by Lois Winston
I studied the lone woman lying on the chaise. So did Gurn. Without saying a word, we walked hand in hand in her direction. Actually, Gurn walked. I hobbled in the cumbersome boot I was relegated to wearing for the next four to six weeks.
Once there, we unlocked hands, Gurn going around to the far side of the lounge. I looked at him and he looked at me. Raising his forefinger, he tapped the air in the woman’s direction, indicating it was time for me to do something.
I cleared my throat.
Nothing.
“Ah, miss?”
Still nothing.
“Excuse me,” I said louder then waited.
“Miss?” This time I jostled the chaise lounge with my knee. The movement caused the sandal to drop off her left foot and land in the water. It bobbed on gentle waves.
Gurn looked at me, grabbed the black hat by the crown, and lifted it up. Long hair, a lighter shade of brunette than mine, fluttered in the soft breezes of Kauai. Vacant brown eyes stared unseeing into the late morning’s sky. A trace of dried saliva ran down one corner of bluish lips.
“Dios mio, look at her arms.” For the first time I noticed how they lay unnaturally stiff by her side, ending in balled up fists. “Gurn, she’s dead!”
Wordless, he placed the hat back where it had been. After a moment’s silence in which he tried to steady himself, he looked at me. “Do you want to stay with the body while I go for the police or do you want to go?”
I gulped, unhappy either way. As the lead PI for the Silicon Valley based family business, Discretionary Inquires, maybe I should have been more used to this sort of thing.
In defense, finding dead bodies was on the unusual side, as ninety-nine percent of the time we dealt with miscreants who stole software, hardware, and intellectual property. But it did happen, especially when I wasn’t looking.
“I’ll stay.”
Gurn turned and broke into a run, heading for our room and a phone. Putting on my mental PI hat, I pivoted slowly, trying to keep the silly boot on my left foot from sinking further into the sand. I studied my surroundings.
The morning’s sun was still climbing in a cloudless sky, its reflection dancing across the surface of the ocean. Out to sea, small boats and elegant yachts either glided by or were tethered to anchors in the bay, bobbing languorously on soft currents. Further down the beach, a group of young people began a rambunctious game of volleyball. Their taunts, laughter, and teasing filled the air. It was macabre.
Turning back to the corpse, I scrutinized the body from head to toe. Considering how she was dressed – or wasn’t – I didn’t miss much. She looked to be about my age, thirty-four, maybe a year or two older. She was or had been in great shape, not an ounce of fat anywhere. Even I, a wannabe ballerina with a black belt in Karate, couldn’t make that statement. Possibly she was an athlete of some sort. Or a workout nut. There was that.
A thin, rose gold chain encircled the ankle of the foot still wearing a sandal. With a sound similar to that of a stopped up sink being unclogged, I managed to pull my sinking boot out of the wet sand, struggling to stay upright. I had been told to steer clear of any type of water or beach activity by the nurse practitioner while wearing this support boot. Now I knew why. It was filling up fast with sand, salt water, and a small seashell or two. Nonetheless, I chugged into the water toward the bottom end of the chaise, and closer to the victim’s feet.
The name ‘Janet’ was written in gold cursive, individualizing the anklet. Sparkling diamonds dotted the links here and there. The gold and diamonds were real; the piece expensive. I can tell the difference at sixty paces between real and imitation, having been trained by the world’s foremost fashionista, my mother, Lila Hamilton Alvarez. Speaking of my mother, she would have a cow if she found out I was involved in someone’s demise on my honeymoon. I couldn’t wait to tell her.
I lifted the black sunhat again from the woman’s body; I didn’t think she’d mind. Flipping it over, I read the designer label. If one was to believe Vogue Magazine – and I certainly did – her topper cost a snappy five hundred and fifty dollars.
For most women, that’s a lot to pay for something to plop on your head at the beach. My sunhats usually end up crushed under sandy feet, bleached by the sun, and soaked by salt water. After being totally misshapen by the elements, I’m often relieved when they’re blown away by a rogue gust of air. Of course, then one must start the process all over again. That’s why I try to keep the cost of summer hats under thirty bucks each.
