Primitive Secrets

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  “No, we’ve got to turn in our rental car,” Aunt Maile said.

  “Then let me get dinner.” Storm reached for her purse.

  Uncle Keone patted her arm. “I already paid. You changed your busy schedule to see us.”

  Storm walked with them to the meter where they’d parked their car. “Spend a few days with me next time, okay?” She gave Uncle Keone a huge squeeze, then walked around to the other side of the car to help Aunt Maile get her large self into the small rental. She hated to see them go. “Take care of each other. I’ll call soon.”

  Aunt Maile wrapped her arms around Storm. “You watch out for yourself, hear?” She pressed a tissue-wrapped object into Storm’s hands. “Take this with you everywhere ‘til this business with Hamasaki is over.”

  “Aunt Maile…”

  Aunt Maile frowned at her. “Keep your eyes open.” She pointed to the package. “Directions to the farm are in there.”

  Storm waved at the back of their disappearing car, warmed by their love and happy that she’d met them for dinner. Maybe next time, she’d convince them to try the Thai restaurant.

  She poked at the wrapping paper and recognized the eight-inch wood figure. It was her ‘aamakaa. She stood on the sidewalk and unwrapped the carving enough so that she could see the funny face of paa‘a, the pig, so full of Big Island memories that despite his ferocious appearance, he made her smile.

  Aunt Maile was getting a bit carried away, though. She wasn’t going to be able to carry the pua’a around with her all the time. It wasn’t the little one Maile used to let her wear around her neck. Storm stuffed him in her handbag, which would no longer zip closed. The purse was now considerably heavier.

  Chapter 30

  At home, Storm fed Fang and plopped into her reading chair only to fall soundly asleep after reading one page of Roy Tam’s contract. It was two a.m. when Fang leaped into her lap and rumpled the papers. Muttering and groggy, Storm staggered off to bed.

  When her alarm went off at six, she was pretty sure that she hadn’t moved the entire night. One arm was completely asleep, a wooden bat filled with pins and needles, and the face in the mirror was puffy and lined with pillow creases. She was still paying for the night with Hamlin and yes, it was still worth it.

  Once she got her arm working, Storm showered and hustled to her car. She braided her hair and put on a little eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick at red lights on the way downtown. She stopped at Leila’s bakery for orange juice and a cherry strudel to go and gave Bruce, who must have been waiting by the back door, a cheerful peck on the cheek. By ten of seven, she was firing up the espresso machine in her office.

  She wanted to go through Ray Tam’s contract before the day got busy. Then she would hand-deliver Unimed’s equipment request to an old high school friend at the DOH, a workaholic who Storm knew to be the most efficient person in the department. Maybe even the state.

  She thought about her plans for the day. If she were to meet Bebe at the Hawanawana La‘aa farm in Waimanalo by four-thirty, she had to leave the office at three. She’d slipped Aunt Maile’s directions out of the pua’a’s wrappings and noted that the place was at least five miles off the main road, or Kamehameha Highway, toward the Ko’olau Mountains. Beautiful country, but remote.

  A tap at her door interrupted her thoughts. When she saw Hamlin, she grinned. He leaned over her desk and kissed her. “So, tonight? Seven o’clock?”

  “Hamlin, Aunt Maile asked a favor of me. I’ve got to pick noni with a friend of hers this afternoon in Waimanalo.”

  “Waimanalo? When are you meeting her?”

  “Four-thirty. I have a hunch it will take a while and I’m going to be pretty muddy afterwards. People grow a lot of taro back there, have pig farms, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds refreshing.” Hamlin chuckled. “What’s noni?”

  “A medicinal plant. Some kind of mulberry, I think.”

  “You know what it looks like and she doesn’t, is that it?”

  “No, she knows it better than I do. But the terrain is rough and Bebe’s got an arthritic hip. She must be in her seventies.” Storm remembered the lime green bike shorts. “Though she doesn’t act like it.”

  “Want some company?”

  Storm’s face lit up. “Could you get away?”

