Dinah looked at Avery in a new light. Was she hatching a boogyman out of a few snippets of information and her overfertile imagination? “I don’t know, Avery. I tend to get claustrophobic on islands. I’d be afraid I’d get rock fever.”
“Like Raif, poor boy. Couldn’t hack it for long periods, but liked to visit. Liked pushing the envelope here in our little corner of the world. Poker parties, sports betting. Drove Xan crazy. But pretty soon, we’ll have legalized gambling. Kay, I said, hang on to your hat. We’re catching up to the rest of the country. Glad you got to meet my Kay. She liked you. Girl’s got the aloha spirit, she said. She was sorry she couldn’t come to the do here this afternoon. Baby shower, book club. Can’t keep up. Always something.”
“Officers!” Xander’s voice was too loud, too hearty. “To what do we owe this visit?”
Lt. Langford and Lt. Fujita strode up onto the deck.
Langford smiled, friendly as a gallows. “We have some new information. Since you all were going to be together in one place this afternoon, we thought we’d drop by and bring you up to speed.”
“About time,” said Raif’s father. He motioned to his wife and Lyssa. “This is more like it.”
Claude Ann appeared in the door and slung Dinah a look, like this is your fault.
If Xander expected bad news, he concealed it. “Shall we go inside?”
Avery cupped his hands around his mouth and called over the rail to Jon and Steve. “The police are here.”
Jon looked up and frowned. He said something to Steve and the two walked back toward the house.
“Hold on to your hat, eh, Dinah?” Avery put his hand on the small of her back and nudged her toward the door.
She tried, but couldn’t quite repress a shudder. She flashed him a nervous smile, stubbed out her cigarette, and joined the migration into the living room.
“Y’all sit down wherever.” Claude Ann waved an arm around the room in a gesture of all-encompassing disgust and curled up on the end of a black leather sofa.
Raif’s mother took the opposite end of the sofa and Lyssa rested one hip on the arm next to her mother-in-law. Marywave sat cross-legged on the floor with her back against the middle of the sofa playing with her pink phone. Phoebe and Dinah sat down in facing club chairs. Phoebe looked as if her visions of a happy future had gone poof. Xander brought out several folding chairs, but Robert Reid refused to sit. Xander settled on the arm of the sofa next to Claude Ann. Jon and Steve each took a chair and parked themselves on either side of Dinah. Avery stepped around Marywave and sat down next to Mrs. Reid. The detectives remained standing.
“As you know,” said Langford, “Mr. Hank Kemper was taken into custody late yesterday and was questioned regarding the murder of Mr. Reid.”
Lyssa skewered Claude Ann with a red-eyed stare. “If Dad hadn’t hooked up with Claude Ann, Raif would be alive today. She’s the reason that lunatic came here. If it weren’t for her, Raif would be alive.”
“Mr. Kemper remains a person of interest,” said Langford. “But as of this time, he has only been charged with vandalism.”
“Why not burglary?” asked Xander.
“His daughter gave him a key to the room, which is as good as an invitation, and there’s no proof that he’s the one who removed the gun.”
“My Daddy wouldn’t kill anybody,” said Marywave. “It’s against the Commandments. Want me to get my Bible and read it to you?”
“That’s okay,” said Fujita. “We, um, we know that commandment.”
Langford said, “Mr. Kemper posted bail this morning and was released.”
“You let him loose?” cried Claude Ann.
“What the hell?” demanded Raif’s father.
Langford held up a hand for silence. “Read us what Mr. Kemper said in his statement, Fujita.”
Fujita riffled through his notepad until he found what he was looking for. “He said that on the day of the murder he observed Mr. Xander Garst meeting with a blond woman from the Casino Royale Travel Agency. We’ve identified the woman as Theresa J. Wilhite.”
“Tess?” Avery looked befuddled.
Langford smiled. “You didn’t mention that when we spoke earlier, Mr. Garst. Could you just clarify why it was you omitted to tell us about your meeting with that lady?” He was all purring menace.
