And her attitude toward Dale was different from the rest of us. She told me they'd had an argument when she'd first started working for him and Kaupu. Dale made some sarcastic remark about her selling tactics. That's when she told him she knew more about real estate on Elima than he could ever hope to know, and if he stuck his nose into any of her sales, she'd walk out that minute. And she would have. Dale never said word one to her after that. He might have been an s.o.b. but, where his wallet was concerned, he could turn meek as a lamb if that's what it took to keep it fat and healthy.
Quentin Robichaud's really my best friend in the office, maybe my best friend on the island. We sit around over coffee and go over our sales. We complain about customers, about the Real Estate Commission, about Dale and about everyone in the office. We trusted each other, and knew what we said was a way of blowing off steam without having any of the vapor escaping back at the workplace.
Quentin's a little guy, about five-four or so, and somewhere around my age. He's a French Canadian, born in Twin Falls, Idaho. He's got a heck of a nice wife, by the way. Her name's Rose—Rose Tanner. Quentin laughs about that and tells everyone he kept his maiden name when they got married.
Rose is always trying to find me a wife. Some women are like that, and they can be a pain in the neck. But Rose is always so sweet about it. And, I've got to admit, I've met two or three nice women, who were just “accidentally” invited to dinner at the Robichaud-Tanners at the same time I was. That nothing serious came out of those introductions is no fault of Rose's.
Oops! I almost forgot our secretary. I've got to give Dale credit for Annie Loh. She's Chinese—no beauty—but she sure keeps things in order. You should see her fingers fly across those computer keys. She can figure up interest payments faster than anyone I know, and mostly in her head. If you need anything done with numbers, see Annie. I told her she should have been an accountant. They make plenty—sure a heck of a lot more than a real-estate secretary does. I wasn't kidding when I told her she should have been an accountant.
One day when things were quiet around the office, and only Annie and I were there, she explained why she wasn't an accountant. Andy Loh is the reason. He's an auto mechanic, and brings home a good salary. She had to fight with him to let her go to work. She told me he almost had a cat fit when she started talking about going back to school to learn more bookkeeping and maybe some accounting. He sulked for days, according to her. Finally, it came out in bits and pieces. He was afraid she'd get a job where she'd be making more money than he does, and he just wouldn't be able to take it. “The thought of me being an accountant and him being an auto mechanic would have just killed him.”
She said, “You know. I love my husband. We have two nice kids and a nice home. So I got to thinking. Do I really need to be an accountant? Isn't keeping peace in the family more important? Sure, Andy's old fashioned and all that. But old-fashioned Andy is worth a dozen of those husbands who drink and gamble and chase around. I'll stick to my job as a real-estate secretary. And I know there's no danger Dale Matthias will ever pay me more than what an auto mechanic makes.”
I shook my head over that. If I ever do get married, my wife's going to be free to bring home as much money as she wants to. And she can be a nuclear physicist or a brain surgeon, for all I care.
Chapter 5
Jon was fifty, and she was fifteen.
No, Lisa didn't fall in love with Jon. And she didn't worship him. It was no high school crush. Jon simply became her whole life, ten minutes after she entered his office.
But those first ten minutes in that office had Lisa Joseph against the world, and that world most certainly included Jon Raines. What started the turmoil was Jon's first question to her after she sat down. “What do you intend to do with your life, Lisa?”
Her face was expressionless. “I've never thought about it,” she answered.
“Teachers talk to each other about their students,” he continued.
(I know they do.) She barely nodded her head in acknowledgment.
“And you've caused more talk than Bill Charlie.”
(Great comparison!) Bill Charlie was an Indian senior who'd showed up at school with a rifle and had held a teacher hostage. Jon Raines was coming into focus. Most teachers would never have mentioned Bill Charlie to an Indian student. Lisa began to inspect him more closely.
He smiled. “But for a different reason. Are you aware of how different you are from the other students?”
(I've known that even before I started school. But why rub it in. Or is he talking about what I think he's talking about?) Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you are the most intelligent student I have ever encountered. There isn't a subject being taught in this high school where you couldn't be the top student—if you want to be. You can pick and choose what you want to be, and I'd like to help you choose.”
Jon stood up, raised his hands in a gesture that seemed to be holding her away. “I know you're part Nez Perce, and I know the Indians hate the white man's guts. And the Nez Perce, especially, have good reason for feeling that way. I'd like to make an independent truce with you, but I'm not about to push. If you want to be just a student in my class, I'll treat you fairly. Nothing more, nothing less. But if you want more. If you want me to open up the future for you, to show you how you can use those extraordinary talents you have, to become someone I'll be proud of and you'll be proud of, the door is open to you—anytime.”
(Doors don't open up for Indians. But Indians don't have anything to lose. Maybe I'll knock—just once. Maybe.) “Thanks,” she said, getting up.
The door opened at the first knock. Jon Raines expected much of her. Geography, History, Literature, Economics, Anthropology, Psychology, Science. It went on and on. She devoured the books he loaned her. And he demanded she do more than read, that she study and learn. There was no time for her to think about the speck in the universe called Lisa Joseph.
