“Any chance he was clobbered, say an hour beforehand, and didn't die until two?” Hank asked.
“None. In this case, the damage was massive. Vital signs must have ended within minutes of final blows.”
Hank relaxed visibly. “And the final postmortem?”
“Dr. Victorine invited me to attend. Very professional work. You have report. I would have done nothing different. Nothing to contradict preliminary findings. Death due to massive blows crushing skull, occipital lobe and left parietal lobe. Golf club, or something very similar, was weapon.”
***
It's a good thing sales have started up again. Kay's going to cost me a fortune. But I'm not complaining about her. She's earning every cent of it. She's convinced me the only way we're going to convince a jury I didn't do it is to find out whoever did do it.
So she's gone off to interview at least two buyers and one seller I know of who would have liked to sit in the stands watching Dale burning in hell. And Dale's ex-wife, Chrissie, is way up at the top of that list too. She's one tough broad. I heard her once out in the parking lot chewing out old Dale. I was surprised he didn't turn into a cinder right then and there.
And Kay says the prime suspect in any murder case is always the spouse, so she's going to investigate Willa. I wasn't much help there, because I'd met Willa only once. She's a tiny thing, under five-foot. It's hard to picture her bringing a club down on Dale's head hard enough to do him any damage, but people can do strange things if they get mad enough.
In the meantime, the atmosphere around here has lightened up a bit. I think most of the time my fellow workers forget they're in the same office with a suspected killer. The biggest fuss is over the business. It still isn't clear as to who owns it. There's a three way fight going on between Willa, Chrissie and Lyle Kaupu. The profits are going into escrow, and the attorneys are negotiating. I'm steering clear of all that. I've got troubles enough of my own.
The trial date's officially set. It begins one month from today. Kay wasn’t kidding when she said she was going to ask for a speedy trial.
***
When Sid came into her office, Kay was leaning back in her swivel chair looking at the ceiling.
“You look bushed,” he said.
“I am. I was just thinking of how many stops I made today, how many people I visited, how many questions I asked.”
“Were they all on the Crockett case?”
“Most of them were. And I feel worse and worse about the case all the time. I'm tempted to tell Ron to plead guilty.”
“Kay! Don't say that! You're beginning to sound like me. There's still almost a month before the trial, and we have a lot of circumstantial evidence in Ron's favor.”
“I know. Everything I uncover seems to be in his favor. For one thing, Dale’s anger at him was totally outlandish. Ron’s sales were second only to Kimmie’s, and we already know how much Dale valued money. It makes no sense he would have fired Ron, even if he thought Ron bungled a deal.”
Kay shook her head, then continued. “And no one reports ever hearing a harsh word from Dale directed at Ron before, though he had plenty of harsh words for just about everyone else. But that’s the kind of stuff I’ve been uncovering, just bits and pieces. And there isn't one bit or piece Ikeda won't be able to break down into smaller bits and pieces. I told Ron the only way to get him off the hook is to find the real murderer. But that looks hopeless. You know, Sid, it really all boils down to the time of death. Cal is adamant. When I question it, he breaks out his temperature chart and reads off the figures.”
“Is he adamant because he's so sure, or is it he doesn't feel right about challenging Victorine?”
“I think if Cal were the one who'd done the pm, he wouldn't be so positive about the time. It's not he disagrees with Victorine's pm procedures, it's just Cal is more cautious than our current pathologist. And, of course, he'd have done a lot more book-checking for similar cases. That's just part of Cal's nature. But even by Cal's more conservative calculations, Ron was in the building with Dale before the murder happened, and he was there alone right up to the time Reggie walked in and found him holding the club.”
Sid nodded. “I've even tried to build up wild schemes involving trap doors in the floor or the ceiling.”
“Don't think I haven't thought along those lines, too. I've toyed with the idea of a midget climbing through one of the windows. Nothing works.”
“What about all the suspects. From the way Ron talks, there was an army out there waiting to blow Dale off the map.”
“There was. Most of them have reasonably good alibis for two o'clock; not that they need it, since Ron would be the first one to say they weren't there. Chrissie Matthias, Dale's ex, is peculiar. She stammered and stuttered when I asked her where she was at the time. I never figured out what all the fuss was about. She finally said she was home with the kids—which isn't much of an alibi. But as I said: 'Who needs one?' Ron's given everyone an alibi on a silver platter.
“As for Dale's most recent wife and widow, I doubt she could pick up a golf club, let alone swing one. Willa's about four-ten and weighs eighty pounds, soaking wet. I get the impression she doesn't miss Dale much, even though they just got married. She's just keen on getting what she thinks is coming to her, which is everything. The two buyers and one seller Ron told me about, pretty much broke into cheers when I talked about Matthias's demise. Come to think of it, one didn't. But the consensus is Dale was an unalloyed son-of-a-bitch. It sure hurts to have all those nice potentials out there, and to know I can't put any of them at the scene of the crime.”
“No way at all?”
Kay broke out her legal pad and flipped the pages. “I'm afraid not.”
