by Cathy Ace
I touched Frannie Lang gently on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I lost both my parents in a smash, and it does get a little easier to bear, with time. But it’s such a shock, isn’t it? And there’s no real closure when you don’t get to say goodbye, I know.”
Frannie nodded. I could see the sadness and loss in her eyes. It seemed pretty raw. “Such a terrible way to go.”
There seemed to be nowhere to take the conversation, and we left Frannie’s room, all the more saddened by remembrances of family losses instead of concerned about Tommy Trussler’s death.
“Any signs of poisons?” asked Bud once we were halfway along the corridor.
“I think the woman must either be allergic to almost everything, or a complete hypochondriac,” I whispered. “She had enough antihistamines and sleep aids in her bathroom to either kill a herd of elephants, or at least give them a deep sleep for a month.”
“And having been a nurse, she’d know how to use them—and she knew about his poi,” replied Bud sagely.
Galaxy Cinema, Deck 4
“TOMMY TRUSSLER SOUNDS LIKE SEVERAL different people,” said Bud pithily as we made our way to the elevators, heading for the cinema and Kai Pukui.
“Everyone has a multifaceted personality,” I replied as we walked, “but his seems to be a little less cohesive than most. Being a war hero and being interested in feminism and Buddhism doesn’t seem to fit with his being a pickpocket.”
If we could get something out of Kai Pukui, I hoped I might stand a better chance of understanding what Tommy Trussler was like as a whole person, not just the little glimpses we’d been getting of him. I was hoping that the two men, both having responsibilities for Stellar Cruises, would have mixed with each other more than Tommy had with the guests. To find out, we had to come up with a ruse to make Kai open up about the man in a way he hadn’t to Ezra.
Arriving at the cinema, I could see Kai hovering outside the door. Inside, one of the ship’s engineers was talking about the ballast systems, using some complex diagrams as a part of a PowerPoint presentation, and his audience of about a dozen seemed rapt.
Kai managed to look graceful even when doing nothing more than standing still. When he saw us approach, his smile was wide, and his expressive hands fluttered as he spoke. His accent was American, but, as with Ezra, there was a formality in his manner of speech as a result of his different cultural background.
“Aloha. Have you come to listen to me speak about the natural beauty of my Islands?” he said hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” I said honestly. “We’ve had quite a day of it, and I really need to pay some attention to myself before dinner tonight.”
“I understand,” said Kai. “This is not a well-attended session, but I enjoy speaking about my home, and quite a few people choose not to go to the formal dinners. They do not care for all the dressing up.”
“Do you cruise a great deal?” I asked.
“When it’s the right season. The ships don’t come to the Islands as much as they used to, but they usually still run the route in May and September. Then they take different routes. Malia and I do this when we can.”
“And what do you do back at home?” asked Bud.
“We make toiletries,” said Kai, rather surprising both Bud and myself, though I wondered if that was why he always smelled so fragrant. He reacted to our expressions with, “Yes, it sounds odd, but Malia’s brother grows kukui nuts and castor plants, so we use the nuts and the oil to make organic spa products and toiletries. It’s just a little business, but we enjoy it, and it allows us to live close to, and work with, our family.”
“Ohana,” I said.
Kai nodded graciously and smiled. “Exactly,” he replied. “Ohana is very important to us.”
“This business today must have shaken you up,” said Bud, dropping his voice to a quiet whisper. “Was Tommy Trussler ohana to you? I understand the term is also used to refer to good, long-term friends, as well as blood relatives.”
Kai tilted his head and spoke slowly. “I’ve been counting the times that Tommy and I have cruised together, which isn’t easy, since one cruise can merge with another, and one season with another also. He’d usually do two sets of back-to-backs—one cruise after another—twice a year, spring and fall … so, about a total of about sixteen weeks a year. But, although we always smiled and were pleasant toward each other, and had the odd chat now and again, we’d never really engaged before this cruise.”
“That seems strange,” said Bud. I agreed—it did.
