by Liz Dodwell
“Point taken, Bert,” Finn said. “For now we’re just making a list of possibilities, and we need to put Eli on it as well. People have been murdered for a lot less than an opportunity to make a name for themselves.”
“Doesn’t that mean Teresa also had motive?” I asked. “She pretty much admitted she’d do anything for Eli. And what about the Westgates? They said they were grateful to Ken for forcing their son out of the football program. Maybe they really resented his interference. Ralph Westgate obviously isn’t a man who readily admits mistakes.”
“Killing for pride? I suppose anything’s possible. Where does all this leave us?” Finn looked at Bert.
“We have Dodo, Wayne, Monks, Eli, Teresa, Ralph and Leticia.”
“Cross Teresa off. She was with someone the whole time, so it couldn’t be her.”
“Would Dodo be strong enough to do the deed?” I wondered.
“A woman in a rage can draw on amazing strength.”
I looked at Bert in surprise. How would he know that?
“Let’s keep moving forward,” said Finn. “Who had opportunity?”
The three of us studied the blueprint. There was a brief period of time before I came out of the bathroom and met Finn coming from the den when the great room had apparently been empty. Anyone could have gone unseen to the west patio. Moreover, with the exception of Monks, any of our suspects could have slipped along the garden path between the patios.
“Here’s what’s still confusing me,” I said. “How did the murderer know Ken was on the west patio? I mean, everyone except Ken seems to be accounted for at the time the fake Barbarossa body was found in the study. So did the killer see Ken go out before that? And why was Ken there anyway, before we’d started the game? And why pick that sword? Wouldn’t a dagger be easier to use – and to hide?”
“There’s about to be another murder.” Bert was holding his hands out as if he wanted to strangle me.
“What did I do?”
“Just complicated things even more with all your questions.”
“Maybe not.” Finn was looking like someone for whom the sun was just about to shine.
“I know that look. What? What is it? You figured out something.”
“Just a thought.”
“Well tell us!”
But he just shook his head - I hate when he does that – and suggested it was time to get Dilly.
“Fine. Let’s do Dilly.”
ELEVEN
It had just occurred to me why Dilly thought men liked her. When she talked, they were silent. No doubt she imagined they were listening; in fact, I’m sure they were tuning out. The woman kept up an incessant monologue of utter drivel. I’d had better conversations with a talking parrot.
She sat in front of the desk, legs crossed neatly, looking as well-put-together now as the beginning of the evening, which was hours ago. It had just passed four in the morning.
Finn stood and walked around the desk, hiking his backside on the edge and looking down at Dilly. She stopped talking and returned his gaze.
“Dilly, I need you to focus and answer a few questions.”
“Of course,” she flashed a smile she’d probably spent hours practicing in the mirror. Finn pressed on.
“We know you were with everyone in the great room, and then the study when Barbarossa was found. After that, you and I were briefly together in the den. Would you tell me what you did and where you went after I left?”
“Well, I waited a few minutes and when you didn’t come back I peeked out the door and saw you talking with Phill. You looked pretty serious so I didn’t want to disturb you, but that left nowhere else to go but the patio – the west patio. Of course, as game organizer my role is to oversee the players and nudge them towards a clue, if necessary, so I decided to check and see if anyone was out there. That’s when I found… um… you know.”
Bert and I exchanged glances. However unintentional, Dilly had just told us she had the opportunity to kill Ken. What about motive?
“Dilly, did you know Ken before this evening?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I met him once before,” she said vaguely.
“Did something happen then?”
Squirming a little she replied, “Not really. It was just a party at The Villa by Barton G.” Whoa. High Society at the former Versace Mansion in Miami Beach.
“Dilly, if something happened it’s better you tell me now. The police will find out later anyway.”
“Oh, alright. I overhead Ken telling some people that my husband obviously didn’t marry me for my intellect, because the size of my brain certainly didn’t measure up to the size of my breasts.”