  “I’ll try. Let me get back to you later.” He disappeared.

  Storm gazed happily at the back of the door for a few seconds and went back to the contract. She made a few notes, questions for Tam, and dialed his office. The secretary told her that Tam would meet her for coffee at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Would Starbucks be all right? Of course.

  The minute Storm hung up, her direct line rang. Paul Andrews’ rich bass came over the wire.

  “Storm, do you have a few minutes or would you rather come over to the lab?”

  “We’d better talk now,” she said. “The rest of the day is going to be rushed.”

  “Okay. As we knew, there was black coffee in the cup. But there were traces of tea, too. Like maybe he’d had a cup of tea first, then a half-cup of coffee. There was more of the tea residue on the walls of the upper half of the mug. Here’s the interesting part. I found butabarbital sodium, traces of calcium stearate, cornstarch, and dibasic calcium phosphate in the cup. There was a much lower concentration of the butabarbital in the coffee, but there was a substantial amount in the tea residue around the top of the cup.”

  Storm felt as if her heart stopped. When it resumed, it pounded with dread against her chest wall. “What is that stuff?”

  “Butabarbital sodium is a barbiturate, a sedative. The calcium stearate, calcium phosphate, and cornstarch are binders, commonly used in the manufacture of tablets. You know, to make the pill hold together.”

  “Oh.” Her jaw was moving as if it had rusted. “Was there enough buta…barbiturate to put him to sleep?”

  “I won’t bore you with the calculations, but if he drank 250 cc’s, or about a cup, of tea with the concentration I found, he consumed approximately four 100 mg tablets. You told me he was an old guy, right? Was he overweight?”

  “No, he was about my height and maybe a hundred fifty pounds.”

  “Storm, this dose would have knocked me out and I’m twice your size.”

  “Could it have killed him?”

  “It could if he had any unusual reactions.” Andrews paused. “I thought of something else, though. Could he have been using it medicinally over a period of time? Did he have trouble sleeping, was he suffering from an emotional shock?”

  “I don’t think so.” She would have noticed if he’d been distraught. And it wouldn’t have been like him to get a prescription for a sedative even if he were upset about his son and DeLario.

  “Wouldn’t that be a big dose even for an emotional problem?” Storm asked.

  “Yes, but if he took it over time, he’d be habituated to it. He’d need more to get the same effect. But he would have had to take it for months.” Andrews sounded thoughtful, almost sad. “People can surprise you. There are some very unlikely users running around. In expensive suits, with the best educations money can buy.”

  Storm stared across the room. “No, I’m sure he didn’t use it regularly. Assuming that he wasn’t accustomed to taking it, how long would the drug take to put him to sleep?”

  “Fifteen, twenty minutes. He’d be out of it pretty quickly.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Andrews.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll mail you a print-out of the analysis.”

  Storm hung up the receiver and sat unmoving in her chair for several minutes. Slowly, she picked the phone back up and dialed Detective Fujita’s number. She let out a silent breath of relief when he answered gruffly. “Fujita.”

  “There was a barbiturate in the coffee mug.”

  “Oh boy. You got the analysis in front of you?”

  “No, Paul Andrews just cal
led me.”

  “He did it himself?” Fujita paused. “You mind asking him to release a copy to me?” Storm could hear him sipping something, probably coffee. “That changes things a bit. Interesting, I wanted to talk to you, too. The truck that killed Lorraine Tanabe was wiped down.”

  “You mean someone planned to hit her?”

  “Makes you wonder. We found fibers from canvas gardener’s gloves, the kind Long’s Drugs sells by the dozens. The only fingerprints were on the vodka bottle rolling around on the passenger’s side floor.”

  “Could you trace them?”

  “No problem. They belong to a homeless guy who sleeps next to the public restroom in Kapi’olani Park. He’s been picked up once or twice for vagrancy.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “Sure. Gave him a coupla Big Macs, sat him down for a talk. He claims he saw some Oriental guy, a little on the husky side, with glasses, digging around in the dumpster where our homeless friend throws his trash.” Fujita gave a rueful chuckle. “Sounds like he’s describing me. Or a few thousand other guys.”

