Moonlight Cocktail

by William Cassidy

  “Pretty much, but I’m worried about Gordon. I got a call from Dave, and he said the toxicology analysis of Derek Reynolds’ fluids would be finished tomorrow morning. He was worried about Gordon too.”

  “Did Dave give you any reason to worry about the Club?”

  “No. I just think I ought to be there if Gordon needs some legal advice. He does use me as a general counsel of sorts. And I’ve got a present for you. You’ll like it.”

  “What is it?” Katherine asked.

  “I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

  “Is it red?”

  “No.”

  “Does it sparkle?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Can you wear it?”

  “I’m not answering any more questions. I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Good night, Jack. I love you too.”

  As he pulled into the Kailua Plantation driveway, Jack decided that he had one more task to complete before returning to Honolulu. He wanted to ask Emmett one more question. Bounding up the back steps of ‘Hale Kai’, he went immediately to the kitchen phone and called The Poinciana Hotel.

  “Could you connect me with the Poinciana Room?” Jack asked the hotel operator.

  “Certainly.”

  “This is the Poinciana Room,” Emmett’s recognizable voice intoned.

  “Emmett, this is Jack Sullivan.”

  “Good evening, sir. Did you leave something here in the dining room?”

  “No, I was just thinking of something you said about the Lane’s. You mentioned that you saw them check out on Sunday morning.”

  “Yes, I had just arrived to prepare the dining room for Sunday brunch.”

  “Did they say anything to you about the scene in the dining room on Saturday night?”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Did they tell you that they knew Reynolds and Hypatia?”

  “No. They didn’t mention it when they left the dining room on Saturday night or when they checked out on Sunday morning. I figured they were just being considerate of the hotel staff, not wanting to embarrass us.”

  “Maybe they were. Thanks, Emmett. By the way, the opakapaka was excellent. I’ll bring my wife on our next trip to the Big Island.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, Mr. Sullivan, and if you give me a day’s notice, I’ll reserve the best table for you.”

  “I’ll do that, Emmett. See you then.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jack woke up at 5:30 on Wednesday morning. As he dressed, he watched a thirty-one foot Bertram sport fishing boat, easily identifiable by the graceful slope of its deck from bow to stern, heading out into the Pacific in search of marlin, mahi mahi, ono and ahi. Three miles offshore, the white-hulled Bertram altered course from west to south and, although still close to shore, it already had two thousand feet of dark blue Pacific Ocean beneath it. The sea was calm, courtesy of the nearly 14,000 foot high mountains of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa and the 8,200 feet of Mount Hualalai, which block the northeast tradewinds from roiling the waters off the island’s Kona Coast. The early morning sun cast a rose tint on the white hull and on the surface of the blue water.

  Seeing the light go on in Keoni’s office, Jack called him and asked for a ride to the airport.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sullivan,” Keoni said as Jack strode into the Plantation office. “I’ve got some of Kailua Plantation’s limited Special Roast brewing. Would you like a cup?”

  “I would, Keoni, thanks.”

  “How was your dinner?”

  “It was excellent. I had the opakapaka, as you predicted, and I met your friend Emmett.”

  “He’s a real gentleman, and the Poinciana Room is lucky to have him,” Keoni observed.

  “Yes he is and yes it is,” Jack said, sipping a mug of the small batch of coffee that Keoni occasionally roasted longer than the Estate, Private Reserve and Peaberry full flavor roasts for which Kailua Plantation was so well known.

  “Do we warn people with heart conditions about this stuff, Keoni?”

  “It does get you going, doesn’t it? This is our strongest roast, Mr. Sullivan. I find it increases my enthusiasm for the day ahead.”

  “It certainly rivets one’s attention.”

  As they got into the Jeep Cherokee, Jack told Keoni that Emmett had described the scene in the Poinciana Room on the previous Saturday night.

  “Was I right?” Keoni asked.

  “You were. He painted a picture of an explosive guy.”

  “That’s the way he described it to me, too,” Keoni said.

