Murder on Mokulua Drive

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne;

  “Since Miriam had no known family members, her attorney is serving as her personal representative. In that position, and as her friend of many years, he’s granted HPD permission to share her autopsy report and anything else we choose, with anyone who can help solve her murder. I’m here to ask both of you to take a look at the results of our investigation to date, in case you see a lead we may have missed.

  “I’m still waiting on toxicology reports, and input from the U.N., but you already know it’s looking as though Samantha was the intended vic. I’ve sent out inquiries to the FBI and a couple of European agencies, but with such a clean scene, the case is not looking good. If we can’t find a link to Luke Turner, we may never solve this case.”

  Glancing at Keoni’s tablet, he said, “You know the drill. I’m going to ask you to look everything over, just like when we were partnered on a case. I’m glad to see you’re prepared to track anything you question. From you, Natalie, I need something else. In addition to anything factual that pops out, I want you to tap into what I think is called a woman’s ‘feeling nature.’ Does our reporting feel complete? And of course, the major question is whether we have described what you saw in your vision?”

  Without further introduction, John opened his briefcase and began pulling out files. I was glad the kitchen’s new lighting was excellent and that the small table allowed us to pass papers back and forth easily. With the images of Miriam’s murder at the forefront of my memory, I tried not to think about the steps that had been taken by the Medical Examiner’s Office to produce the report I was about to read. Surely it could not be worse than reading Ariel’s. Lost in my thoughts for more than a couple of moments, my awareness slowly rejoined the conversation in the room.

  “So, I think a dozen strippers would be the ideal entertainment for your next birthday, what do you think, Natalie?” asked Keoni.

  “Uh, sure…What did you say?”

  “Obviously you’re lost in the clouds. What’re you thinking about, dear?”

  I licked my lips and thought of how to balance my fear of things gruesome with my desire to help. “I’m glad to share my perspective. But technically, I think you’re going to have more to offer the investigation than I will, Keoni.”

  John smiled at my words and began handing files to Keoni. “Like I said, all input is appreciated. Just tell me if there’s any discrepancy between what you envisioned and the words I’m putting in front of you. And remember, no detail is inconsequential. I don’t expect you to understand all that you’re going to read today, Natalie. But the last time we did this, you were able to verify there was an earring missing from your grandniece’s effects. Maybe between the autopsy and CSI reports in Miriam’s case, you’ll notice something that’s missing, out of place, or has been added to the mix.”

  As he picked up the multiple CSI report files, Keoni glanced at the title pages and began reordering them. Setting the stack of folders to his left, he began working slowly and methodically, making notes on his tablet. In turn, I received a single file containing an overview of what must be an exhaustive autopsy report. Fortunately, I had been promised it was sans photos. I sat staring at the folder for a moment, unable to face the cold words that would summarize the brutal murder of a gentle woman.

  I sighed and opened the folder. With several crimps in the file fastener at the top, it looked like several pages had been removed. I was glad, because that meant John had indeed pared the material, leaving no disturbing images—except for the ones I personally brought to the table. The first page looked like Ariel’s report had. It was a form with the abbreviated basics of the case: the victim’s surname, given name, date of birth, age, and sex; the pathologist’s accreditation, title, and identification number; date and time of death; date, time and identification number of the autopsy.

  Following an assessment of Miriam’s general heath that pointed out the ancillary finding of her intensive heart congestion, was the Final Diagnosis. It was presented in an outline form that was almost staccato in its verbiage. Cause of Death: ligature strangulation…believed to be wire…1/16th to 1/8th of an inch in width and ranging in tinsel strength from 274 to 303 ksi…rust-colored abrasion-like furrow crosses the anterior midline of the neck, just below the laryngeal prominence, approximately at the level of the cricoid cartilage…almost completely horizontal, with slight upward deviation from the horizontal, towards the back of the neck…abrasions and petechial hemorrhages, anterior neck, and above and below the ligature furrow…petechia hemorrhages on face, upper eyelids bilaterally and conjunctiva of inner eyelids, circular in shape, 1 mm in circumference, resulting from bleeding of capillaries…cyanosis…venous engorgement…

  Perhaps it was not unusual that I best understood the beginning and end of the report. I certainly knew Miriam had been strangled by ligature—garroting by piano wire. And since she had discussed congestive heart failure, it was not surprising that Dr. Soli noted its presence in the autopsy. Beyond that, the interim discussion was too technical and gruesome for me to fully comprehend.

  Between the material I had been reading and images that kept resurfacing from my vision, I was mentally and emotionally spent. Setting down the folder, I picked up my tea and drained half of the glass. I looked up to see that Keoni was already three quarters of the way through the folders in front of him. John was seated with his pen and notebook, patiently looking at me with an encouraging half smile.

  “I’m sorry for your obvious discomfort, Natalie. I don’t know if the technical details have put any aspects of your vision into perspective. But perhaps it will help if I answer any questions that may have occurred to you.”

  Stalling for time, I wiped my mouth with a napkin and tried to organize my thoughts. “I don’t know that I understand the material well enough to formulate any questions. I guess the bottom line is that Miriam’s murder was quickly accomplished. The man who killed her knew what he was doing. With such a skill set, even I know he was a professional.”

  John nodded. “That sums it up.”

  Keoni looked up as John continued his summary of Miriam’s death. “The perp was positioned at exactly the right distance and held the ligature at the precise angle to have the fastest impact. Sick as it is to say, that meant Miriam suffered no more than fifteen to twenty seconds. In about eight seconds, she suffered a brain hemorrhage from the lack of blood flow. Within a few more seconds, the pressure on her heart caused it to stop. We know this from the deeply imbedded imprint on the neck and the small amount of blood in the stomach.”