All the time was spent looking, and exploring, and wondering and trying to understand more and more about the enormous universe stretching out in every direction away from that minute speck.
***
And that first day, when I got back to the office, was when I began to panic. The police, the jail, Kay and her matter-of-fact evaluation of my chances, hadn't really penetrated. Seeing what the ordinary, everyday people I usually associated with were thinking is what did it.
It wasn't only Reggie who thought I'd killed Dale. It was every single one of the crew. My God, I thought. If they think I killed him, what will a jury think. I wanted to scream: “I'm innocent! I'm innocent!” And up until that moment it had never even occurred to me there would actually be a trial. How could anyone think I'd killed Dale? How could anyone think I could kill anyone? It was just beginning to dawn on me I was in serious trouble
It wasn't that any of them blamed me, certainly not Lyle Kaupu. He as much as told me he was mad because I'd beat him to it. And Kimmie gave me a big smile when she saw me that day. I wondered if she didn't share Lyle's view. But mostly they avoided talking about it. The main topic of conversation was, “What's going to happen to the business?”
Dale had been married only a few weeks. So we were all debating about whether Willa, his current wife, or Chrissie, his ex and their three kids, would get it all.
“The attorneys will have a field day,” Quentin said. The rest of us who were listening to him nodded in agreement.
Later, over coffee with Quentin, my panic became hysteria when I found out even he shared the office's view. He wasn't condemning me, but I knew there was no doubt in his mind. I knew he was thinking, “I'm talking to a killer.”
I protested my innocence, and Quentin went through the motions, but I was sure he didn't believe me for a minute. If I hadn't been getting so scared, I might have been really hurt. As it was, I was only too grateful to have him volunteer to be a character witness.
And that was the main thing Kay and I talk
ed about that afternoon—character witnesses.
I felt like a patient, ready to go into surgery, wanting to know if he's going to ever walk again. And all the surgeon wants to talk about is the kind of wheelchair the patient should plan on buying.
***
Leilani, resplendent in her flowery muumuu and with a gigantic white hibiscus in her heavy black hair, looked appraisingly at the visitor. He seemed to be a pleasant enough person. He doesn't much look like a murderer, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Go right in. Kay's waiting for you.”
“Hi,” Kay said, and waved him to one of the Naugahyde chairs. “We're getting an early trial date. I asked for an early one, because I don't think there's anything to be gained by putting it off. And that will keep Judge Raines in a good mood. She likes to move things along.”
Ron looked distinctly unhappy. “I can't believe this. Here I am, just an ordinary guy, and I'm suddenly going to be tried for a murder I never committed.”
“The important thing now,” Kay said, “isn't whether or not you committed the murder, it's whether or not we can convince twelve people that you didn't. So let's start right there. We're going to lay out our strategy in the next three weeks, and you're the one who can do the most to help.”
“My God!” thought Ron. “Even my own attorney doesn't believe me.”
“At the moment, I don't see what we can do about that one witness's testimony.” Kay flipped the pages back on her pad and said. “That's Reginald Kaufman.”
Ron nodded, still thinking about the enormity of what was unfolding before him.
“Do you disagree with anything he says he heard or saw?”
Ron shook himself back to life. “He says Dale and I quarreled. It makes it sound as though I went in and started an argument. It wasn't that way at all. Dale was fuming mad at me. I don't think I raised my voice. When he said, 'You're fired.' I just turned around and walked out. I did slam the door behind me. Who wouldn't have?”
“Since it doesn't look as though the prosecution has any other witness against you except for the police and the pathologist reporting on the time of death, we'll parade a long line of people testifying on your behalf. How did you get along with the others at the office?
Ron shrugged. “I got along fine. I still do, even though it's obvious they think I killed Dale. I don't know anyone there who won't testify on my behalf. Even Reggie will admit I'm OK.”
“Since he's going to be the star prosecution witness, I really shouldn't approach him. But you can—and should. Whatever you do, though, don't threaten him. Do you understand?”
“It isn't going to be easy,” Ron said, making a face, “but I'll watch myself.”
“That's very important. I can't emphasize that too much. But you can sound him out about what he will testify to generally about you. In other words, if I ask him whether or not you're a good worker, what kind of answer can I expect? If I say, 'Do you think Ronald Crockett is capable of murder?' What will he answer?”
“Can you ask a question like that one?” Ron looked puzzled. “I don't know much about law, but isn't this where the other attorney objects because you're asking for an opinion about something he's no expert in?”
“Good for you,” Kay said, smiling. “You know that much law. Ikeda will jump out of his shorts when I ask that question. But Reggie might answer before Ikeda can object. And even if he doesn't, it will make the jury wonder why the prosecutor doesn't want Reggie to give his opinion about you.”
“Oh,” Ron exclaimed, glimpsing for the first time some of the unwritten intricacies of courtroom procedure.
Kay went through the list. In the end, all the other sales people, the secretary, and even Quentin's wife were listed as prospective witnesses. Kay gave each of them a separate page on her pad, listed their peculiarities, tried to anticipate their answers to questions, and rated them in order of how much confidence the jury would place in their answers.
As they were finishing up, Leilani's voice came over the intercom. “Sid's here. He just got back from court, and he's in his office.”
