by Ann Ripley
“This is so bloody awful that I can hardly believe it,” he said as he slowly and unsteadily replaced the cup on the saucer. He looked at Louise with watery eyes. “They told me you applied CPR and tried to save him. For that I have to thank you with all my heart.”
“I dashed over when I saw him on that rock shelf, but I couldn’t feel his pulse. He had none. I think he was dead when I got there.”
Wyant stared into space. “At least you tried. Tried to save the life of a decent man.”
She realized George Wyant had been nowhere around last night, not even during the couple of hours she’d spent being questioned by police after they removed the body and returned to the hotel. In fact, the authorities had mentioned his absence.
She swallowed a bite of miniature sweet roll. “Um, no one could reach you last night.”
He answered unabashedly. “I told the cops where I was. I’ve got a girl I see when I’m here.” A faint smile crossed his troubled face. “Needless to say, I don’t keep my cell phone turned on when I’m at her house—she lives up in Kapaa. So I didn’t get the word until I took my messages early this morning. Then I hightailed it back to the hotel. I’ve spent more than an hour being interviewed by Chief Hau.” He nodded in the direction of the police chief, who was “doing the room,” chatting briefly with a person, then moving on to the next one. He had nearly completed this task and Louise realized in another few minutes he would be over to the corner that she and George Wyant occupied.
“Matt had his own plans for the evening,” continued Wyant, spreading his hands out. She saw that he wore a handsome, though worn, gold watch on his tanned wrist. “Let’s face it, we didn’t live in each other’s pocket. He could’ve cared less where I went and vice versa. Only now I wish he’d told me who he had that rendezvous with.”
“Rendezvous?”
“Yeah, that’s what he called it, a ‘little secret rendezvous.’ After that, he was going to grab a bite at Brennecke’s and hit the sack.”
“A rendezvous on Shipwreck Rock. Was he familiar with that place? Are you?”
He smiled. “Funny. You ask the same questions the cops asked me. Am I familiar with that old lava shelf? Not really. I haven’t been up there in years and I doubt Matt had gone up because there’s nothing much there. It’s not outstanding geologically or horticulturally. Tourists like to climb up there for the view and local kids use it as a diving board, if they’re gutsy enough or stoned, that is. It makes for a kind of a high dive into the ocean.”
“More coffee?” she asked him. When he nodded, she went and refilled their cups. On her return, she slid down in her chair, took up her tray again, and quietly said, “Who would kill Dr. Flynn?”
For an instant, his pale eyes blazed, but then he tried to cover up his anger. “Any number of people, Louise.” He gestured with his hand toward the others in the room. “Any number of people sitting right here hated his guts. Some are jealous, some are resentful because he has a penchant for finding new plants before they catch someone else’s eye. You’ve heard ’em ridiculing him as if he’s a freak, or was a freak, rather. But he was no freak—he was right about what he was doing, a true believer.”
The hand flapped again. “Oh, maybe we were a little wild at times, but that’s part of the deal when you’re spending a third of each year in a jungle with a bunch of primitives, trying to learn new languages, dealing with egocentric shamans who have all the”—he touched his temple, covered with tousled blond hair—“smarts about those tropical plants but aren’t necessarily inclined to tell you their secrets. Sweating your fool head off, dirty, full of bites from bugs, some of which are hugely dangerous. Coming down for the umpteenth time with malaria— Matt, not me; I never contracted it. It isn’t a life for normal people, so I guess you’d have to say that Matt and I aren’t normal.”
He looked down and Louise saw that his eyes were overflowing with tears. “Shit,” he whispered, “I’m having a terrible time believing he’s dead. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”
Her heart went out to the young man. She gently clasped his arm with her good left hand. It was the best she could do, for Police Chief Hau, noting the two of them sharing an emotional moment, stopped short on his way over to them. Instead, he gave them a wave, as if to indicate he’d talk to them later, then called the informal meeting to order.