There’s motive. Flimsy, but still motive.
Dilly went on. “I know I’m not the smartest person. I didn’t go to college and my family were poor, but I’m still a good person. It was cruel of Ken to talk about me like that. I would never say such unkind things about anyone else.”
A little tinge of guilt was coming over me. I’d made fun of Dilly behind her back when she’d been nothing but kind to me. And truth to tell, I couldn’t see her wielding a sword to slice and dice someone and risk breaking a nail. Ouch. There I go again.
“Can I go now?” Dilly asked.
Finn nodded and she rose. At the door she turned. “You know, just once it would be nice if someone considered my feelings. Even though I didn’t care much for Ken, it was a terrible shock to find him like that. I was really sick to my stomach and I can’t shake the image of him lying there, gutted and bloody. It was so gruesome and so…. oh, I don’t know….. so ritualistic.” And with that she left.
As I turned back to Finn he clapped his hand to his forehead and his eyes went wide. “I’ve been such an idiot.” He flung back the sheet that covered the pictures and peered closely at them. Neither Bert nor I dared utter a word before Finn spoke.
“Have either of you been wondering why no-one had any blood on them?”
We shook our heads. I felt like an idiot for not considering that, and I suspect Bert felt much the same.
“Well, I have. And Dilly just told me why.”
Huh?
“I think the time has come to unveil the killer.”
TWELVE
Darla had finally had her fill of us and the tropical storm was moving on. The wind was now a hum, not a roar, and though the air was still heavy with wetness the last sprinkling raindrops had ceased. It was an hour before sunrise.
In the great room there was an air of tense expectancy. Coffee had been brewed and we’d all roused ourselves to form a rough semi-circle around Finn. He alone stood, relaxed, his face unreadable. The last of the chatter died down and into the silence Finn spoke.
“A murder mystery dinner and the mock killing of the pirate Barbarossa; a game that began in light-hearted fun. Then the game turned deadly, with the real killing of Black Bart – Ken Kinimaka, a retired history professor. Who would want to kill such a man?
“As it happened, there were motives galore to choose from. A wife in a loveless marriage,” he looked at Dodo then Wayne. “Or did her ex-lover slay the husband to release her from her torment?
“We have the young reporter and his girlfriend.” Teresa averted her eyes while Eli glared defiantly. “To what lengths might they go to create a sensational story they could later sell?
“Then we have Ralph and Leticia Westgate, whose son was caught by Ken cheating on a college exam. They say they were grateful to Ken, but perhaps that’s a lie. Perhaps the embarrassment of their son being exposed as a cheat still stings. Enough that they would conspire to kill a man? Maybe.”
“How dare you.” Ralph was on his feet. Leticia clutched at his arm. “Please, Ralph.”
“Sit down, Mr. Westgate!” Finn didn’t raise his voice but his tone spoke of such authority that Ralph slowly sank into his chair. When everyone’s attention was back on him, he picked up his narrative.
“Next was Dilly. She had been shamefully humiliated by Ken. Is she
the sort of person to kill in retribution for such behavior?
“Lastly, there is Monks. With a tale of treasure, lost then found, could this be an act of vengeance?”
Finn shook his head. “So many motives, yet would any of them be sufficient to commit murder? And all of these people, with the exception of Teresa, appear to have had the opportunity to do so. There were a few brief minutes after Bert, role-playing Barbarossa’s “pretend” body, that the great room was empty. Someone could quickly have slipped unseen to the west patio and struck Ken down. Then again, Dodo, Wayne, Eli or the Westgates could have dashed along the garden path from the east to the west patio.”
“We did no such thing!” Ralph, again.
“Then tell me this. Why did you not mention seeing Dodo and Wayne come from the guest room while you were outside? They’ve both admitted they crossed the patio down to the garden. You must have seen them if you were there.”
Ralph looked ready to explode but it was Leticia who responded. “We didn’t see anyone because we also went into the garden. Ralph was rather drunk,” she gave him the look wives reserve for their husbands when enough is enough, “so I made him walk around to sober up a bit.”
