Paradise, Passion, Murder

by Terry Ambrose

  After we exchanged greetings, Benni turned to her. “Tell him what you told me.”

  Magda nodded and squeezed Benni’s hands, which rested in hers. She grimaced before she spoke. “TC lied to you about the argument. We did hear it. He didn’t want to be involved in the investigation because he shuns publicity. Val was right, Mr. McKenna. TC never was good enough for the pro tour. Oh, he always had an excuse. It was always something someone else had done—usually me. He always blamed me when he had a bad game. In reality, he always psyched himself out.”

  “What’s that got to do with a murder here in Hawai‘i?”

  “TC is a very proud man, so when the papers started calling him a has-been, he hated it. The last few times he got any coverage at all, it was always about the shots he missed. He’s come to think the press hates him and was petrified about what would happen if he was called as a witness.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “So he didn’t make it to the top, big deal.”

  “To him that’s exactly what it is, a big deal. TC is not a strong man. He’s weak and makes up for it with all his bluster about his days on the tour. The reality is he spent six years chasing a dream. He’s so ashamed of his career that he would do anything to avoid having people find out about his past.”

  “So what happened in the argument between Ramon and Lowell?”

  “Ramon said his mother was a young artist in Paris—just eighteen—when she met Lindbergh. Theirs was a short liaison, but Ramon was born as a result. He claimed he had the DNA test results to prove Lindbergh was his father.”

  “And Lowell didn’t like those claims?”

  “Lowell is a Lindbergh purist. He believes, as he put it, the first man to fly nonstop from New York to Paris would not have had multiple wives, nor would he have fathered children out of wedlock. He was too honorable. Ramon said there was plenty of proof to show otherwise. They were like two bulls squaring off.”

  The whole argument seemed ridiculous to me. I said, “All I know about Lindbergh is related to his trans-Atlantic flight and the baby kidnapping. I remember the kidnapping was called the crime of the century and the cops used the classic follow-the-money strategy to pin the whole thing on Bruno Hauptmann. There were those who believed Hauptmann couldn’t have been working alone, but he’s the only one who knew for sure, and he’s been dead for 75 years. Too bad DNA can’t solve that case.”

  The light coming from the front door dimmed. I glanced over my shoulder. It was Lowell.

  Lowell

  “Thanks, Magda,” I said. “Benni, why don’t you stay with her?”

  She nodded, kissed me on the cheek, and whispered, “We’ll be with the others.”

  The two women exchanged places with Lowell, then were gone.

  Lowell stood in the center aisle gazing at me with passive, dark blue eyes. “Hear you been asking questions concerning my disagreement with Ramon. I figured I might as well weigh in.”

  “Have a seat.” I gestured around me. “We have lots available.” We also had confirmation. There had been a disagreement between Lowell and the dead man.

  “Thanks.” Lowell picked the row ahead of me and casually draped his arm over the back of the pew.

  He appeared unconcerned, as if he had nothing to fear. How odd, all the fingers pointed in his direction.

  “So tell me about your disagreement.”

  “Not much to say. I got pretty ticked at Ramon, denigrating a national hero like that. It’s bad enough that Charles and Anne had to go through the horror of having their first-born kidnapped, but then to be vilified by the media because he supposedly had all these affairs. It’s more than any man should have to endure.”

  What planet was Lowell living on? He thought he was on a first-name basis with the Lindberghs? “Lowell, how did you and Ramon resolve your difference of opinion?”

  “I challenged him to pony up the DNA results, and he admitted he hadn’t yet had the testing done. He said he was going to do that ‘soon,’ as he put it. It was all BS. The guy was just a publicity hound, and I exposed him. When I left him, he was humiliated, but alive. I gotta say, he actually did me a favor.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I can write an article on this.” Lowell shifted in his seat so he was leaning against the back of the pew. “It’ll get tons of media exposure. Ramon will get nothing by the time I’m done. Because of him, I’ll be recognized as an expert on Lindbergh. I needed a break. He gave it to me.”