  When they arrived, Jack thanked Keoni and ran for the seven o’clock flight to Honolulu. Twenty minutes later, he saw the island of Oahu and was soon looking down on Pearl Harbor, picking out the USS Arizona Memorial, the Battleship Missouri, Ford Island, and the Pacific Fleet. In a matter of minutes, they had landed at Honolulu International Airport and Jack was walking through the Interisland Terminal. The lines were beginning to build as tourists arrived for their flights to the neighbor islands of Kauai, Maui, Lanai, Molokai, and Hawaii.

  Jack called Katherine from his cell phone, knowing that he would wake her up.

  “Is the sun even up yet?” she asked.

  “If you take your eye mask off, you’ll see that it’s another beautiful day in paradise.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m leaving the Interisland Terminal. I just came in on the seven o’clock flight. I’ll be home in twenty minutes, unless the traffic on Nimitz Highway is worse than it usually is.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Jack pulled into the semicircular driveway at the entrance to the Royal Hawaiian. Already parked there was the same white sedan he had seen the previous morning with its contingent of white-uniformed sailors and officers waiting for Secretary Richard Stanley.

  “Good morning, Jack,” Stanley called from the lobby as Jack walked up the front steps of the hotel. “Are we still on for dinner tonight at the Halekulani?”

  “We’ll see you there at eight,” Jack replied.

  When Jack opened the door to their suite, Katherine was just emerging from their bedroom, showered and wearing a pink Royal Hawaiian bathrobe. She ran to him, and they embraced for a long moment.

  “What’s in the big box?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

  “Oh, nothing,” Jack said, “just some bags of Kailua Plantation coffee for our friends.”

  “It looks awfully large for a few bags of coffee.”

  “Well, we have a lot of friends, Katherine, and they all love our coffee.”

  “Can I see them?” Katherine asked.

  “Sure. But be careful. Sometimes the bags aren’t sealed well and they can spill.”

  As Katherine opened the box, her eyes got big.

  “You did it! You bought the hula lamp!”

  “It’s even got the shade you wanted,” Jack replied, pointing to a smaller box.

  Katherine hugged Jack again and exclaimed, “Thank you! We’ve got to try it out right now.”

  Katherine unplugged the lamp on the end table next to their couch and replaced it with the hula lamp and shade. She turned the light on and then flicked the separate switch that controlled the hula dance movement. Immediately, the bronze hula girl’s hips began to move, and the gold silk threads of her skirt swayed gracefully to and fro.

  “Fabulous!” Katherine exclaimed.

  “I think we’re officially part of Old Hawaii now,” Jack said.

  “No question about it!”

  “What’s the latest on Derek Reynolds?” Jack asked.

  “The morning news just said that the police were still waiting for the toxicology analysis, which I guess is due today.”

  “That’s what Dave told me last night. I’ll probably hear from him this morning. And now, would you like some very freshly roasted Kailua Plantation coffee, my dear?” Jack asked.

  “I’d love it! I’ll get dressed and meet you on the lanai.”

  Jack selecte
d a more moderate roast than the one he had started the day with. He ground enough beans for four cups of coffee and poured them into the French Press. He then boiled four cups of water, poured it over the ground beans, stirred the grinds into the water, and placed the lid on the beaker. After waiting seven minutes to allow the coffee to brew, he pressed the circular plunger that fit into the top of the lid down to the bottom of the glass. During its short transit, the plunger forced the ground beans through the hot water, and the result was four cups of mild, aromatic Kona coffee.

  Their lanai was a narrow balcony outside the living room that looked down on Waikiki Beach. It could only accommodate a small table and two chairs, but Jack and Katherine ate breakfast there every morning. While he waited for her, Jack read the Honolulu Star Advertiser and intermittently looked over the newspaper to watch surfers who were already riding the waves off Waikiki.

