by Kay Hadashi
“I’m fine, okay?”
She went back to scrolling, moving pictures around, making a simple scrapbook, anything to get her mind off what was happening on the other side of the walls that separated her from her daughter.
“Crap.”
“What?” he asked.
“Just deleted something.”
“Just leave it for later.”
“I need something to do.”
“It’s been twenty minutes. Tell me what’s going on in there.”
“They have the IV started and she’s probably just gone to sleep.”
“What happens next?” he asked.
“Well, if it’s anything like what I saw when I was a resident, Trinh has her covered with blankets and Doctor Simpson is using a retractor to prop her mouth open.”
“Then what?”
She sighed. “Then he’ll use a curved scalpel to remove the first tonsil, followed by using the cautery to stop the bleeding. Once that’s done, he’ll do the other side.”
“How long does that take?”
“About as long as it takes for me to explain it to you.”
“Then what?”
“The tech will give the turtles to Trinh to send to pathology.”
“Turtles?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention? That’s what Tay has been calling them. Then they’ll irrigate the tonsil beds to check for any bleeding. If there is, he’ll touch it up with the cautery or maybe put in a stitch. They’ll do one last rinse, suck all that out, remove the gauze sponge, and wake her up. Move her onto a stretcher, cover her with more blankets and take her to the recovery room. Once she pitches a fit, they’ll haul us in there pretending we can control her better than they can. When she drinks some water and the wailing simmers down to simple whining, we can take her home.”
Melanie went back to her phone, staring at it blankly.
“She’ll be fine, Melanie,” Addie said, setting aside her magazine.
“I know. It’s just hard to wait.” Melanie forced a smile at the new family friend. “You don’t have to wait here. There’s a resort right across the way. The grounds are lovely for strolling and they have a small café that’s not too expensive.”
“I don’t mind waiting. Maybe I should go take a look at the babies in the maternity ward?”
“Third floor,” Josh said, as the woman left them. “You think she’s latching onto us because she’s lonely?”
“She doesn’t have anything else to do until the police and the coroner release her son’s body for travel back home. I don’t mind her.”
“You don’t think it’s a little peculiar she made friends with us so fast?” he asked.
“She saw us in the throes of passion and hasn’t said anything about it. For that, I’m cutting her a whole lot of slack.”
“Except the passion wasn’t quite thrown yet.”
“One way or another, she got an eyeful.” Melanie put away the phone. “It’s been forty-five minutes. I wonder what’s taking so long?”
“Just relax. You’re thinking of all the things that can go wrong.”
“I just have this creepy feeling.”
“That’s called pregnancy,” he said.
“While we wait, why don’t you start your nanny search again? We’re running out of time.”
“What was wrong with the gal that came by last week?”
“Other than having a police record, nothing.”
“She explained all that,” Josh said. “She got caught shoplifting as a teenager. So what?”
“You really want a klepto in the house when we’re not there? And how is she supposed to take the kids around if she has no car?”
“She could just stay home with them.”
“Tay needs to go to preschool and get picked up again. You want her to use a bicycle for that?”
“What about the one before her? She seemed okay,” Josh said.
“She’s never been a nanny, and not even a big sister. She’s about as suited to being a child care worker as she is a brain surgeon.”
When he began searching websites on his phone for a nanny, her phone rang with a call from Detective Nakatani.
“Not today.” She answered the phone. “Detective, didn’t I tell you I was taking today off? Maybe you should too.”
“Are you telling me to give it a rest?”
“I could be less polite about it.”
“I’m sure you could. Say, I just tried contacting your vice mayor, Ms. Park, but she said she was busy, and to call you. Anything from your little investigation last night?”
Thinking he would eventually call her that day, Melanie dug the list of names and places from her bag. “We found a few names that matched, and a couple of places. First the places. Mostly it was at his apartment, and the couple of guys that used to meet him there. One was named Curtis, and the other Ozzie, both of which match business cards for surf instructors at Gonzo’s.”