  Lowell seemed eager to tell his side. It was the first time during the day he’d been anything other than melancholy and serious. If his version of the events were true, who the hell had bashed Ramon’s head against those rocks? “I hear you’re a horticulturist.”

  “Going on ten years. Cal Poly grad. One of the best schools for horticulture and crop science.”

  “What’s a horticulturist do? I mean, who are your clients? Customers? Whatever you call them.”

  “What’s that got to do with any of this?”

  “Just curious.”

  “My client list is my business. You need anything else?”

  “Several people heard the argument, but nobody seems to be able to confirm the ending you describe. Was anyone around for that?”

  Lowell glanced around the church; his breathing was shallow, his demeanor still calm. “Nope. They all upped and left before the big moment. Too bad, I would have loved to have had a few witnesses. Would have added credibility to the article.”

  “Got any idea who would have wanted to kill Ramon?”

  “Can’t help you there, either. Like I said, when I left, Ramon was alive.” He snickered, “Maybe he whacked himself. Seen stranger things happen.”

  It was the first thing Lowell had said that made me question his story. Ramon had known he’d be up against intense scrutiny. He had to have been prepared for the criticism. Just because he didn’t yet have DNA results, why would he kill himself? Unless he’d tripped—I turned and glanced out the church entrance.

  “Your wife has gotten some very good video today,” I said.

  Lowell did a double take. His confident exterior returned a moment later, but in that brief second, I’d seen his smile fade and his eyes narrow. Maybe Olivia had been right. The drone could tell us what really happened. I had to talk to Val—before Lowell got to her.

  The Drone

  My next, and hopefully most enlightening, witness stood about a foot tall. It had four rotors atop a narrow body, which was really nothing more than a white plastic frame on which a small video camera had been mounted. In theory, I had three possible killers: Lenny, TC, and Lowell. Lenny had been the man standing over the body and could easily have argued with Ramon, smashed his head on the rocks, then covered up the crime by pretending to have difficulty finding a pulse.

  TC had the anger, but I could see no motive. I suppose it was possible he became jealous of Ramon’s friendly conversations with Magda during the tour, but I was pretty sure his style would have been to take out his anger on his wife, not the man who’d been flirting with her.

  Then there was Lowell. Val’s husband. Amateur historian. Revered Charles Lindbergh. He claimed he’d humiliated Ramon, not killed him.

  Who was telling the truth? And who was lying?

  When I told Valentine I thought the drone’s video could help us solve the case, she slumped back and said, “I’ve already been through it. The murder didn’t happen while the drone was overhead.”

  “Can we try one more time?” I asked.

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “But, I don’t think you’ll find anything.” She cued up the footage on her phone, then paused before tapping the start arrow. “McKenna, this is my husband we’re talking about. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Do you want to be married to a killer? And, if we can prove he didn’t kill Ramon? Then you’ll know for sure
. Otherwise, you’ll always wonder what happened.”

  The shaking in Val’s fingers increased. She handed the phone to me. “You take it. I can’t. Hit the play button.”

  The video began in a clearing. The drone rose into the air, the grassy area expanding until it was surrounded by forest on one end, the gardens on the other. The forest below went by quickly as the drone moved overhead. Soon, we were looking down at the old riding stables.

  “Jerod told me those went out of business recently, but I wanted to get a look for myself. Call it morbid curiosity,” she said.

  The drone retraced its path. The gardens came into view. Three people walked about. Benni, Judy, and Lenny. Judy moved quickly with Lenny a few steps behind. They stopped on the perimeter, where Judy turned on her stockbroker boyfriend, said something, and removed the bottle from her purse. She took a swallow and stomped away. It was all very consistent with what she’d said. What I didn’t know was how long Lenny had been watching her.

  The drone moved on until Benni was the only one in the frame. She probably hadn’t even realized she was being watched as she took pictures of flowers. The realization of how easily any of us could become the subject of stealth surveillance unnerved me.