Xander kept his cool. “With the shock of bad news, it escaped my mind. I didn’t think it was important.”
“That’s for us to decide,” said Langford. “As a matter of fact, we followed up with her this morning. She recalled that you were angry with Mr. Reid. What were her exact words, Fujita?”
“Ms. Wilhite stated, ‘Xander Garst always hated Raif, but Raif told me that it came to a head last week and Xander threatened to kill him.’”
Robert Reid’s face reddened. “What the hell? Is Garst a suspect in my son’s murder?”
“She’s lying,” said Lyssa. “My husband would never talk to that woman, not after the way she treated Jon.”
“Raif was all heart,” said Jon.
“What the hell?” Raif’s father was like a parrot with one phrase.
Langford seemed to be enjoying the discord. “We’ve reviewed the phone records and it turns out that Mr. Raiford Reid spoke frequently with Ms. Wilhite, both at her office and at her home.”
Raif’s mother spoke up. “You said that Raif’s phone wasn’t recovered at the scene.”
“That’s correct,” said Langford. “The murderer used his phone to make a phone call to a spa where his wife says she was having a water shiatsu.”
“Says?” Lyssa’s voice rose. “Are you insinuating that I wasn’t there?”
“What the hell! They’re all in it together.” Raif’s father seemed to be skidding toward apoplexy.
“Raif called me on my phone once,” said Marywave.
Langford’s eyes scrunched. “And when was that, young lady?”
“Lyssa and Mama and me went to see ‘Avatar’ in Honolulu and both of them had their phones turned off inside of the theater and Raif had to talk to Lyssa right away and Xander gave him my number. My phone remembers everything. I got it right here.” She pushed a button and somewhere close by, a phone rang.
Langford and Fujita scanned the room.
“What the hell!”
“Great Scott!”
“It’s coming from the deck,” said Raif’s mother.
Fijita walked outside and came back holding a black leather hobo bag by the straps like a dead cat. He handed it to Langford.
Langford smiled. “Now which of you ladies would this bag belong to?”
“It’s mine,” said Dinah. Her purse was identical to Claude Ann’s, but she recognized a white scratch on the outside pocket.
Langford stretched a latex glove over his hand, flexed his fingers, opened the purse, and reached inside. The phone continued to ring. Stares shifted from him to Dinah and back again. Dinah looked at Claude Ann. Someone—it had to be Raif’s murderer—was trying to incriminate Claude Ann. Or was Dinah the intended scapegoat?
Langford pulled Raif’s phone out as if he were a surgeon removing a tumor and held it up for all to see. “Well, well, well. This adds a new wrinkle to the investigation, wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Pelerin?”
Part III
Chapter Thirty-four
The early Hawaiians didn’t count past forty thousand. They couldn’t comprehend anything bigger, more numerous, or longer. They called it kini, the ultimate number. The clock on the wall said 10:10, but it might as well have said forty thousand. Kini. Forever. That’s how long Dinah had been sitting in the police interrogation room in Hilo bashing her brains and trying to figure how Raif’s phone had ended up in her purse.
Langford tapped a Bic against a yellow legal pad. “Help us to understand. If y
ou didn’t put it in your purse and you didn’t see anybody else put it in your purse, how do you suppose it got there?”
“As I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t know.” Dinah’s thoughts seethed with stories of people unjustly convicted—people who spent years in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. She was sitting in a hard plastic chair in a stark, windowless room that was as uncomfortable as they could make it without placing it in a dungeon and across the table from her was the implacable face of a man who sent people to the clinker for a living. The trapped air ponged of fear and suspicion and the B.O. of the last customer interrogated in this room.
“What say we buy you another cup of coffee and see if that stirs a memory.”
Fujita yawned and arched his back. “I’ll go make a fresh pot.” He left and Langford sorted through the items in her purse as if he were doing an inventory.
“Aren’t you supposed to have a warrant before you search someone’s personal property?”