“I have the last name for Curtis as West and looked into his background. He’s clean. But Ozzie doesn’t seem to have a last name, not according to his business card.”
“I don’t know why that name is so familiar,” Melanie said. “Trying to extrapolate what we could from her letters about the Ozzie person, it sounded like he was one of the odd job workers. Now that I know Gonzo’s is known more for its drug trade than surfboards, I bet anything odd jobs means pushing drugs. Otherwise, this Ozzie guy used to come by Kenny’s apartment occasionally, talk about surfing, drink some beer…” The tic in Melanie’s eye was kicking in again, which she rubbed with a knuckle. “Wait a minute. Try finding someone named Ozzie Simpson, my age or maybe a year older. Maui resident since about the age of fourteen, graduate of West Maui High School. I remember a kid in high school with that name. He might’ve dropped out of school to do the surfer dude thing.”
“Why? What’s so special about him?”
“At least a juvey record, maybe adult for impaired driving. Anything zany. The name Ozzie is unusual, and I associate beer with it for some reason.” Melanie gave Nakatani a few more names that they found in Addie’s letters to her son, ones that she learned had been his friends, or at least associates. “Anything from your end?”
“I have info about this latest death.”
Melanie took her phone out to the hallway but positioned herself so she could see in at where Josh was waiting. “What is it?”
“Thomas Bechler, twenty-four, single, Maui resident for about two years. Guess where he lived?”
“Not in the mood for guessing games.”
“Kihei, and in the same building as the Winston kid.”
“And that means?” she asked.
“It’s a lead. I’m going to try and find out if they knew each other. Since they both died in similar ways, and only a few days apart, they must’ve crossed paths with the same people that killed them.”
Melanie checked her list of names again. “We didn’t discover his name last night in the letters.”
“That would’ve helped tie things together a little tighter. Right now, all we have are leads taking us in several directions, and mostly to dead ends. Working odd jobs or pushing drugs means he could’ve met a hundred other people, just in the last few months.”
“Okay, but why were they killed? Who runs down surfers that have strayed too far from shore? Surfers are a dime a dozen on Maui. Nobody even notices them except other surfers.”
“You might be on to something, Doc. But don’t think of them as surfers, but as pushers.”
“But what’s the difference? How do we actually know either of them had anything to do with the theft of those artifacts?” she asked. “You found the prints from the Winston kid on the cases. So what? Maybe he visited there that day and the janitor didn’t clean as thoroughly as usual that night. I just can’t believe a kid like him, with a mother as nice as his, would push drugs or get involved with breaking and entering and stealing valuable museum pieces.”
“Stra
nger things have happened, Doc.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Melanie saw Trinh come out to talk with Josh, smiling and nodding her head. “Hey, I gotta go. Call me when you learn something.”
She hurried back in as best she could.
“She’s okay?”
“She’s great! She was so cute. Laid there stiff as a board. Mel, I don’t know what you told her, but she obeyed. Give the recovery room nurses a few minutes before going to see her.”
“They came out okay?” Melanie asked, when Dr. Isakson came out to see her.
“Oh yeah, perfectly dry. No problem. Push the cold fluids and popsicles today, and let her have something easy to swallow for dinner. Tomorrow, she can eat whatever she wants.”
Melanie got a little light-headed and Josh helped her to sit before she fell. Isakson called some nurses over, who got her onto a stretcher. They got her to a pre-op bay and attached a blood pressure cuff.
“Melanie? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I just feel like crap.”
“Your blood pressure is too high,” one of the nurses said.
“I just need to go see my daughter.”
By then, the nurses had the full array of monitors on Melanie. “You can’t go anywhere right now, Doctor Kato.”
“I just need to see her!”
Josh took her hand. “Hey, just relax. Trinh said she’s fine.”
Melanie tried pulling the wire EKG leads from her chest. “I want to see my daughter!”