  Next, we were over the cemetery, where Ramon was holding court. Sure enough, Lowell stood nearby. The discussion going on in the group appeared to be quite animated. As if feeding on the energy of the people below, the drone picked up speed, hovered over the church, then descended until it was looking through the front door. I saw myself sitting inside. I turned, glared at the camera, and my mouth moved.

  “You don’t look happy,” said Val. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t remember,” I lied. Regret tinged my heart as I read the Palapala Ho‘omau church sign on the tiny screen. “We welcome visitors to this historic, missionary church in Kīpahulu. Out of respect for church members, relatives, and descendants of those buried in the graveyard, we ask that you treat this religious site with reverence & care.”

  “Why can’t we just come to appreciate the history and beauty?” I muttered.

  “I guess it’s because we’re so caught up in our own lives we can’t leave our issues behind,” Val said.

  “What?” I asked. “Oh, I didn’t realize I was talking out loud. Yeah, we didn’t come in peace, we brought anger and violence.” I felt more determined than ever to find out who had killed Ramon. It would be my small gesture to show respect for those who were buried here.

  The drone rose above ground and moved back toward the graveyard. Below, the camera caught Judy and Lenny, then the main group approaching the church. I recognized Conchita, Jackie, and Marquetta. They were followed by TC and Magda. Magda turned back toward the cemetery, but TC urged her forward. Continuing on its course, the drone passed over Lindbergh’s grave, Lowell, and Ramon.

  The two men were obviously posturing for an argument, but without sound, it was difficult to tell how intense it might be. Their movements grew more aggressive and just before the two men passed from the field of view, Lowell shoved Ramon. Seconds later, we were watching the serenity of a rugged coastline. Crystal blue water and crashing waves filled the screen.

  I heard Val sniffle and glanced at her. A tear trickled down her cheek. Her eyes were glassy and rimmed in red. She muttered, “He did it.”

  “It sure looks that way.”

  “My husband’s a killer.”

  “You didn’t see this when you were watching it with Olivia?”

  She shook her head. “We were watching, but talking at the same time. It wasn’t like we paid attention every second. Not like now. What are you going to do?”

  I hadn’t really thought about that. I’d been so focused on solving the puzzle of Ramon’s death that I hadn’t considered whether to confront him or wait for the police. “I wonder how long we have before the cops get here.”

  “Will Jerod know?” Val whispered.

  “I’ll ask him.”

  Together, Val and I returned to the van, where we found Jerod and Lowell talking. Jerod was in the driver’s seat. Lowell sat in his assigned seat in the first row. I gave Val’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “This could be awkward. Stay here.”

  She nodded and remained behind, not saying a word.

  As I stepped into the van, Jerod glanced at me. “Cops gonna be here any minute.” He stood, then went down the steps. From just outside the open doorway, he said, “I gotta take a leak.”

  “You figure anything out?” Lowell asked. He slouched back in his seat, again assuming the posture of a man without a care in the world.

  I hoped by being slightly vague, I could avoid a confrontation. After all, it did look like Ramon might have died in the heat of an argument. It would be up to the police, and maybe the courts, to decide if Lowell was guilty of a crime. “We have video that looks promising. The drone was quite, um, helpful.”

  The color drained from Lowell’s face. “Video? My wife’s drone?”

  I’m not sure what I expected. Would Lowell melt into a quivering mass and confess his sin? Would he deny it? Make excuses? No, he had to choose Option D—none of the above.

  McKenna

  Some guys just don’t get it. The cops have radios. They have air support. And trying to outrun both of those in a four-ton tour bus just wasn’t the smartest thing anyone would do. But, that’s what happened. Lowell jumped up, shoved me to the back of the van, closed the door, and drove.

  Apparently obsessed with the idea of making his escape, Lowell took the first turn fast enough to throw me against the glass window. It was also fast enough to wake Marquetta, who’d been napping in the back.