“Again, so many people with apparent motive and opportunity. Too many it seemed. And too many unanswered questions. Who took the katana from Bert’s collection, and when was it taken? How did the killer know Ken was on the west patio? And where was the blood? I don’t mean blood on the body; I’m referring to blood on the killer. There was certainly some spatter. How did the killer avoid it? At last, something Dilly said made me realize I’d been asking the wrong question.”
“Me?” Dilly was more surprised than the rest of us.
“Yes, Dilly. You were smarter than all of us. You noticed something no-one else did. You said the killing looked ritualistic. That’s when it struck me the question was not ‘who took the katana,’ but ‘why take the katana.’ After that, everything fell into place.
“The katana, as Bert tells me, was used in feudal Japan and is often referred to as the ‘Samurai sword.’ We learned from Dodo that Ken had become obsessed with his Japanese ancestry; he would have recognized the katana as a traditional Japanese sword. When Ralph and Leticia were talking to Ken they were standing right by the sword collection. It would have been easy for Ken to grab the katana without being noticed when the game began and we were all concentrating on finding clues. And if he was seen with the sword he could have joked that he wanted to be like a real pirate with a real sword.”
“I don’t understand,” Leticia said. “Why would Ken take the sword?”
“You remember my other question? How did the killer know where Ken was? Because Ken was the killer.”
There were collective gasps and cries of ‘How?’ ‘What?’ ‘Suicide?’
Finn held up his hands to silence everyone. “Yes, suicide. But a ritual suicide. That’s what Dilly saw when none of us did.”
Again, there were calls of how and why.
“Here’s what I believe happened. It’s unlikely Ken came here planning to kill himself, but it might well have been on his mind for some time. When he noticed the katana he took the opportunity to end his life in a way he felt befitted his heritage – hara-kiri.”
“How could you make that assumption?” Wayne threw his hands out in a gesture of skepticism.
“I assure you, I assumed nothing. In hara-kiri, or seppuku, which is self-disembowelment, the abdomen is slit open from the left to the right. The blade is then turned upward. That’s how we found Ken, with stomach slit horizontally and the sword blade facing upward.”
“For God’s sake, man, Dodo doesn’t need to hear this.” Wayne’s protective instincts were on full throttle.
“It’s OK, Wayne. I want to know what happened. I’m part Japanese, too, remember. I understand the traditions; even those that are as horrifying as this.” She nodded at Finn to keep going.
“Another reason I’m convinced Ken did this is because of the cuts on his left hand. Traditionally, a short sword would be used but the katana is a mid-length weapon, which makes it more difficult to handle. I think Ken held the hilt in his right hand and wrapped his left around the actual blade so he could make a stronger, steadier cut.”
“But why?” Eli asked the questions on all our minds. “Why would he kill himself at all? And why now, and why in such a bizarre way? He was a well-respected and successful man.”
“An autopsy will have to be conducted and, when it is, I strongly suspect it will be found that Ken was in the late stage of neurosyphilis. Syphilis can be in the body for years without exhibiting any obvious symptoms. When it affects the brain it can cause altered behavior and impaired movement that can easily be mistaken for Parkinson’s disease. Ken had a problem at times with shakiness and had recently begun to experience extreme, even dangerous, mood swings.
“For years, he had been intimate with prostitutes, which is where he probably contracted the disease. I’m sure he must have known what was wrong with him but his pride had never allowed him to seek medical help. Add to that he had been unable to father a child, yet had always publicly blamed Dodo. I believe he had begun to feel deep remorse for his actions and his unkind treatment of his wife.
“As for why now?” Finn shrugged. “A simple case of opportunity. Dodo has told us that Ken was obsessed with his Japanese ancestry. He must have seen the katana and recognized it as a samurai sword. I can only surmise it triggered in his damaged mind the idea to gain atonement for his errors. Hara-kiri requires enormous physical courage. For a samurai warrior it was a way of regaining some measure of honor.”