“I expect it does. But, you see, we had very different schedules on the ship, which kept us apart for most of the time. He had regular hours in the Games Room, but Malia and I have our responsibilities too. The other thing is, with his stateroom being up on Deck 3, rather than down on Decks 2 or 1 with the rest of us, he never used the crew facilities, though I know he could have done, so I assume he ate in the guest areas. He never came to a crew party, didn’t mix with anyone—at least that I know of. He might have done, but I don’t know about it.”
“I guess your days and nights are busy on the ship?” asked Bud.
Kai seemed happy to talk. “We work as we are needed. Malia and I have our schedule from the cruise director. At this time it is Gordon. I believe he is a Canadian, like you. Do you know him? I do not mean merely because he is from Canada, of course,” he grinned. “I know it is a large country, so much bigger than my own, small nation. I mean because he is such an active cruise director.”
“We’ve seen him about,” I replied.
“He’s in charge of all the entertainment on board, so Malia and I report to him, and Tommy would have done as well. We’re so busy running from place to place and, at least for Malia and me, trying to fit in costume changes and food, when we can. When we’re not in front of the guests, we often retreat to our room to rest up. Sometimes I get a few hours when I can wander, and that’s what happened this morning. I bumped into the Croppers when they were leaving the gym and they insisted that I join them in the Games Room. It’s impossible for me to say no to the Croppers. They are valued guests. That’s the only reason I was there when Tommy died.” An interesting point to make.
“I know this might sound odd, but could you tell us something about poi?” I asked. I suspected Kai would know more about poi than most people on the ship.
Kai chuckled. “Now that I do know about,” he said. “I love poi. In fact, like a lot of Hawaiian children, it was the first thing I ever ate, and I just kept going. My Tutu, my grandmother, used to make it,” he explained. “The best two-finger sweet poi in the world. Nothing like it.”
I half-raised my hand and said, “I know a little about poi, but I have to admit that I’ve probably only tasted the sort of stuff reserved for tourists. I hope it’s not insulting to tell you that I found it pretty revolting. Someone told me that Tommy was some sort of poi connoisseur, so I am guessing he ate a different type. Could you explain to us what it tastes like, when it’s the good stuff, what its texture would be, and so on? It’s fascinating.” And I can better work out what sort of poison it might have hidden.
“Sure,” said Kai happily. “Poi 101 coming up. It’s made from taro root, so it’s really like a mashed potato in that respect. Because the taro has a different starch structure, it ends up with a unique consistency. Basically the root is boiled, then mashed. Most poi these days is made commercially and bought at the supermarket, though some people, the older ones especially, still make their own. The location where the taro is grown has an impact; the soil and climate can make some difference to the taste of the root you start with. The heat at which you boil it, and the length of time you boil it, can also make a difference. There’s one company that specializes in boiling the root at a much higher temperature than the others—hotter than anyone could do on their own. Then they vacuum-pack it, and you can buy it chilled or frozen. People say it’s sweeter that way, but it’s not the flavor I like, personally. It’s also a little more purpl
e, which, again, I don’t care for. Once you’ve boiled the root, then you adjust the water. Again, some say the water affects the flavor, but I guess my palate isn’t up to telling the difference. You’ve probably had ‘tourist’ poi that’s been thinned a great deal, to make it go further for the luaus. Most of the tourists just leave it on their plate in any case, but they expect it to be served. Two-finger poi is thick. You only need two fingers to pick it up, because it’s still got its gelatinous qualities. Three-finger poi is thinner. Most of the stuff you tourists see? Four- or five-finger poi—or something for which you need a spoon.”
Even as he was talking about the texture of poi I could feel my tummy turn. I suspected it was a cultural thing, and that I’d be just fine with it if I’d grown up with it—like Marmite.
“How long does it keep fresh?” I asked.