So here lay a woman who spent serious money on at least one or two of life’s accessories. Or life’s frivolities, if I wasn’t being too judgmental. I reined in the urge to do a search of the bathing suit for its label. Putting aside it was tampering with evidence, pilfering through a dead body’s garments might be considered gauche, especially if I got caught.
Seeing nothing else unusual – other than the woman being deceased – I replaced the hat and zoned out for a while, thinking. Had I seen anyone or anything else when I’d spotted the red bikinied woman the first time? Nada.
In truth, she could have been there most of the night, possibly pushed around by the incoming and outgoing tide, gentle though it’s purported to be. Only with the rising of the sun would I have seen her. Except for the hotel’s nightclub, lights are dimmed, if not off after nine pm, the beachfront sleepy and quiet. People tend to come to Kauai for nature, so it’s usually early to bed, early to rise. Basically, if you want nightlife, go to Waikiki.
I looked up and saw Gurn and the hotel manager thudding toward me. I couldn’t hear them, as the sand muffled any sound, but a young man in a security guard’s uniform followed. The officialdom of death was about to begin.
TWO
I sat with my ankle propped up on a cushion. Dry and bandaged, it felt tons better than it had when Gurn helped me limp back from the beach to our room. By the time the police let us go, my ankle was swollen and achy; my left foot feeling encased in a cement block instead of a support boot. The boot was now washed, rinsed, and trying to pull itself together. So was I.
Detective So Kim looked in my direction, the smile on his super-tanned face never wavering since he walked into the room. His was the friendliest demeanor I’d ever seen on a cop, especially when asking the same questions again and again. An inch or two shorter than my five foot eight, his jovial attitude might have been compensation for his slight frame, but I doubted it. Anyone taking him on at twice his weight might live to regret it.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Hanson?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned his radiating smile on Gurn. “Has Mr. Hanson been taking care of you?”
Gurn smiled back at him, but it was on the forced side and definitely phony. For whatever reason, he didn’t like this middle-aged detective in charge of the woman’s death. His attitude surprised me, as Gurn is an easygoing man who likes nearly everyone.
I figuratively jumped in. “My ankle doesn’t hurt now, but it feels weak. Thanks for asking.” I smiled back, but found I didn’t mean it, either.
“Good, good,” Detective Kim said. “That’s good news. You should be up and around in a couple of weeks. But you have to be careful with a bad sprain. Keep it elevated and iced. No more wandering around on the beach.” He laughed and removed his stylish hat, part fedora, and part hipster. Wiping his brow with his arm, he said, “Man, it’s hot out there. Another sunny day in paradise.”
I jumped in again. “Would you like some iced tea? Room service brought a full pitcher when they delivered lunch. There’s more than enough. And please sit down,” I gestured to the sofa.
“Well, if you don’t mind.” His bright smiled brightened even more. “Thank you, Mrs. Hanson.”
“Not at all.”
I reached for the pitcher on the small table at my side. Gurn was still uncharacteristically quiet. Detective Kim perched on the edge of the sofa with an acknowledging nod to Gurn.
“I only have one or two more questions.”
Gurn finally
spoke up, his tone easy, as opposed to something in his eyes. “I would have thought we’d answered everything in the hour and a half we were detained at the scene. After all, we merely found the body. We didn’t know the woman.”
“Oh, of course, of course. No one’s saying you did know Jan Bernstein.” He paused and looked down at his notes. “Same last name as Leonard Bernstein, the composer. Isn’t that something?”
“It’s a common enough name, I would think, Detective,” said Gurn.
“She’s from California, too. Sacramento. That’s near Palo Alto, isn’t it?” Kim’s tone was pleasant and his face still wore the smile I was beginning to find annoying.
“Not really,” I said, pouring the icy brew into a glass. “It’s over a hundred miles away. Sugar? Lemon?” Kim shook his head. I went on. “I personally haven’t been to Sacramento in eons. Have you, darling?”
