigation.”

  Hank stared at his battleship mural without seeing it. “Thats a cop-out.”

  Corky nodded, secretly pleased Hank shared her view about the alternative and had expressed it so quickly.

  “We sure havent made much progress on the Dyer death,” Corky said. Theres no reason why we cant investigate both at the same time. Even if they arent related, were justified in assuming there is some connection there.”

  “So what do you propose?”

  “I want to talk to Zoe Demos again, especially about what she and Joe claimed to be doing New Years Eve. And, sure as hell, about what dynamite might have been doing in her car. I didnt ask her but about a half-dozen questions when Kay and I interviewed her about Charlotte Dyer. And Id like to check with Kay too. I want to get her impression of Zoe. This is one time when were basically on the same side. Were all convinced Joes innocent.”

  “O.K. But were backed up with other work. Nothing much pressing, maybe, but in this business you never can tell when well get a call about a body. So keep the time spent on the Dyer and OHearne cases to a minimum.”

  Chapter 18

  Franks appearance didn't match his voice. In fact, if he hadn't given the attorneys specific directions on how to find his car in the mall where they had agreed to meet, they would never have picked him out from the crowd of shoppers. The voice just didnt go with the face. The private investigator was short, some thirty pounds overweight, with heavy jowls and a long, lugubrious face which seemed incapable of smiling. In addition, he must have been close to fifty years of age. Seeing them pull up, he slipped out from behind the wheel of his car with surprising ease, considering his bulk, and came over to greet them.

  Following the introductions, he said, “Dyers still at work.” Checking his watch, he added. “He takes an early lunch and is due to go, in about twenty minutes. My suggestion is to walk in on him at the restaurant.”

  “Are you sure hell be going there?” Kay asked.

  “Almost positive. It seems to be part of his regular schedule. Besides, theres a waitress there hes sweet on.” The lugubrious expression lightened, but it still couldnt be called a smile. “Ill stand by here, just in case. You got a cellphone along, like I suggested?”

  Both of the others nodded.

  “O.K. Ill let you know when he heads out.”

  ***

  Leilani was of little help when Corky called the law firm asking for Kay.

  “Shes gone to Honolulu with Sid.”

  “Any idea how long theyll be gone?”

  “Over the weekend, at least. Maybe Qual can help you.”

  “Uhuh. Thats O.K. Just have her give me a ring as soon as she gets back.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Corky placed the phone back in its cradle. Damn! she thought, It would have been nice to have had Kay along. I know between the two of us we could have squeezed something significant out of Zoe Demos. But I guess it cant be helped. Having reached a decision, she picked up the phone while checking her calendar, found Zoe at home, and made an appointment for the following morning.

  As she started through the stack of papers piled up in her in-basket, she wondered what Zoe Demos would say when asked if she had ever carried any dynamite in the back seat of her car.

  ***

  Kay was nervous. So was Sid. But neither of them would admit it, as they waited impatiently for the blue Subaru sedan to arrive. Watching from their car parked across from the Miners Grill, they both tensed as the expected vehicle rounded the curve on the approach to town. There had been a slight change in schedule which Frank had alerted them to, but which had still alarmed them. Dyer had gone by Joan Listers home, but moments later he had come out with her and they had gotten into the car. The passenger was the waitress Frank had referred to earlier. The stop had been brief, and the car renewed its interrupted trip into town.

  Unused to Colorado in midwinter, Sid had the motor running and the heater on, even though both of them wore heavy jackets. To avoid drawing attention to themselves, Sid turned off the motor as the car approached. The two shivering attorneys watched it coast carefully to a stop on the sprinkling of snow covering the ground, then back easily into a large parking space left by two pickups in front of the restaurant.

  Moments after the occupants emerged, Franks car pulled up in front of the general store a block away. Kay, who was watching the couple now entering the restaurant, didnt notice the investigators arrival. Sid, who did, felt some relief in knowing a friendly figure was nearby.

  Kay looked at Sid. He nodded, and they stepped out of their rented car and made for the restaurant, pulling up their collars as they crossed the street into the wind-driven snowflakes.

  The Miners Grill was unprepossessing. Some half-dozen tables covered with oil cloth in traditional red and white checked pattern, a short bar with five stools, two doors leading to the restrooms and a third door opening to the kitchen behind the lunch counterthese pretty much described the interior. For decoration, photos from the thirties depicting various scenes in and around one or more mines adorned the walls. The only occupants of the restaurant when they entered were two men in animated conversation at one of the tables, and a lone male at another.

  The lone figure was unquestionably Morton Dyer. Later, Kay was to remember her first impression of this individual shed been thinking about for so long, and wondering so much about. In spite of the photo, she was unprepared for the real Morton Dyer who seemed so average, so unobtrusive, so likely to be overlooked in a crowd. He was someone few would remember, but the circumstances of the meeting made her remember. Thinning blond-brown hair, faded blue eyes, an open face, neither handsome nor ugly, an unathletic build, and carrying a few extra poundsnot a police description, but accurate enough to identify himMorton Dyer looked up at the couple who approached him. Kay saw only curiosity there, nothing more.

  Sid was the first to speak. “Could we have a few words with you, Mr. Dyer.”

  The expression of curiosity changed to surprise, then to something which might
have been annoyance, and finally to a wry smile accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. He waved toward the other empty chairs at the table, smiled more broadly and in a soft voice said, “Have a seat. I knew this was going to happen eventually. It just happened sooner than expected. Are you two police?”

  Sid shook his head. “Were attorneys. From Hawaii. Im Sid Chu, and this is my wife, Kay Yoshinobu. Were working for your father-inlaw, we …”

  With a quiet laugh, Dyer broke in, “I feel sorry for you, and I should have known. The money was what set him off him off, wasnt it?”

  Much as Kay resisted allowing first impressions to influence her, they often did. This was one instance of such an influence, since she was immediately taken with this quiet, unassuming man. Their shared reaction to John Beaudoin was not the least of the reasons for her favorable evaluation of Morton Dyer. “He was convinced youd passed it along to a friend before the plane crash,” Kay said, “but…”

  A young woman came toward them through the swinging doors from the restaurant kitchen, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. “Joan!” Dyer said,” Id like to have you meet Sid Chu and Kaywas that Yoshinobu?theyre attorneys, working for my father- in-law. This is Joan Lister, a friend of mine. Sit down, Joan. We have a lot to talk about. Im sure Pete can handle the luncheon crowd for a while.”

  Turning to the attorneys he continued, “You can tell John Beaudoin for me the money belongs to Hawaiian Harvest. You can also tell him Im still alive, broke, and have been for months. And you can also tell Charlotte Im not going back to Hawaii. As far as…”

  It was Kay who interrupted this time. “Im afraid youre going to have to. You see, youre wife died the morning the plane went down. And the police suspect she was murdered.”

  On the drive back to Denver, Sid and Kay discussed two major points in their interview with Morton Dyer. They fully agreed on the first point: Dyer was either a consummate actor or else the death of his wife had come to him as a complete surprise. ***

  They sure dont look like a bombers hands. The objects of Corkys attention were moving restlessly in Zoes lap. Sporting carefully manicured nails with a perfect coating of coral-colored polish, the lined hands, with age spots that had yielded much of their color to bleaching agents, seemed terribly fragile. The feather-soft touch of the handshake had reinforced the impression nothing heavier than a paper-thin teacup could be lifted without effort by those hands.