“Well, that’s another thing,” replied Kai. “You can eat it when it’s really fresh, or when it’s five days old. The older it is, the more sour it gets. Some say that sweet poi, in other words fresh poi, is just for babies, and that you might as well serve it with sugar and milk. A lot of the older folk won’t consider eating it until it’s at least a day old, and maybe not until it’s two days old. I tried five-day-old poi once, and it’s not for me.”
“Do you know what Tommy preferred or ate?” I sounded as hopeful as I was.
“Why do you ask?”
I hesitated. “Well … my interest is piqued.”
“Now that you bring it up, I do recall that I once asked Tommy why he carried poi with him everywhere,” said Kai. “He did, you know, in a little baggy he had just for the purpose. It seemed like madness to me, and I’ve been brought up on the stuff. He said it reminded him of the woman he’d loved but had lost, which I thought was a strange and sad thing to say. He didn’t tell me about the woman, just the poi. He rattled off a list of places where he bought it as we cruised, and it seems he’d lay in as much as he could, to last him as long as possible. The places he mentioned were all places I imagine he could buy small-batch poi, probably two-finger sweet. You seem unusually interested in poi,” he remarked. “Why is that?”
I gushed, “Oh, you know, I want to have something to tell them back home.”
Once again, Kai nodded gracefully. The people in the cinema began to leave and he excused himself to get ready for his presentation. We exchanged “Alohas,” and Bud and I left.
Kai’s insight had helped me understand a little about Tommy and his poi, but it led to yet another issue: the lack of poi in Tommy’s room told me he’d had his entire “stock” with him in the Games Room, or else someone had entered his room and removed any that he’d stored there.
Security HQ—Deck 1, Amidships
IMMEDIATELY AFTER WE LEFT KAI, Bud and I found a house telephone and called Ezra, who told us he’d like to see us in his office. We still had a couple of hours before dinner, so we headed off right away. By the time we made our way through the discreet doorway of the security office, I was flagging. Apparently, relaxing for a couple of weeks with your new husband isn’t the best training for conducting a series of interviews with murder suspects. I’d enjoyed spending so much time outside in the warmth of the Hawaiian air, with the unique scent that seemed to infuse it, that now I was starting to feel totally cooped up.
Ezra’s office environment wasn’t going to help, either. It was small, windowless, stuffed with all manner of high-visibility vests and bits of equipment, and had no cupboard space to speak of. Ezra was inserted behind his desk, which was almost entirely covered with neat piles of papers and a large, old-fashioned computer. Bud and I perched on two chairs, one of which had been dragged from another room. I recalled how Bud and I had often huddled in too-small spaces when we’d worked together on cases back in British Columbia.
“Just let me read this stuff a moment, will you?” said Ezra as we settled ourselves. We waited patiently. Well, I waited patiently, but Bud fidgeted. It reminded me that when I’d consulted for him on cases back in Canada, I was the one who’d learned how to wait for him; he’d been the one leading the investigations and always set the pace of the proceedings. This was new—and old—territory for Bud. I suspected his frustration stemmed from being accustomed to being the boss for so many years; he’d forgotten what it was like to have to wait to be brought up to speed.
As he read what was on his screen, Ezra’s face clouded, cleared, and clouded again. After taking in the information, he spoke up.
“Well, here goes,” he began, regarding us solemnly. “HPD got into Tommy’s apartment. He has no living relatives and no roommates. He was unmarried and lived alone. They found a strange collection at his home. Hundreds, possibly thousands, of pieces of personal effects, all stolen, but with everything intact, just placed in transparent pockets in ring binders. The officer said that each wallet or purse was there, and everything had been removed and placed carefully in a binder. Most of the drivers’ licenses were displayed on his walls. It’s puzzling.”
“You mean he stole people’s wallets, emptied everything out, and kept it all in files or on display?” asked Bud in bewilderment.