Hau first introduced his second-in command, Lieutenant Robert Payne, who was taller and heavier than his chief and who hovered a few feet behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,” he said. “You have all heard of Dr. Matthew Flynn’s death and I know you’re in shock, because the violent death of a fellow human being, much less one of your colleagues, is hard to accept. I want to give you an update. As you know, his body was discovered last evening at about seven o’clock on the ledge underneath Shipwreck Rock. It was discovered by Mrs. Louise Eldridge here”—he nodded respectfully in Louise’s direction and a few people turned around to look—“who, incidentally, tried to save his life by administering CPR. He was dead on arrival, however, at Wilcox Memorial Hospital in Lihue. The body is undergoing an autopsy; the exact cause of death is not yet fully determined. It’s possible he received his injuries from a simple fall from Shipwreck Rock.”
Charles Reuter spoke up. He said, “I think that’s crap, Mister Police Chief. That isn’t the word that’s going around the hotel and beach. The word is that the man was murdered, the back of his head practically ripped off. That’s what every guest in this hotel has heard.”
A little murmur went through the small group. Hau raised his hand like a teacher wishing to restore order in gym class. “Now, folks, that much is not true. Dr. Flynn’s head was not ripped off. However, he did suffer severe injuries to the head.” Hau stood his full five feet ten inches and spoke in a quiet voice designed to encourage equanimity in his audience. “The autopsy will determine whether there was foul play involved. That’s why we need your cooperation.”
Nate Bernstein said, “Why are the staffers from the NTBG here and the TV crew from the shoot? You couldn’t be operating on the theory that this was ‘just an accident’ if you’ve rounded up all these people to sit in on this meeting.”
Chief Hau said, “We needed to include everybody who had recent contact with Matthew Flynn. It has no reflection on any one individual; it’s just a matter of covering all the bases.”
Tom Schoonover, angled back comfortably in his chair, turned to Bernstein. “We at the National Tropical Botanical Garden will do everything we can to aid the investigation.”
Bruce Bouting’s voice boomed out, “As long as I can leave on schedule Monday afternoon with my staffers Chris and Anne, I’ll be happy. In the meantime, what do you expect of us?”
The police chief said, “I’m not sure you can fulfill that schedule, Dr. Bouting. I told you last night and I repeat it—there may be a delay if we can’t clear this matter up by Monday. We are asking those of you with direct contact with Dr. Flynn to be prepared to stay on an extra day or so to assist us in our investigation. Lieutenant Payne will let you know at the conclusion of this meeting who you are. We’re hoping to wrap this thing up quickly, so today we will do some repeat questioning beyond what we did last night. Please be prepared for that. Do not think of it as a suspicious thing, but rather a procedural measure. You can continue with the closing session of your botanic conference as soon as I finish up my remarks, but please try to wrap it up by noon because we do have to interrogate some of you further.”
The police chief looked soberly out at the little crowd. “You’re not prisoners, ladies and gentlemen; you’re free to go out of the hotel. You’re also free to go on your planned trip to the Big Island tomorrow, though my officers, Sergeants William Yee and David Binder, will accompany you.”
“I was scheduled to get out of here tomorrow night,” said Dr. Charles Reuter. “I have something important coming up at the university. At the very least, I need to get out of here by Monday night.”
Hau said, “We’ll try our best.” His gaze traveled around the other unhappy faces and he looked relieved when no one else voiced complaints. “Within twenty-four hours, or at least by tomorrow night, I’m hoping we’ll have a better handle on this. You might be reassured to know that the entire special crime squad is working on Dr. Flynn’s unfortunate death.”
“Unfortunate?” echoed George Wyant, in a voice too faint for any but Louise to hear. “What a fuckin’ euphemism that is.”
18
Louise’s WTBA-TV colleagues met her at the door as she was leaving the conference room. She hugged each one of them in turn, Marty, Steffi, John, all the while ignoring the curious glances of others leaving the room.
“How ya doin’, Lou?” said Marty. “Hey, how’s your hand?”