  He loved to watch the catamarans as they sailed out through the surf, filled with tourists who wanted to see Waikiki from the water. As he watched his favorite yellow catamaran sail over the waves, serenaded by one of its crew blowing a conch shell like a horn to warn swimmers in front of the boat, the telephone in the kitchen rang. Jack ran in from the lanai and reached for the wall-mounted phone.

  “Jack, Dave. Can you come down to Headquarters?”

  “Can you give me a half hour?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is it bad, Dave?”

  “I’m not sure what it is. That’s why I want to talk to you before I talk to Gordon.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Who was on the phone?” Katherine asked as she walked into the living room.

  “Dave McNeil. I think he’s got the toxicology results, and he wants to talk to me before he talks to Gordon.”

  “That sounds bad for the Club, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Dave didn’t give me anything specific. He just asked me to come down to Police Headquarters to talk to him.”

  “Well, Jack, he wouldn’t be asking you to pay him a visit if he had good news for Gordon.”

  “I think that’s probably right, but he was very circumspect. He sounded as if he wasn’t sure what the tests had concluded.”

  “Maybe they weren’t conclusive. It wouldn’t be the first time that a lab couldn’t identify a condition.”

  “True. I told Dave I’d come down in a half hour, so we better have our coffee now.”

  “Jack, the lab results won’t change if you’re ten minutes late. Now let’s go back out on the lanai and enjoy a nice breakfast. I’ve sliced some papaya and lime for you, and the toast will be up in a minute.”

  “You’re right,” Jack said as he sat down on the lanai with his wife.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Jack reached Dave’s office, he saw a young woman in a white coat, wearing horned-rim glasses, standing in the door talking to Dave.

  “Hey buddy, thanks for coming down,” Dave said, extending his hand. “Jack, this is Doctor Julia Wong, the toxicologist who’s come over from the State’s Department of Health.”

  “Good morning, Doctor. Nice to meet you,” Jack said, wondering what he was about to hear.

  “Good morning, Jack,” said Dr. Wong.

  “Jack, I asked Doctor Wong to join us, because she can explain the results of the toxicology analysis better than I can.”

  “I doubt that, Dave,” Dr. Wong said with a smile. “I’ve seen you explain crime scenes in court that were more complicated than my work.”

  Dave blushed and motioned to Jack and Doctor Wong to sit down at the conference table in his office.

  “What’s the diagnosis, Dave, or should I ask the Doctor that question?” Jack inquired.

  “Jack, this is as strange a case as I have ever seen in all my years on the police force.”

  “Is it a case?” Jack asked.

  “It is now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me ask Doctor Wong to explain what the toxicologists found when they analyzed the fluids in Reynolds’ system.”

  “Jack, how familiar are you with toxicology?” Dr. Wong asked.

  “I’m reasonably familiar with the field. I was a prosecutor for a few years and handled medical cases where toxicology played a role as part of the evidence.”

  “So you know that, as part of an autopsy, we take a look at the fluids in the deceased’s body at the time of death,” the doctor explained.

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Well,” the doctor continued, “when we examined the fluids in Derek Reynolds’ system, we found much of what we expected. His blood, for example, was typical for a man of his age and physical condition. And his stomach contained remnants of the food he had consumed at the luau, all of which were tested and found to be free of contaminants.”

  “So, you didn’t find any trace of ciguatera?”

  “No, we didn’t,” Dr. Wong said. “The fish he ate was fine, as were the meats, fruits and vegetables we also tested.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Jack exclaimed. “Gordon will be relieved. I know he was very concerned about the possibility of ciguatera poisoning because of that recent incident on Maui.”

  “That incident had one very beneficial effect, Jack,” said Dr. Wong. “It raised the consciousness of every seafood wholesaler, every chef, and every restaurateur in Hawaii. There hasn’t been an instance of ciguatera poisoning since.”

  “So, should we call Gordon now and give him the good news or, as I suspect, is there another finding from the toxicology analysis that will give him heartburn?” Jack asked.

  “Good choice of words, Jack. Let the doctor continue.”