She went on to read and comment. “Kent Hanna. Buyer. He was on Oahu all that day. I suppose I could check, but it's really not worth the effort. He says Matthias sold him a condo and promised him the sky. Listen to this. Matthias even told him the condo was fee simple when it was actually leasehold. Hanna didn't find out until six months later what he thought was his own property will revert back to the real owner in sixteen years. He knows he should have read the contract more closely, but he says Dale was so convincing and kept him talking about other things, that he just didn't bother.
“Truman Pascual. The second buyer. He's the one who isn't too happy about Dale's demise. Pascual was in the process of suing Matthias, and Pascual's lawyer says Dale's death is going to make it that much tougher for Pascual to win. Pascual claims Matthias bribed the pest control people to give the house he bought a clean bill of health when you can actually hear the termites chewing if you put your ear to the wall. He's so mad at Matthias, he has a tough time talking rationally about him. But, you can see why he wouldn't want Dale dead.
“The last one is the seller, who has quite a tale to tell. His name's Keith Fujii. He listed his downtown building with Dale, who talked him into doing so and started off by promising Fujii would get much more than he was asking for. Dale convinced him not to renew the leases for the current tenants, saying he had a buyer who wanted the whole building for his own business. Over the months, the prospective price offer kept dropping and Fujii got into a financial bind. Dale came up with a last minute purchaser and a price that would barely take care of Fuji’s financial problems, which were caused in large measure by his having the building mostly empty over all those months. And just the other day, Fujii found out Dale had bought the property himself, through a front man, and then resold it for almost twice what Fujii got. Believe me, that's one mad Japanese. But he was at the Rotary committee meeting that Saturday from twelve on until mid-afternoon. It's really too bad I can't find some excuse for bringing in these three as character witnesses for Dale Matthias.”
“Any other leads worth exploring?”
Kay shook her head. “About the only thing I can think of is to find out more about Dale. If he had that many enemies in this world, maybe he had a few in the other one, too.”
“
Yup!” Sid said, getting up. “When you start bringing in ghosts to solve a case, it's time to go home. And we have to pick up John Samuel before the vet closes.”
John Samuel was still groggy when Kay carried him out to the car.
“I'd swear his eyes aren't as crossed as when we brought him here this morning,” Sid said, as he looked at the cat sitting in Kay's lap.
“Maybe it was the testosterone that did it,” Kay suggested. “Maybe it put a strain on his eyes. Now he's stopped producing any, he might begin to look normal.”
Coming into the house, Kay set the rapidly recovering John Samuel down on the floor. He walked unsteadily, though quickly, to check out his dish.
“Did you hear that?” Sid asked, as strange small cries drifted in from the other end of the apartment.
“Kittens!” Kay exclaimed, and they both ran to the bedroom.
Sheena had decided to make use of her custom-built nest after all. She greeted them with a mixed purr and soft meow, flexing her paws and closing her eyes, enjoying the sensual pleasure of nursing three young ones: a white one like John Samuel; a tortoise-shell like herself, though with much more white; and a strange blue creature which raised its sightless eyes, whimpered, and then dove back in to finish lunch.
John Samuel had slipped into the room. Holding on to the edge of the drawer with his front paws, he surveyed the scene. Quickly losing interest, he jumped onto the bed, took a rapid wash and went to sleep.
Chapter 8
Phew! Kay just about drained me dry. She told me to tell her everything I knew about Dale Matthias. By the time we'd finished, I'd come up with things I didn't even realize I knew. And she'd used a dozen pages of the yellow pad she writes on.
I was the one who came looking for Dale in the first place. As soon as I got my license, I started making a tour of the real estate agencies. Dale didn't exactly fall all over himself to hire me, but he was shorthanded and willing enough to try me. In a way, I think my lack of real-estate experience worked in my favor.
One of the first things he said was, “Selling is everything. You can know every real-estate law and regulation in the book, and it won't do a damn thing for you if you don't know how to sell.”
Well, I know how to sell. When I told him I'd been a salesman for over ten years, he decided to give me a try. He was quick to point out I had to produce, though. “Most people think if an employee is working on a commission basis, the employer shouldn't give a damn what or how he does. Well, just remember, you're taking up office space, and I'm paying the rent. If the sales don't come in, you go out.”
That was pretty hard-nosed, but I didn't mind. I figured I'd be up there with the best of them before long. And I was. That's the main reason Dale and I got along as well as we did. We weren’t what you would call friends, but at least I could stand to talk to him, which was more than can be said for some of the others on the crew.
But I never got to know him very well. At first, I thought he was just a shrewd businessman. But I didn't have to be around Royal Elima very long to hear different. And those two sales sessions of his I was in on convinced me otherwise in a hurry.
Maybe you can't say Dale was a crook. But he came so close to the knife edge of being one, I'd expected the police to show up any day looking for him. I got along with him, but I would never have trusted him. And he was tighter than a rusty lug bolt. Annie had to threaten him in order to get decent office equipment. And I think he must have picked up most of the office furniture at garage sales.