No-one spoke and no-one moved. After hours without sleep, and the fear and stress of being in the company of a murderer, they were pretty much shell-shocked.
The first to move was Monks who went over to the patio doors and pulled back the curtains and opened the doors. Early rays of pale sunlight filtered in with a welcome taste of morning air. In the quiet we heard the cough of a motor and muted voices.
“I believe the police have arrived,” the butler said. “Perhaps I should greet them.”
“Yes, do,” Finn said. Do indeed.
THIRTEEN
“Well, that’s it. We’ll be ready to go at first light.” Finn stretched before settling himself on the settee in Time Voyager’s salon. One really good thing had come out of the bloody affair a few nights ago – at least, for me and Finn – Bert had offered us a berth at Mud Bug Island for as long as we liked and at no cost. The little marina he’d built was equipped with electricity and potable water. It was perfect. With the money we’d save on docking fees we’d be able to get the mailbox blowers we wanted sooner rather than later.
Oh, for those of you not familiar with treasure-hunting equipment, blowers are tiltable metal tubes on the boat’s stern. They force a jet of prop wash to the bottom and can remove centuries of overburden from shipwrecks buried in sand, saving hours and hours of work that would otherwise have to be done by hand.
Anyway, it was our last night at Stock Island. I’d enjoyed staying there. We’d made friends with some really good people, especially the shrimpers. “I can’t say I’ll miss the smell of shrimp, though,” I said, at which point Shrimp appeared, thinking I’d called her name. I picked her up and scratched her nose. “Think she’ll like Mud Bug?”
“She’ll be in kitty heaven.”
“What about the treasure?” I’d been vaguely hoping we might take a trip to Hawaii to search for the Gold Eagles.
“The coins are most likely in 4200 feet of water. Mounting a search could cost millions of dollars. Half the time we can barely afford pizza.”
“You don’t think the coins were taken off the ship before she sank, then?”
“Anything’s possible. But my feeling is that a few of the coins would have surfaced on the open market if that were so.”
“There’s Monks’ coin.”
“Which could have come from other sources.”
&nb
sp; “Well,” I was beginning to get miffed, “Ken Kinimaka’s family supposedly found a cache of coins.”
“And Elvis is supposedly still alive – according to some people.” Finn cracked a slight smile. “Stop pouting. We’ll get to Hawaii another day.” How does he know me so well? “There are other treasure wrecks there. And I believe a Spanish galleon or two.”
Abruptly I switched subjects. “I created a new cocktail with a pirate theme. Most people think of pirate loot in terms of gold coins and jewels, but food and other things would have been at least as important. So this has chocolate vodka, blue curacao and orange bitters to represent sugar, cocoa and indigo. I’m calling it Blackbeard’s Folly.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll try one.”
Off I went to mix and shake. When I came back I handed Finn a glass and seated myself beside him. For some time we sat in companionable silence, each with our own thoughts. Mine went back to the arrival of the police on Mud Bug. It had been some hours before they were willing to accept Finn’s hypothesis of what happened to Ken Kinimaka. The pictures we’d taken and our notes were, of course, seized; Ken’s body was examined before being bagged and removed. Bert was given a receipt for the katana, though he said he wasn’t sure he’d want it back.
Eventually, we were all allowed to leave and Finn and I gratefully drove back to Time Voyager. Shrimp was pretty miffed at having been left alone for so long, but she soon forgave us. Maybe because I gave her an extra-large portion of her favorite food.
We’d had a call earlier in the day from Detective Cardero. He was passing along an official “thank you” from the department, he told us. Also, he wanted Finn to know he’d been right about Ken having syphilis, and the coroner had concluded the wound was self-inflicted. “Even though the circumstances are dreadful, it’s still nice to know you’re right,” Finn had said.
By now I’d finished my Blackbeard’s Folly and so had Finn.