  “Jack, this kind of analysis lets us eliminate many of the possible causes of death. When we tested the fish in Reynolds’ stomach, we found there was no contamination from ciguatera or anything else. We moved from one thing to another, testing each to determine if it was a possible cause of death.”

  “And you found that all the food he ate from the luau was fine,” Jack said.

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you test next, Doctor?” Jack asked, adding, “I feel like I’m in trial conducting a direct examination.”

  “I knew you’d enjoy this, Jack”, Dave said.

  “We tested the fluids that we found in Reynolds’ stomach and bladder next,” Dr. Wong said.

  “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was mostly Mai Tai’s,” Jack said.

  “You’re right. His blood alcohol level was quite high, way above the level that would have made him unable to drive a car legally. The findings concerning his stomach and bladder fluids were consistent with that blood level. He had consumed quite a bit of rum in the immediate period before his death.”

  “Well, I know they call it Demon Rum and that it can give you one hell of a headache, but I didn’t think it could kill you,” Jack said.

  “It can’t,” Dr. Wong said, “at least not in its normal state.”

  “Was there something wrong with the rum?” Jack asked.

  “No. The rum itself, or should I say rums, because there was more than one kind, as you would expect in a Mai Tai, were fine.”

  “Is this headed where I think it is?” Jack asked, looking at Dave.

  “Keep going, Doctor,” Dave said.

  “When we analyzed the stomach fluids, we found another substance that, quite frankly, stumped us for a while,” Doctor Wong said.

  “What was it?” Jack asked the doctor.

  “It was an extract from a plant or a shrub; we found remnants of bark in the fluid. It was a very toxic substance.”

  “So how did this extract get into his body? Or, to put it in lawyerly terms, what was the pathway that led to his exposure to the extract?”

  “Before we get to that, Jack, let Dr. Wong tell you more about the substance they found in Reynolds’ stomach,” Dave said.

  “We found a very high concentration of this fluid,” Dr. Wong said, “and it�
��s poisonous to humans.”

  “Do you think someone poisoned Reynolds?” Jack asked.

  “Tell him more about Hawaiian plants, Doctor,” Dave said.

  “Jack, many plants in Hawaii are poisonous. Most people don’t realize that there are lots of plants in parks and gardens that, while attractive to look at, are extremely toxic if eaten. A common example is Oleander. I’ve seen Oleander growing near private homes where it’s used to provide cover and privacy. But if you eat it, Oleander is quite toxic. Some children recently roasted marshmallows and hot dogs on Oleander branches and became very ill.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jack said.

  “Neither did I,” Dave added.

  “And I sense that you think someone deliberately put this fluid in something Reynolds consumed?” Jack said, looking at Dave.

  “I do, Jack, but I want you to hear more about it, so you’ll understand why I think that.”

  “What makes you think this fluid was intentionally given to Reynolds to cause his death?” Jack asked.

  Dave looked at Dr. Wong and nodded, signaling her to continue.

  “The concentration and amount of the fluid were high and substantial. Someone pressed a lot of fluid from the leaves and branches of a very toxic plant. And that fluid was bound up with the contents of the Mai Tai.”

  “Do you think someone who knew about poisonous plants put it in one of Reynolds’ Mai Tai’s?” Jack said, looking at Dave.

  “Yes, I do,” Dave replied.

  “Do you agree, Doctor?” Jack asked.

  “I do. Most of the contents of Reynolds’ stomach and bladder were fluids, Mai Tai components. He must have just nibbled at the luau. And we in the Department of Health have a fair amount of experience with the effects of poisonous plants on humans, because there are so many of them here in the islands.”

  “Do people regularly chow down on them?” Jack asked.

  “You’d be surprised. We have two typical consumers. The first are children who simply don’t know better and eat whatever they see in the garden or the park. The second are teenagers who hear you can get high from certain plants. They consume them in all kinds of ways, including making tea from them.”

  “What plant or shrub did the fluid in Reynolds’ stomach come from?” Jack inquired.