“When a dead man’s phone rings inside a lady’s purse, that’s what we professional law enforcement people call probable cause. In which case, we don’t need a warrant.” He pulled her book of myths out of the purse. “This sure looks interesting. Myths and Legends.” He opened the book and read, or pretended to read, while Dinah worst-cased the course of her life from here on out. A grueling trial during which she could produce no alibi and no explanation for Raif’s phone; the sentencing—she’d probably get the death penalty due to the heinous nature of the murder; and years and years in jail while she waited for a date with the electric chair. Were prisoners on death row allowed to work in the prison laundry? As she contemplated her future, the prison laundry seemed like a bright spot.
Fujita returned with the coffee in one of those cone cups in a brown plastic holder. He set it down in front of her.
“We should have copies of this book lying around the station, Fujita.” Langford stabbed his finger at a passage in the book. “There’s a whole chapter on crime. You read about the pu’uhonuas, Ms. Pelerin?”
“Not yet.”
“They were places of refuge. In old Hawaii, anybody who broke the law, no matter how minor, would be put to death. The chiefs had no patience with lawbreakers. There was no such thing as an accident. The law was the law. But if the lawbreaker could get to a pu’uhonua, he’d be safe, absolved of his crimes. All he had to do was confess. We’re kind of like a pu’uhonua here, isn’t that right, Fujita?”
“Absolutely. And the way Mr. Reid’s family was looking at you, Ms. Pelerin, you’d be smart to trust us. Talk to us. A lot has changed since the old days. We believe in accidents. We know how situations can spin out of control when you least expect them to. Tell us how it broke between you and Raif. We can help you.”
Co-habiting with Detective Nick Isparta had taught Dinah many things she’d rather forget, but it had left her with a fair knowledge of how the police operate. They did not hand out absolution. They did not make idle chitchat with people they invited into the interrogation room or, as Nick called it, “the box.” And they most definitely could not be trusted. These cops hadn’t read her her rights or informed her that she was under arrest, but she was under no illusions. Everything she said could and would be used against her in a court of law.
Fujita sat down next to Langford and picked up her passport. “You must care a lot about your friend to fly all the way from Manila to be in her wedding. Were you out there for business or pleasure?”
“I was assisting an anthropological expedition. There was no salary, but my food and lodging were paid.” She tried to recall Nick’s checklist of “tells.” If the perp’s eyes move right, he’s remembering. If they move left, he’s concocting a story. Or was it the other way round? She focused on Fujita’s hands as they turned the pages of her passport and concentrated on not licking her lips.
“You do a lot of traveling. That must get pretty spendy.”
It wasn’t a question. Dinah didn’t comment. She took a sip of the coffee, which was lukewarm and evil tasting, and tried to project where Fujita was going with this.
“I’ll bet a lot of these countries you visit have a problem with illegal gambling. Weren’t you reading about some big uproar in the Philippines, Lieutenant Langford?”
Langford closed the book of myths and inclined his bulldog face across the table. “A big gambling syndicate paid bribes to some of the president’s cronies to cover up an illegal numbers game they call Jueteng. You know what Jueteng is, Ms. Pelerin?”
“No.”
“Long odds, no limits on minimum or maximum bets. Poor people love it. And so do the syndicates. They rake in millions every year.”
“Of course, they have to hire the right kind of intermediaries to pass the bribes to the politicians. The kind of people who can come and go without raising questions. People with American passports,” said Fujita. “When did you first meet Mr. George Knack?”
“Yesterday. Actually, I saw him in Honolulu, but we didn’t meet. What are you getting at? If you think I have anything whatsoever to do with any gambling syndicate, you’re a zillion miles off base.” She sounded spluttery and she realized that she was nervously winding a lock of her hair around and around her finger. Excessive grooming was another sign of guilt on Nick’s checklist. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap and sat up straighter. “Is George Knack involved with a Philippine gambling syndicate? Is Tess Wilhite?”
Fujita opened his notepad and leafed through the tabs. “Mrs. Reid says that you and her husband spent the night together in Honolulu after the attack on Ms. Kemper.”
“That’s not true. We sat together in the hospital waiting room for a couple of hours and then went our separate ways.”