“Tell him to come in, would you, Leilani?”
Kay introduced Sid as a fellow attorney who would be helping with the case. It wasn't until many days later Ron found out Sid was also her husband.
The next hour was spent in a detailed re-enactment of what happened, from the moment Dale called Ron into his office, up until the moment Reggie came in and found Ron holding a club.
Sid made him repeat the story, watching Ron with narrowed eyes and occasionally scribbling something on his yellow, legal-size note pad and interrupting with dozens of questions.
It was then Ron realized what was going on. “He's trying to trip me up, he thought. Nobody—but nobody—believes I'm innocent.”
***
I didn't really see much point in Sid and Kay coming to the office to inspect the scene of the crime, but I figured they must know what they were doing. Sure as heck, I wasn't about to argue with the two people who were all that was standing between me and a long jail sentence. We decided to meet there after hours, and Annie was the last one at work. She was just getting her things together when they showed up.
I introduced them, and I could see right off Kay was sizing Annie up to see what kind of witness she'd make at my trial. Yuk! My trial. I didn't much like the shape and size of that thought.
We checked all of the offices. None of them are ever locked. One thing about a real-estate office, there isn't much there worth stealing, not even the old electronic equipment Dale provided for the staff. And we do keep the outside door locked.
After touring the building (it's a one story, house-like building on a separate lot, sitting a hundred feet or so back from the road), Sid sat down at the secretary's desk and sketched out a quick floor plan. “Two offices to the left, as you come in. Three at the rear, and two to the right. Bathroom between the two offices on the left. No rear entrance. All the windows locked because of the air-conditioning, and too small for anyone to crawl through, anyway.”
I helped him fill in the occupants of each office. “The first one on the left, coming in, is mine. The next one on that side is Kimmie Uchima's. Then the next one, along the back is Lyle Kaupu's. Next door is Joyce Joaquin. Then the other office along the back is Quentin Robichaud's, and the one along the right side of the office is Reggie Kaufman's office. The last office, that's the first one on the right as you come in—the one opposite from mine—is Dale's.”
“Let's go back into Dale's office,” Kay said. “Do you see anything different?” she asked, as the three of us stood looking around the room.
“The club I picked up was sitting on the desk resting against his neck and head.”
“Show me.”
I indicated where it was and how I'd picked it up. “And the bag of clubs is gone,” I said.
“Where was it?”
I pointed to the base of one of those old fashioned hat racks. Dale's collection of baseball caps still hung all over it. “It was leaning against that.”
“Is there anything else that's different?”
“The big glass ashtray is missing. That was the one I told you he slammed down on the desk while I was talking to him.”
“Anything else?”
I shook my head, then remembered. “Yeah. There was something else. There was a sandwich open on his desk with one bite out of it.”
We went through the whole scene as I found it when I walked in at two o'clock that day. Sid acted the part of Dale and sat in his chair behind the desk. I showed him and Kay how I'd found the body, hands sprawled out on the desk, head down and turned to the left resting on one hand, and the head of the club resting on Dale's neck. Dale had had one of his caps on, but you could see where the side and back of his skull had been crushed and blood had seeped out from under the hat.
All this time Kay was taking notes. When it was all over, they were both looking at each other. I could tell they were puzzled. My panic factor dropped half a notch. I
had the feeling my attorneys had begun to wonder if it wasn't just barely possible I hadn't killed Dale.
Chapter 6
“He's consistent, if nothing else,” Sid said, as he sat down to make a lap for Sheena and picked her up carefully to place her there.
“Don't go getting too comfortable, Chu,” Kay said as she surveyed the inside of the refrigerator while John Samuel rubbed enthusiastically against her legs. “I'm about to call upon you to make some of that outstanding Italian meat sauce your ancestors are so famous for. I take it you're talking about Ron and his description of what happened.”
Sheena was now noticeably heavy with kittens, and Sid was gingerly probing her full belly while she purred in appreciation of the attention. “There have to be at least three in here. But, what's more convincing is he gives everyone else in the office an alibi but doesn't give himself one. He could have claimed he'd just stepped into the building and no one would have been the wiser.”
Kay nodded, as she rummaged through the vegetable drawer, trying to avoid stepping on John Samuel who was now leaning heavily against her and whose efforts kept his side almost horizontal to the floor. “I called the vet, today. We have to have John Samuel there first thing in the morning, and we can pick him up after work. Quentin Robichaud and Lyle Kaupu left while Ron was still talking to his clients, and their office doors were open when he got back at quarter-to-two. Right?”
“Right. And the rest of the doors in the office were open, except for Dale's. And even that one was part way ajar, according to Ron. Are you sure you want to go through with the neutering?”
“Of course. The cat population in this world is almost as serious a problem as the human population. I'm going to do what little I can to limit it. Or we will, won't we, John?” she asked, as the cross-eyed white cat reared on his hind legs and stretched out a soft paw in recognition of the attention as well as to indicate his interest in the food she was holding. Kay then added, “And the secretary, Annie Loh, wasn't there in the first place, nor was Joyce Joaquin.”
No Time for Death: A Yoshinobu Mystery Page 3