I looked up at Gurn, who’d come to my side and took the glass of tea from my hand.
“I don’t get there much,” he answered. “Only when called for.” He crossed to the sofa and handed off the iced tea to Detective Kim, while talking. “Among other things, I have a client who moved there two years ago. I still handle his account.”
“That would be Mr. Radcliff?” Detective Kim looked at up at Gurn.
“That’s right. Radcliff Awnings.” Gurn returned and sat in the chair next to me. He leaned back in a relaxed manner. “I see you’ve been doing some checking.”
“Oh, just a little,” said Kim. “It’s on your website. Mr. Hanson. What an impressive thing that is, your website. You must get a lot of business just from the looks of it. So professional. Radcliff Awnings, Sacramento. I have to do that, you know. Checking. My job. Hope you don’t mind. Nothing personal.” He reached in his pocket and took out one of the larger smartphones, displaying it for us. “I can find most things on here. Special apps and all that.”
Gurn said nothing. Silence filled the room.
“How can we help you, Detective?” I finally said, moving around in my chair trying to get more comfortable. Kim noticed.
“I seem to be overstaying my welcome. You could use some rest.” Detective Kim took a long drink of tea, the ice clinking around in his glass. “This hits the spot. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I was a little thrown by the drawn out chitchat, but decided to see where the conversation was going, if anywhere.
He went on after another gulp of tea. “Like I say, just one or two more questions. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Now it was Gurn who turned on a smile. “Promise? We’re on our honeymoon and I really don’t want to spend the rest of it being interrogated. Naturally, we want to do whatever we can to help –”
“Naturally,” Kim interjected. “So you are saying, Mr. Hanson, that you did not know Janet Bernstein before?”
“That is correct,” Gurn said.
“And you didn’t run into her here on the island, around the hotel or anywhere else?”
“That is also correct. The one and only time I saw her was with my wife this morning, and the lady in question was already dead. Besides, she seems to have been killed with strychnine poisoning. We didn’t bring any with us.” He threw the last remark in to add a little reality to the situation, I think. Not sure if it worked.
“You noticed that, did you?” Kim’s voice was low but sharp. “Interesting. Most people don’t know much about it. Strychnine poisoning.”
“Actually,” I said, “If you know anything about the symptoms of strychnine, it’s easy to detect. Bluish tinge to the skin. The victim’s fists were clenched, and she was unusually stiff, not in the way rigor mortis behaves. I noticed it, too.”
“Ah, yes,” Detective Kim said, in a tone indicating I had hit upon an unerring truth. “But then you are a private investigator, Mrs. Hanson.”
“You looked me up, as well, I see,” I said.
He nodded. “Yes, you and your family own a Silicon Valley detective agency, right? You, too, were easy to find on the Internet. Such a beautiful thing, the Internet. Everything is right there. Saves so much time, Mrs. Hanson.”
“Actually, it’s still Ms. Alvarez if you want to get technical, but call me Lee,” I said. “For professional purposes, I didn’t take my husband’s last name.”
Kim shook the ice in the glass and tipped it upward to get the last drop before speaking. “I understand that completely, Lee. My wife has a law firm and she kept her maiden name.” He turned to Gurn with a huge grin. “We modern husbands have no problem with that, do we Mr. Hanson?”
“None whatever,” Gurn replied then was silent.
“But you, on the other hand, Mr. Hanson,” said Kim. “I could find very little about you. Oh, I know you’re a certified public accountant and a flyer, but there’s been a lot of hush-hush trips. Like to Washington D.C.”
Gurn’s face took on its stone-like demeanor when anything came up about his double life. “Just business trips, Detective. Nothing having to do with anything here in Hawaii.”
“I’m sure, but I have to check.” Kim set the glass on a side table and leaned forward with a friendly, but regretful look on his face. “I hope you don’t mind, but I like to know everything about the people I’m dealing with. And I can’t seem to find much about you. Ex-navy pilot and certified public accountant. There are some holes in your background, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Say anything you like, Detective Kim. I didn’t know this Janet Bernstein and didn’t have anything to do with her death.”