  “You believe him?”

  “Yeah. We also found fibers from new J.C. Penney’s blue jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt. This guy would love to have clothes like that. He hasn’t had new rags since the Vietnam War.”

  “Would he run someone down for money?”

  “Unlikely. He’s the kind of guy who raids dumpsters next to restaurants and shares the food with stray cats. Plus, he’s not organized enough. Someone put some thought into this job. Every fiber in there was traceable to about twenty sources.”

  “You think it’s connected to Hamasaki’s death?”

  “Hard not to after what you told me about the coffee.” He paused. “Ms. Kayama, what made you think about getting the coffee in the cup analyzed?”

  “Someone told me about a date-rape drug. It was unconnected to Hamasaki; it just got me thinking along those lines.”

  “I see.” Fujita sighed. “ Did Lorraine have access to all of Hamasaki’s cases?”

  “As far as I know. She knew his long-term clients. He’d go ask her what their wives’ or kids’ names were. She even kept notes on personal stuff, like if they were vegetarians or had seafood allergies, so when he took them to dinner, he didn’t go to the wrong restaurant.”

  “I could use someone like that,” Fujita said.

  “Me, too.”

  “Where are her notes?”

  Storm chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t know. We cleaned out Lorraine’s desk already. There was only one hanging file drawer and there wasn’t any client or business information in there, just manuals for office machines, that sort of thing. Nothing confidential.”

  “Discreet of her.”

  “She was protective of Hamasaki, yet she pulled it off without making you feel as if you weren’t on the inside track.”

  “Sounds like a smart woman,” Fujita said.

  “Yeah.” Storm’s voice was sad.

  “I’d like to take a look at his files. Could you arrange that?”

  “I think so. I’ve got to go through them myself.”

  “Thanks for your call,” Fujita said. “I’ll get back to you.”

  Storm sat holding the humming receiver, then slowly lowered it into its cradle. Hamasaki kept files on more than his clients’ food allergies. A month or two ago, she’d seen him with a letter from David’s doctor about the change in his insulin doses. She’d asked Hamasaki about it and he’d muttered that he kept track of David’s health because David wasn’t responsible enough.

  She wondered what else Hamasaki kept track of. Her own teen-aged scrapes with the Waimea police, or details of her mother’s death? And what about Martin? Even if her history had made it to the shredder, Hamasaki’s discovery of Martin’s homosexuality was recent.

  Another, more urgent reason to use Diane’s key tonight. Meredith had been carrying boxes into the office this morning, moving her own items into the new space. Storm didn’t want those papers, if they existed, to get outside the family circle. Neither members of the law firm nor the police needed to know some of these personal secrets.

  Chapter 31

  With considerable effort, Storm shoved thoughts about Paul Andrews’ report and the conversation with Fujita out of her mind. Wang and Wo were going to be banging on her door about the Department of Health approval.

  She forced herself to concentrate on rechecking Unimed’s contract for the last time, then put it into a manila envelope. She walked to Hamlin’s end of the corridor and popped her head into his office. He was on the phone, but his eyes flickered in her direction. His voice was low and soothing. “Come on, you know better than that. Listen, I’d better go.” He hung up.

  Storm cocked her head at him. He’d curtailed that call quickly. “I’m going over to the state offices,” she said. “Thought I’d check on our outing this afternoon.”

  “I canceled an appointment just for you,” Hamlin said. He stuffed some papers into his drawer and closed it. “What time you want to leave?”

  “Can you make it by three? We’re supposed to meet Bebe at four-thirty,” Storm said. “You’re going to need old sneakers. And jeans or shorts. Don’t even think about wearing a suit. We may be walking through fields of water.”

  “Oh yeah. Taro farms, right? Do we have time to run to my apartment and change?”

  “If you’re fast,” Storm said. “It’ll take about an hour to get there.”

  “I’m fast.” Hamlin grinned.