Langford leered. “You have to admit Raif was an attractive young man. And from what we’re hearing, he spread his charms over a wide swath. Did you and he have a little something extracurricular going on?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Come on, Dinah,” purred Langford. “We’re not here to pass judgment. Love’s a many-splendored thing, right, Kimosabe?”
Fujita flashed his partner an offended look. Dinah remembered that his first name was Kimo and assumed he didn’t care for the sobriquet. But instead of shooting back at Langford, he transferred his displeasure to Dinah. “Maybe you decided you didn’t want to share the gentleman’s attentions with his wife and his other women friends. Maybe you borrowed Ms. Kemper’s gun and put a stop to his bed-hopping.”
“I could not care less about Raif’s sex life.”
“How about Ms. Kemper? Did she care? Was she one of his close friends?”
“What?”
“A lot of sex can break out before a wedding.” Langford’s face was ill-suited to a leer, but he kept on trying. “The thought of all that monogamy ahead. Some brides will jump at a last chance to be bad. Did that happen with your friend? Did she give Raif a tumble and then get worried that he’d snitch on her? She wouldn’t want to risk losing a rich husband like Xander Garst. Maybe you helped her dispose of her problem.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Langford twiddled with his Bic. “Claude Ann was probably the shooter. Hers are the only prints on the gun. Then maybe you helped her drag Reid’s body toward the skylight to confuse the time of death, and one of you had the bright idea to take his phone away with you and call Lyssa Reid to further confuse the time of death.”
“None of it’s true. I don’t know how that phone got in my purse. I’ve never seen it before.”
“There’s no use denying it,” said Langford. “Look, Ms. Pelerin, we’re just trying to work out the why and how. If you tell us that Claude Ann did the murder and just asked you to hang onto the phone for her, then you need to give us a statement and set matters to rights.”
“Obstruction of justice isn’t much of a crim
e,” offered Fujita. “You were only trying to help a friend. Heck, maybe she didn’t even tell you it was the dead man’s phone. Why don’t you write it all down for us and clear things up?”
They were all over the map. Throwing ideas against the wall to see what stuck or what got a rise out of her. All they had to go on was a gun that could have been swiped by any number of people and Raif’s BlackBerry, which the murderer had planted in her handbag. Which he, or she, would have purged of any incriminating evidence. The police hadn’t had time to find out what secrets the phone held. They weren’t ready to make an arrest. She said, “If Claude Ann had shot Raif, she wouldn’t have left the gun for you to find with her prints on it and if I were trying to hide his phone, I wouldn’t be toting it around, fully charged and turned on, inside my purse.” She looked directly at what was probably the one-way mirror where somebody was ogling her for signs of guilt. “And unless I’m under arrest, I’d like to leave now.”
Langford made a mouth of peeved impatience. “We’ll get back to you with an answer in a few minutes. Bring that phone, Kimosabe.” He pushed his chair back, tossed his Bic on the table, and bulled out of the room.
Fujita’s lips moved silently in what Dinah assumed was an unflattering retort. He ran a hand through his bleach-blond hair, picked up the bagged BlackBerry, and followed Langford.
The skin on the back of Dinah’s neck prickled. Maybe they were going to arrest her after all. She looked around at the blank walls and felt like a monkey in a cage. She twirled the same lock of hair around her finger, caught herself, and put her hands down on the table.
Fujita’s notepad lay right there in front of her. He wouldn’t have left it there on purpose, would he? Were they watching? She picked it up and thumbed through the alphabetical tabs. What did the police know that she didn’t? She glanced at the door, which would be bursting open any second and turned to the R. In a neat, almost calligraphic hand under the name Raiford Reid was a précis of the known facts.
Last seen alive 6/29 at 11:45 by D. Pelerin. Vic stated he was off to play poker in Pahoa. Est. time of death 12:30—3:30 near Kalapana. VA resident, no priors. Witness statements—see tabs. Connection to Varian killing? See V.
Bet Your Bones Page 24