If my support boot hadn’t been drying on the lanai, I would have smacked Detective Kim over the head with it. Of all the crackpot nerve. Instead, I drew myself up to my full height, which was not an easy thing to do from a sitting position.
“Detective Kim!” My voice contained the shock and indignation I felt. “Are you insinuating Gurn was responsible in any way for that woman’s death? Why the idea is ludicrous.”
I continued to sputter, as Gurn reached out a hand to touch my arm in a reassuring manner. “That’s all right, darling. Detective Kim is just doing his job.” He leaned forward in his chair. “And I’m assuming you do it fairly well.”
Kim shrugged modestly. “I try.”
“Then you will find I had nothing to do with this murder.”
“Of course, you didn’t!” I was still shocked and outraged at the very idea.
“Then we all agree. It was probably murder,” said the detective, standing. “Young, healthy woman, as far as we know. Signs of strychnine poisoning. Of course, we’ll have to wait until the post mortem is completed, but that’s how it’s looking. Young and healthy. Why would she kill herself? Especially that way?”
He shook his head, seemingly filled with compassion for the victim.
“Death by strychnine poisoning. Paralyzes the nervous system. Quick but painful. Nothing around the body to indicate the strychnine was self-administered. Of course, the container could have dropped from her hand as she died, and floated out to sea. But my captain, he doesn’t think so. Says he has a gut feeling.” Kim looked at us with an apologetic grin. “And you know bosses. They like you to pay attention to what they say.”
He became silent, and as the detective seemed to be thinking, neither Gurn nor I responded. Finally, after a moment, he went on.
“A method not so common anymore. A poison one needs access to. Knowledge of in its use. Things like that.”
“Excuse me, Detective Kim,” I said, “but it doesn’t take much to read up on strychnine. There is, as you say, the Internet. And it can be found in rat poison, something anyone can get ahold of. But what about the chaise lounge? It’s not one from this hotel. It came from somewhere else. Whoever delivered the woman to the beach in the chaise lounge is more than likely your killer.”
“Ah! You noticed that, too!” While his opinion of Gurn was wanting, his respect for me seemed to soar. “My goodness, you must be a wonderful investigator back on the mainland.”
I s
puttered some more, at a loss by this unwarranted flattery. Gurn moved to the front door.
Opening it he said, “Well, if there’s nothing else, Detective, we don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have other leads to pursue. And as you say, my wife could use some rest.”
“Of course, of course.” Setting the empty glass on the side table, Kim rose. “Sorry to have kept you.”
He crossed the small living room of the bungalow and stopped in front of Gurn, staring up into his face. Kim stood closer than called for, invading the taller man’s personal space. However, Gurn did not move or step back, but remained in place. He locked eyes with the smaller man, who still had the excessively friendly smile plastered on his face.
“How much longer were you planning to be in Kauai, Mr. Hanson?”
“We have two days left. We leave on Tuesday,” Gurn said.
“Well, let’s hope we have things wound up by then and don’t have to interfere with your departure.” He turned to me. “Goodbye for now, Lee. Have a nice day and keep that foot propped up.” Kim gave a small obligatory nod to Gurn and left.
Gurn shut the door after the departing detective. After a moment’s silence I exploded.
“That idiot thinks you had something to do with Janet Bernstein’s death!”
“Yeah, he does. And in a way, I don’t blame him. If you look past the surface of my Wikipedia blurb, I do have holes in my history –”
“Those are from the service to your country.”
“Yes, but very few people are supposed to know about that.”
I mused. So did Gurn.
“And here’s something I didn’t mention to Kim, but he’ll find out soon enough. Remember when I was part of the aerial attack on the wildfire near Sacramento last summer? I was stationed at the Sacramento Airport for five days.”
“But you were either putting out the fire or sleeping.”
“True, but he doesn’t know that. From his point of view, I could have gone into Sacramento and met Janet Bernstein.”
“But you didn’t!”