  Bleary-eyed, Marquetta glanced around. “We’re moving?”

  I held onto my seat as we took the left onto the Hana Highway. “Lowell! You have to stop this. Marquetta’s here, too. You’ll get us all killed.”

  “Nobody’s gonna die. I’ll let you two off once I’m in the clear.”

  “What’s happening?” Marquetta gaped at the mountainside rushing past.

  “Lowell stole the van,” I said, matter-of-factly. “He seems to think he can outrun the entire Maui Police Department.” I spider-walked forward one row, hanging onto the seatback for support as we veered into a sharp right turn. “Lowell, you’re on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Where the hell do you think you’re going to go?”

  “I’ll figure something out. I can’t go to jail.”

  “Better jail than the cemetery,” I muttered.

  In the back, Marquetta screamed, “Let me off. I want off this bus. Now!”

  “Shut up,” Lowell barked.

  For once, I agreed with him. Hysterics would only make things worse. I had to reason with this maniac before he drove us into the ocean. We hit one of the few straight stretches on the road, and Lowell jammed his foot to the floor. The speedometer climbed to forty-five. Over my shoulder, I saw Marquetta drunk-walking her way up the aisle. She had one hand on the seat behind me when everything lurched forward. I grabbed at her just as we careened into a sharp right turn.

  Marquetta and I clung to each other as the vehicle tilted in the other direction.

  “I don’t want to die. Make him stop,” she wailed.

  I looked out the window to my left. Holy crap. “I’m tired of being rational, you moron. I want off.” Childish, true. But, you try staring down a hundred-foot cliff and see if you don’t panic, too. I needed a weapon. Something to bash Lowell over the head and take control of the vehicle—if I didn’t get us killed in the process.

  Hard right turn. Hard left. We were on a twisting rollercoaster with only one outcome—death. Then, I remembered the compartment Jerod had told Judy about. There was a fire extinguisher in front of it. I pushed Marquetta to one side and crawled on my hands and knees, bumping into the right wall, then the left. Another turn almost tossed me into the
stairwell.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Lowell glanced between me and the road.

  He couldn’t watch us both. I had to act fast. I unlatched the red extinguisher. “Last chance. Stop the bus.”

  “No.” He kept his eyes forward.

  I pulled the pin. And then the world flipped up and to the right. I tumbled into the stairwell. My hand closed on the handle. CO2 spewed everywhere. It was snowing in Maui. In October. Inside a four-ton, twelve-passenger tour bus.

  Lowell slumped from the driver’s seat to the floor. Blood oozed from a cut on his head. Marquetta jumped on top of him and began punching. “You stupid, idiotic, retarded—man!”

  The floor was tilted at an angle. Above me, out the side window, I saw sky. My back was killing me, but we were alive. “It’s my turn. What happened, Marquetta?”

  She stopped her tantrum long enough to say, “He drove us into a ditch. There was some old pickup blocking the road.”

  “Is the pickup still there?”

  “He drove past when we went into the ditch.”

  I groaned. I’d heard stories about the locals in this area hating tour busses. I now understood how deep their anger ran.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “We wait. The cops won’t be long.”

  That turned out to be a true statement. Before Lowell regained consciousness, we were waving through the glass at two uniformed Maui cops. When Lowell recovered and realized he was trapped, he began to sob uncontrollably. Both Marquetta and I wanted to smack him. He’d nearly killed us all and was now upset he might live.

  Like I said, some guys just don’t get it.

  Eventually, we were extracted from our little prison, Lowell was taken away in handcuffs, and we gave statements. The cops drove us back to the rest of our tour group. On the ten-minute drive back, I thought about the terrible thing that had taken place today. A man had been killed. Our tour group would forever be remembered as the one that had desecrated the Palapala Ho‘omau Congregational Church cemetery. We’d also done some serious damage to one of the tour company’s vans.