While Josh talked her down, the nurses had a quick powwow.
“Okay, if you promise to stay on the stretcher, we’ll take you in to where she is, okay?”
“Just do it.”
Josh pushed while one of the nurses steered the stretcher. A moment later, the two stretchers were nudged up against each other. Melanie reached over and took her dozing daughter’s hand in hers. Just as tears burst from her eyes, Trinh showed up.
“Hey, what’s going on? They said you had some sort of episode?”
“It was nothing. I just got dizzy.”
Trinh immediately checked Melanie’s ankles for swelling and the vital sign monitors. “Did your water break? Are you having contractions?”
“No. I’m fine, okay?”
“Don’t take an attitude with me, Mel. You’re supposed to be home relaxing, not here at the hospital.”
“How can I not be here when my daughter had surgery? You’d do the same thing, Trinh.”
“You’re too busy. Thérèse could’ve waited for a few weeks for her surgery. And don’t give me any stuff about starting preschool next week. That could’ve waited for a while, also. You need to stop trying to be supermother and relax before you blow a gasket. This is the second time you’ve ended up on a stretcher. That’s got to stop.”
“Don’t you have another patient to see?” Melanie asked.
“Yes, but not until after I call your OB.”
“I’m not having contractions!”
“You’re not exactly Zen-like right now, Mel.”
Once Trinh had made the call, she left Melanie to hold Thérèse’s hand from across the gap between their stretchers. Five minutes later, Dr. Chapman showed up with a fetal heart monitor.
“Maybe we should just proceed today before you have a stroke,” Chapman said, after setting up the strap around Melanie’s waist and watching the readout. “How did her surgery go?”
“Fine, apparently.”
“But you got so uptight that you had a fainting spell?”
“I didn’t faint.”
“Your blood pressure is too high and your heart rate is doing the Indy 500. If I medicate you for hypertension, I put the baby at risk. If I don’t medicate you, I put you at risk. Somehow, you need to find a way of relaxing for the next two days.”
“You said you could induce me today?”
“Two problems with that. First, you need to take your daughter home. Second, I don’t like to induce when there’s a crisis, unless it’s life threatening. We’re sticking with Friday, and you’re promising me to relax. In fact, I’m putting you on bed rest until you come back on Friday. Josh will stand guard until then, and it’s not negotiable. In fact, I’m making it an order, Sergeant Kato.”
Melanie tried not to smirk at the woman who had been her gynecologist since her days in the Air Force, also in the military back then. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Should I find a home care nurse to stay with you until then?” Chapman asked when taking off the monitor belt.
“Josh can help me. Plus, Trinh is right next door, and I have a houseguest that might be helpful.”
“Who’s going to take care of Thérèse when you come to the hospital?”
Melanie clutched at her daughter’s hand again. “We’re planning on bringing her along. She’d be mad if she didn’t.”
Two hours later, Josh got Melanie into his SUV and then got Thérèse buckled into the child seat for the quick ride home. The girl barely fussed, sleeping the whole time.
“I wasn’t expecting to have two patients today,” he said as he drove.
“Just put her in bed with me. You can bring both of us popsicles.”
“What happened?”
“I just got a little dizzy and the nurses made a big deal out of it.”
“Trinh said your BP was high again. I’m not sure who I’m supposed to worry about more, you or the kid.”
“Unfortunately for you, you’ll be helping both of us to the potty, which will be as soon as we get home.”
Once Melanie was situated in her bed with Thérèse next to her, and they’d both had popsicles and cold water to drink, the girl dozed off again.
“Can I get my phone?” she asked Josh.
“To call who?”
“There’s someone I need to call.”
“It was right after you talked to Nakatani when you had your episode.”
“It’s not Nakatani and I didn’t have an episode. And believe me, it’ll aggravate me even more if I don’t make my call.”