And you can bet there were no parties at Royal Elima. There was no generous boss to treat the crew to a fancy dinner at Christmas or after a big sale. Here old Dale was cleaning up, and he was still brown bagging it every day with his import cheese and greasy sausages. The few times he ever went to lunch with any of the crowd, it was always strictly Dutch. And I could see the pain on his face when he reached for his wallet. But most of the time he'd be in his office at noon, eating a sandwich and a big slice of Italian bologna. I used to wonder, sometimes, how the buyers he took out stood the smell of the garlic.
From all this, you may get the impression I usually avoided having anything to do with Dale. Well, if you got that impression, you're right. That's why I couldn't tell Kay much about Dale's behavior during the past few months. And I knew even less about what he'd been up to the week he was killed. The week before that, he'd been sick. I knew that for sure, because he hadn't shown up to work. For him to miss a chance to rake in some money meant he was at death's door. And he looked like it when he dragged himself into work the Saturday morning of the week before he died. Then, when he said he was going to go see the doctor that day, I was beginning to think of the kind of flowers I should be getting for the funeral.
But, by Monday, he was almost back to normal, announcing all the damn doctor did for him was to tell him he had the flu. His eyes were kind of swollen, and he looked like he was recovering from a wild weekend, but otherwise he was the same old Dale. His main worry was someone might have tried to move in on one of his customers while he was out. I didn't see much of him that week, either. Business was slow, so I was out beating the bushes looking for listings. I don't care for that part of the work. It's too much like buying, rather than selling. But it has to be done. And it's best to do it during slack periods, because it can take up a lot of time.
I probably wouldn't have come in at all that Saturday, if it hadn't been for those two deadheads. I sure wish I'd never laid eyes on them.
***
“I know I'm getting desperate,” Kay said, as she tried to write on her pad while John Samuel rubbed his cheeks on her ball-point pen, “but can you think of anything better for me to do than to go see Dale Matthias's doctor? By now I've talked to just about everyone else who knew him. I might as well go see his physician.”
Sid nodded absently, as he sat on the couch next to her and thumbed through a massive court document.
“Sid!” she said, loudly. “You aren't listening to me. What suggestions do you have besides my going to see the doctor?”
Sid shook himself away from the pages in front of him. He had just caught Kay's last words. “Doctor?” His voice sounded anxious. “What's wrong? Why do you have to go see a doctor?”
“Finally! I've gotten your attention. I've decided to see Dale Matthias's doctor.”
“Who's that?”
“He's the new doctor at the clinic. He's just a young guy fresh from his residency. He came from the Philippines here to do some advanced medical studies and to get some experience in private practice. Cal says he's planning on going back in a couple of years.”
“Why do you want to see him?”
“For heaven's sake! You haven't heard half of what I've said. I told you he was Dale Matthias's doctor. He treated him the week before Dale died.”
Sid grinned, reached over and patted John Samuel who had finally settled down on Kay's lap. “Do you have any idea what you're looking for?”
“Not really,” Kay answered gloomily. “But I have to do something.”
“Let's see. Matthias had a split personality and one of his personalities killed the other one.”
“That makes as much sense as most of the other theories I've had.”
“Or, maybe he had a rare tropical disease and it blew the top of his head off.”
In spite of herself, Kay couldn't resist joining in. “Tomorrow the doctor's going to tell me Matthias had uncontrollable muscular spasms in one of his arms, and he kept hitting himself on the head with his golf club.”
Sid leaned over and kissed her. “Kay. You're working too hard. You need more rest and relaxation. Let's go take a shower.”
She kissed him back, saying, “Somehow, I don't think rest and relaxation is really what you have in mind.”
***
One thing to be said for being busy is it takes your mind off of your problems. I'd made a couple of sales without having much of my mind on what I was doing, but that will go just so far. Selling, if you
're going to make a living at it, calls for one-hundred-percent attention.
But I did get distracted this morning. I was out by the municipal golf course, right there at the spot where the golf carts cross, showing a couple of Japanese tourists— prospective customers—the sights. The man was a gung-ho golfer, so we stopped and watched the players.
Who should I see walk up to the tee, but Willa Matthias, herself, all eighty-some pounds of her. I'm not much of a golfer, myself, but I've been on that course a few times. That was the sixth hole she was on, a good hundred and seventy-five yards from tee to putting green but not tough, by any means. I figured if she was any good, she'd do it in five.
Imagine my surprise when she dropped the ball right on the green. My Japanese customer grinned and said, “Strong lady, that one.”
“Real strong,” I said aloud, while thinking, “and wait till Kay hears about this.”
***
Dr. Apolinario Abang was a small, nervous man in his early thirties who spoke good but very rapid English. “He doesn't inspire confidence,” thought Kay.
After talking with him for a few moments, Kay began to change her mind. “He's just eager to tell me everything he knows. Doctors could have worse traits.”
“I've spoken to Dr. Calvin Lim about you, Mrs. Yoshinobu. He speaks highly of you.”
Kay nodded, and smiled her appreciation.
“And, as you know, doctors are reluctant to discuss their patients. But, since we have made copies of Mr. Matthias's medical record available to the county pathologist, I believe it is permissible to make them also available to the attorney for the defendant.”
No Time for Death: A Yoshinobu Mystery Page 5