Before she could answer, he said, “In a minute we gotta talk and you can tell us then. Let’s go to that orchid garden and get a drink.”
Steffi Corbin slid her arm around Louise. Her brown eyes were full of concern. “We were worried about you, Louise. Could you sleep last night after that horrid experience?”
“Not very well,” admitted Louise. “Maybe I’ll go to the lagoon and take a nap—that is, after we go to the orchid garden.”
John Batchelder had a secretive smile on his face. “Louise, people have heard how good you are at solving crimes.”
She looked up at her handsome cohost. “And just how would they know? Did you tell them?”
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked eagerly. “Heck, I was kind of priming them, dropping the word here and there. I also told the police chief, just so he’d know. I thought you and I might do a little snooping.”
Louise stared at him and tried to keep her temper.
“Well, couldn’t we at least talk about it?”
She closed her eyes and swept her hand over her brow, as if in so doing she could wipe away her fatigue. “I’m sorry, John, I’m too tired to even think about that. Besides, Bill would hate it if I stuck my nose in this.”
“Well, promise to think about it,” he said, as he walked away and started talking to Christopher Bailey and Anne Lansing.
If only she could creep back to her room, put on her bathing suit, and hide on the beach in dark glasses. But Marty needed to talk. And just because they were in Hawaii, she couldn’t forget that he was her producer and her boss. It wouldn’t be a talk; it would be a bitch session. She supposed he had good reason to bitch—his newly taped program had been blown. Yet it seemed a petty matter to fuss about in the wake of a man’s death.
“Louise, wait up.” Tom Schoonover was hurrying over to intercept her before she left. The scientist’s brow was furrowed with worry. “My dear lady, Chief Hau told me the whole story of last night. If Matthew Flynn had had life in him, I’m sure you would have saved it.”
“Thanks, Tom. I guess we’re all upset about this. I hope Chief Hau clears things up in a hurry.”
Dr. Schoonover shook his gray curls. Louise noted that with each passing day that the untended hair grew, the man looked more like an out-of-work poet than a world-class botanist. “That’s not necessarily going to be the case, not unless he runs into some good luck. People die all the time without someone establishing the cause. But the four of us are off now. We have a special visitor arriving at the gardens this afternoon—a professor who’s doing a study of a species of Hawaiian fern.”
Suddenly all was put in perspective. The visit of the Three Tenors and the other elite botanists and the Gardening with Nature taping were only transitory items on this man’s busy calendar. The National Tropical Botanical Garden constantly hosted important visitors from all over the world; topnotch scientists must use that base as headquarters for all sorts of special research.
Tom Schoonover’s hazel eyes looked straight into hers. “You take it easy, Louise. I can see you’re a bit traumatized over your experience.”
“It was hard to sleep. I ran everything over in my mind a thousand times.”
“That’s why I was surprised when John Batchelder told me that you and he might put your heads together and look into the matter of Matthew’s death.” He smiled and bent his head. “He told me of your pursuits in crime solving.”
“John shouldn’t have . . .” She looked disconsolately over at her colleague, busily conversing now with Bruce Bouting.
“I don’t think you should get into this,” said Schoonover. “It’s a dangerous world, even in an amiable place like Kauai.” He reached out and gently touched her bandage. “For instance, look at the way you’ve already been injured, in the name of trying to save another. You should be very careful.”
Marty strolled up and hooked his arm in hers. “Excuse me, Tom. I need to whisk this lady away.”
Schoonover said, “By the way, Henry Hilaeo and I are joining the group going to the Big Island tomorrow.” A smile of proud ownership. “We Hawaiians like to keep track of the latest surface flow. This is the first chance I’ve had since I came back from the Marquesas.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Louise said, as Marty tugged on her arm.
The scientist put an index finger up, a teacher’s habit, she suspected. “And don’t forget—I’ve told the others— you need clothes that cover you, good walking shoes, a big bandanna or handkerchief, a generous bottle of water. Walking stick, optional.”