After getting her phone and having Josh close the door, she made her call. “Bruce, I have another name for you to run down. Thomas Bechler, twenty-four, from the mainland. He washed ashore the other day, in similar circumstances as the Winston victim. Did you find anything on him or the mother?”
“Not much more than what the MPD already had on him, which is nothing recent. Clean slate while there on Maui. One of the worst credit histories I’ve ever seen. Two overdue library books. Owns some old junk pickup that he bought cheap.” He gave Melanie the make and model, along with the license plate.
“Any indication he had a legitimate job?”
“No tax information has been filed as though he did.”
“That explains his credit history,” Melanie said. “He told his mother he had jobs working as a waiter and working on a farm. But he was also doing some sort of odd jobs with his buddies, most likely selling drugs. That’s what I’m trying to figure out, who the buddies were. I think the only way to get to the bottom of what’s going on is to stick those guys in an interrogation room. What about the mother?”
“His birth certificate confirms she’s his natural mother. Widowed, fifty-eight years old, lived in Phoenix all her life. No arrests, no traffic citations, not even parking tickets. Good credit record, not perfect. Member of the PTA when her son was young. Doesn’t work but is an official member of several charities. Drives blind people on their errands, does personal shopping for shut-ins, serves meals at a homeless shelter once a week. Votes in every election, files her taxes properly though a CPA. Model citizen.”
“How’d her husband die?”
“Car accident about ten years ago, alone in the car. Apparently, one of those dead instantly things.”
“There’s almost nothing to make either one of them interesting, except that the son had some trouble as a teenager and was a college dropout. How the heck did he get mixed up with crooks, and then killed for it?”
“Want
me to keep looking?” Bruce asked.
“Yeah. Actually, I have another name. Check on Ozzie Simpson, maybe Oswald, longtime resident of Maui, about a year older than me. Prior trouble might have something to do with alcohol. See if you can find some sort of angle, anything that might link the Winston kid with this Ozzie person, other than surfing. I have Mother of the Year mourning the death of her son, and I can’t figure out why he died. There must be something.”
“Something what?” Josh asked, bringing a tray of food and drinks in.
“Nothing, Just one of my secrets,” she said, setting the phone aside. “What’s all this?”
“Dinosaur-flavored popsicle for her, peanut butter sandwich for you.”
“Better not call it Dino flavor. Maybe cosmic space dust.”
They woke up Thérèse and had lunch in bed together, before the girl went back to sleep, her arms around her mother’s belly.
Chapter Twelve
When Melanie’s phone rang on Thursday morning, it woke both her and Thérèse from their second naps of the day. It was a call from Bruce at her father’s intelligence company.
“Who dat, Momma?” the girl asked with a raspy voice.
“Someone from work. Go ask Daddy for popsicles, okay?”
“What flabor?”
“Purple moon dirt.”
The girl shinnied down from the bed and trotted from the room. That gave Melanie time to answer the call in private.
“The Bechler kid was a real piece of work. Juvey record, priors in three states, a warrant for arrest in Honolulu. Nothing violent, all misdemeanor stuff or Class D felony charges that had been dropped. My cat has a better credit rating than him. When it comes to social media, he makes himself look like a Casanova.”
“I’m sure the police know all that. Is there anything more subjective that tells us about who he really was on a personal level?”
“Credit card receipts indicate he was something of a clubber. In the few weeks he’d been there on Maui, he’d hit every nightclub a dozen times. Lived in a Kihei condo, late model sedan, clothes, spas, jewelry. But no job.”
“And that means he was doing something dishonest to earn money, right?”
“Melanie, you’re finally understanding how the criminal mind works. On the surface, he committed petty crimes, like so many people do. It was get some money, have a party, get more money. Lather, rinse, repeat. But scratch the surface a little, and you find a dysfunctional dude that really had no concern for other people at all. Putting it through a profiling program, it seems he had some serious psychological problems in dealing with other people beyond an initial meeting.”