  Storm rolled her eyes. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  “Great times, sweetheart.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that.” Storm gave him a wave and headed down the hall.

  “Meet you here at three,” he said at her disappearing back.

  The state office for the Department of Health was about four blocks from Storm’s office building. It was more trouble for Storm to drive her car out of one underground parking lot and into another than it was to walk. The day was beautiful; wisps of clouds blown by the brisk trade winds tumbled across a cerulean sky. And the expedition to Waimanalo was looking a lot less like an obligation. Storm walked three blocks before she stopped grinning like a schoolgirl playing hooky.

  When she walked into the DOH and asked for Mark Suzuki, the receptionist smiled at her. Back in his cubicle, Suzuki looked up from behind three shoulder-high piles of quadruplicate forms and squinted at her. “You either got a raise or you’re getting laid.” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were crooked, as usual. His office reeked of old-fashioned copy machine fluid.

  “The fumes in here are getting to you, Suzuki. You need a break.” She pointed at a stack of documents that looked like the IRS had printed them in batches of a hundred thousand or so. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

  “What do you need this time?” Suzuki said. He sneezed.

  “Cynicism can give you allergies.” Storm took the pen from his fingers and dropped it on the desk.

  “You didn’t walk over here to make fun of me.” He blew his nose on a tissue.

  “I never make fun of you.” Storm peered at him seriously. “I need you to look over a contract for Unimed.”

  “I knew it.” Suzuki sneezed again. “What are you getting a poor innocent like me into?”

  “If you’re innocent, then I’m Snow White.” Storm went around his desk and grabbed his arm. “What you need is a cheeseburger.”

  Suzuki drew back in horror. “Hey, I’m not cheap, sweetie. You have to spring for lasagna, at least. Maybe I should hold out for lobster…” He stood up with a dreamy expression and tucked a shirttail into drooping pants.

  Storm gave him a push and laughed. “Let’s try that deli on the corner of Queen and Alakea. I hear they’ve got a good Philly cheese steak.”

  Suzuki’s eyes gleamed with interest. “No kidding? The real thing
?”

  “You’ll have to tell me.”

  On the way to the restaurant, he extolled the virtues of authentic Italian rolls and whether or not he believed the real thing could have made its way to Honolulu. “It’s all in the bread, you know.”

  After all the commentary, Storm had to eat one, too. They sat on rickety white wrought-iron furniture practically in the middle of the downtown sidewalk. She figured Suzuki was happy because, undistracted by the surges of pedestrians around them, he wolfed down the huge sandwich, then picked strands of cheese from the paper wrapping.

  He sat back in the fragile chair, which creaked. “I owe you one, Kayama. That was good.”

  “Just read my contract by this afternoon.”

  “Strings, strings.” Suzuki picked a morsel of onion off his already spotted tie.

  “You love it. That’s why you stay with the state.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” he said.

  “Your secret is safe with me.” Storm patted his arm. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Call me when you’ve looked it over, okay?”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Suzuki said.

  “Wonderful.”

  The receptionist handed Storm a batch of messages on the way to her office. The work was piling up and she had two hours before she met Hamlin to go to the farm.

  Storm made all of the client-related calls, but saved the one to Martin for later. She hoped he planned to help her pack up Hamasaki’s furniture this weekend.

  She looked down at the last message. It was from Marianne Watanabe, Aunt Bitsy’s sister in Hilo. Bitsy had been staying with her the night Hamasaki was killed. Storm liked Marianne and knew her to be a direct, efficient woman. This call wouldn’t take long. Storm dialed the long distance Big Island number.

  “Storm, I’m coming over this weekend to stay with Bitsy. She’s getting more depressed, you know. I guess the shock of everything. And I still have her overnight bag. It has her address book, her needlepoint, toothbrush, all the everyday little things. She left in such a hurry that morning. I’ll bring it with me. But I need someone to pick me up at the airport Friday afternoon. David and Michelle will be between the lunch and dinner shifts at the restaurant and Martin is leaving the same morning. I hate to bother you, but…”