“Thanks,” said Louise.
“Off we go, Lou,” said Marty, hardly able to mask his restlessness. “See you later, Tom, but not tomorrow. Steffi and I are traveling to the north country.”
Steffi and John fell into step with them and they walked the short distance to the orchid garden. They took what Louise had begun to think of as “their” table.
She glanced over the adjoining hall and saw her old friend, the blue-and-yellow feathered parrot. The parrot returned her gaze and she looked quickly down, afraid he’d recognize her and start to screech again.
With a gin and tonic in hand, Marty grinned evilly over at her. “You should have had a drink, too. It’s eleven-thirty, not too early. Whatever you have there, we can drink a toast to the fact that we’ve just blown about fifty goddamned grand.” He raised his glass and she automatically raised her mineral water, although she hated specious toasts. Steffi good naturedly contributed a clink from her glass of white wine and John with his cocktail.
“Maybe Matthew Flynn could be edited out,” proposed John. Louise didn’t know what he’d ordered, but it was pink and reminded her of a Shirley Temple, which she and Bill used to order for their underage daughters.
She gave her cohost a quizzical look. “Mai tai?”
“Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “A special one with raspberry juice. It’s a little early for me, but I need it to put some steel in my spine.”
Marty Corbin sat back and laughed. “Steel in your spine? Johnny boy, don’t you mean ‘lead in your pencil’?”
John Batchelder looked offended. “For Pete’s sake, Marty, I’m talking about getting up enough nerve to do a little investigating. I’m not talking about getting laid—you know I’m engaged to be married.”
Marty continued to chortle until Steffi reached over and gave him a companionable poke in the arm. “Cease and desist.”
Louise looked at the Corbins, Steffi in bright hues, as usual, Marty looking more comfortable now in his Hawaiian shirt and shorts. The couple looked happy, though Louise always worried about the next dame that might come along and catch her producer’s eye. Their bonhomie made her wish again that Bill was here.
“With all due respect to editors,” she said, “I think it would take a genius to edit Matthew Flynn out of that tape. Let’s consider ourselves lucky that we have some good footage of Tom Schoonover and Henry Hilaeo and the National Tropical Botanical Garden.”
Marty leaned forward with his forearms resting on the glass-topped table. He nodded vigorously. “I am, I am, I am. And we now have a great connection with the formerly elusive Dr. Bruce Bouting, who in previous
years wouldn’t give us the time of day when we tried to get him to stand still for a program. Him and his privately held empire. . .” He looked at Louise, then at John. “You two can hustle up to Philadelphia and visit Bouting Horticulture ASAP.”
“Or as soon as the flowers are in full bloom,” amended Louise.
“Yeah, we’ll get a great story there, get that Anne Lansing and that goofy-looking Christopher whatever-his-name-is in action.” He exhaled heavily, leaned back, and swigged his drink. “That’ll square it with the general manager. But I hate to think what will happen if I come home with a suntan and tell him we only got one lousy program out of this expensive trip. Yep, two programs are a much better outcome.”
Louise stared at her friend the parrot again. “It seems kind of cold and heartless for us to be so worried about losing money. Haven’t we talked about it enough?”
Steffi reached over and patted Louise’s hand. “You’re quite right. Marty’s talking way too much. My dear Louise, you must be in shock. I can’t imagine what it would be like, doing what you did. CPR. Why, I wouldn’t even know how to do it!”
Louise said, “It didn’t do him any good, unfortunately. But I did have some inkling as to how to do it—I’d just read about the recommended method in The Times. You locate the center of the chest and apply pressure with your palms one hundred times a minute.”
Steffi said, “No breathing in the mouth?”
“No. And you’re not supposed to let up on that pressure until someone comes along with mechanical equipment.”
“That must have about killed you.” Steffi’s big eyes were wide with concern. Louise would have liked to tell her the whole story, of how the rock had fallen or been thrown and hit Matthew Flynn’s shoulder. For how could she fail to notice the bandage on Louise’s hand?