Ezra nodded. “They found a lot credit cards, but no cash. They’ve run a few cursory checks and have been able to match some of the items with reports of thefts on the island. There’s nothing to indicate that he used any of the credit cards, but there’s no sign of the cash reported as missing. If he spent it, it wasn’t on his home or his lifestyle, they said. He lived in a low-rent area, and had very few personal possessions. I understand that he might spend the cash he stole, but keeping all the other stuff? Displaying it? Cait—do you have any ideas why that might be? It’s like his safe here, on the ship. I’m hoping this might be something you, a psychologist, would understand.”
“I’ve never encountered anything exactly like it,” I answered thoughtfully, “but give me some time to mull it over. Did HPD send you any photographs?”
“They did. Why don’t you two stick your heads around here to see?”
Bud and I crowded behind Ezra and peered over his shoulder at his computer. The series of photographs on Ezra’s screen began with establishing shots, showing the street location and the outside of a pretty run-down low-rise apartment building; Tommy had lived in a neighborhood devoid of the palm or plumeria trees that lined so many of Honolulu’s streets. The photographs showed us a walk-up block with little charm, built in an area with even less appeal. Next we saw the front door to Tommy’s dwelling; a metal swing-out gate was fitted in front of the door to the apartment, and suggested security issues. Wide-angle shots of a series of rooms followed, and I wasn’t surprised to see a neatly appointed home, without a great deal of furniture or many overtly personal possessions. A few framed portraits were arranged on a windowsill, the sun streaming in behind them. One showed a rotund little boy in an over-large top hat, and a cloak with a splashy red lining; another featured a slim, youthful version of Tommy in military camouflage; another showed a peekaboo-view from what might have been a lookout point on one of the Islands.
Finally, Ezra reached a host of official photographs all taken in what I suspected had been designed to be a second bedroom. He scrolled through them quickly. Occasionally Bud let out low whistles, or else sucked in his breath.
I was fascinated by what I saw: hundreds of little plastic wallets had been pinned to all four walls of the room, and each contained a driver’s license. Most were Hawaiian, but some were from other US states, and even other parts of the world. The arrangement was neat, with row upon row of evenly pinned photographs staring at us. What was most notable to me was the fact that all the photographs were of essentially the same two types of person. Two walls featured photographs of women with blond hair, dark eyes, and a generally fresh-looking face, but of a variety of ages; the other two walls showed photographs of men who all looked similar to Tommy Trussler himself, but, again, at a variety of ages.
Ezra looked nonplussed; Bud made some strange humming noises. Tommy Tr
ussler—war hero and pickpocket—had just become even more interesting.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Ezra quietly. “Nor, it seems, has anyone in the HPD. Their memo to me gives no explanation for Tommy’s selections. Indeed, other than telling me the man had no cash in his apartment, and only had about a hundred dollars in a checking account, they were able to tell me very little, though, as we can all imagine, they are now mounting a more thorough investigation. The person he listed as his emergency contact on the paperwork we had from him, both here on the ship and with the agents who booked him on our behalf, lives in the same complex, but claims to have only had a nodding acquaintance with Tommy. In fact, the woman in question wasn’t even sure of Tommy’s name, has no knowledge about him, and, apparently, has no intention of taking any actions now that he’s dead. Trussler has no police record on the Islands, nor anywhere else in the US. Not even a ticket—for anything. The only mention the HPD can find of him locally is that his name appeared in a story in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser about two years ago, where he was thanked by a local charity for making a large donation. They’re going to check it out with the guy who runs the charity.”
“What does the charity do?” I asked.
Happy that we’d seen all we needed, Bud and I returned to our seats as Ezra scrolled through notes on the screen. “They support families of US veterans,” said Ezra eventually.
It made sense.
“Any pattern of assaults on the type of woman in the photographs?” asked Bud curtly. Ezra smiled. “The HPD thought of that too,” he replied. “No apparent correlation. It doesn’t seem that any of these women were attacked in order to gain access to their ID; neither were the men. As far as HPD records are concerned, these licenses were reported as stolen from persons going about their business, or lost, rather than forcibly removed from victims of violent crimes.”