  Setting down the file he had been reading, Keoni reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

  “If you’re up to it,” said John to me, “I’d now like you to look over the CSI reports, at least a couple of them.”

  I nodded bleakly as he separated three files from the pile Keoni had just read. “You’ll find some pictures of the crime scene here. But, uh, Miriam is not in them.”

  “Okay, John.” I opened the first. “Do you care about the order in which I look at them?”

  “Not at all.”

  “In that case, I think I’ll open all of them at once.”

  “Fine.”

  In the first file were photos of the room shot for overall context. I fanned them out and set them all to the right of the file. In the next were images of the room progressing from mid-range to close-up perspectives. Finally, there was a diagram of the entire room secured on the left side of the folder and a summation of contents on the right. As I paged through the photos and accompanying reports, I scanned the headings and major points.

  “You know, Natalie, you’re a visual person—no pun intended. Now that you’ve glanced through the ME and CSI summary reports, why don’t you take a moment to close your eyes and put yourself back into the scene, prior to the crime…just as the perp was walking into the room. Are you with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, you
’re standing in the doorway looking into the room. I want you to freeze that image in your mind.”

  He paused for a moment. “Now open your eyes and look through the photos of the crime scene.”

  I followed his directions and began sorting through the pictures, beginning with the long shots.

  “With your vision at the forefront of your mind, think about anything in the photos, or inventory of the room’s contents, that seems different, missing, or out of place.”

  I leafed through each image in the first two folders slowly. Then I closely examined the overall drawing in the third folder, before looking through the inventory of furniture and accessories. When I had completed that task, I looked up to find that John had turned on his voice recorder. “Good. Now I want you to close your eyes again and picture the room…this time as you saw it after the murder…as the perp has turned away from Miriam and is exiting the room. Are you there?

  “Yes.”

  “Now open your eyes, and look at the first long shot of the room again. This time we’re going to try an experiment.” Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a tablet of paper and removed one sheet. “Take this and place it over the bottom half of the picture. Look across the top half, from left to right. Next, flip the process and put the paper over the top half and look at what’s revealed on the bottom half. Now, place the paper over the right half of the image and look over the left side from top to bottom.”

  At each command, I carefully followed his instructions. During the third puzzle game, I finally saw an anomaly. “John,” I cried out. “There is something different. Miriam’s cane. I remember that the crook was facing the chair when the perp entered the room. After he killed Miriam, he put a couple of strands of her hair into a plastic bag and looked around the room. Then he bent over and picked up the cane which must have fallen during the murder. When he put it back against the wall, it was facing away from Miriam, like it is in the photo the CSI team shot. Joanne noticed it as well, but I forgot to tell you.”

  “Well done, Natalie. That’s one thing we now know he touched in the room. And that is certainly worth a re-examination.”

  After my realization about Miriam’s cane, Keoni raised a few questions for his former partner to run past his Interpol contacts. Although we invited him to stay for cocktails and appetizers, John rushed off to The Ladies’ cottage to pick up the cane before returning to headquarters to intensify his efforts to bring the perpetrator to justice.

  As we bid him farewell, I felt somewhat as I had the day before, as Izzy, Joanne and I bid Henri’s cousin Juliette adieu. Although there was no animosity between us and our departing guest, I was glad to be at the end of the meeting.

  Before leaving, John had repeated that while no direct links had been found between Luke Turner and Miriam, Luke was suspected of smuggling artifacts and drugs. As the man had once said to Samantha, “Whatever the client wants the client gets.” From what John had discovered, the breadth of his international “transfer” business may have included the moving of people, as well illicit goods. His ties to drug trafficking meant there was a likely connection between him and people who possessed the necessary skills to kill Miriam by garroting.

  No one wanted to think of her murderer going free and unidentified. But at least Miriam’s desires for the use of her assets were coming to fruition. We already knew that her Ladies would live out their lives comfortably and that the bulk of her estate would be channeled through UNICEF. An interesting fact that had emerged was that Miriam had already disposed of Henri’s family home in the south of France. The small manor house had been converted into a conference center for use by the United Nations and other agencies focused on strengthening communication among disparate peoples needing to reach accord…surely something that would have irritated cousin Juliette.

  The next several days passed without requests for input from HPD. Keoni was able to install the security screens at Mokulua Hale. With Izzy and Joanne trained on the finer points of the hard-wired portion of their home’s revised security system, the installation of the last solar lights in the yard was the only thing needed to complete the security overhaul.

  My task of reading Miriam’s journals was at a dead end, so I began researching day trips in windward O`ahu. Some mornings Izzy joined me on my morning walks on the beach—with or without the supervision of Miss Una. The police might be uncertain about the potential for solving Miriam’s murder, but my fearsome feline remained on alert. Each evening I found her sitting tall and proud as she continued to monitor Miriam’s Ladies from our lānai table.

  Once Keoni finished his work for The Ladies, he turned to our last big project at White Sands Cottage—the hot tub. First he completed the concrete slab on which it would sit. By the afternoon of the spa’s delivery, he had planted the cuttings Joanne had provided from the Hawaiian wedding flower vines that reached up to the windows of Miriam’s suite. The following morning, I assisted him with the final phase of the project. My wardrobe for the occasion consisted of a one-piece swimsuit with purple orchids splashed across a black background, a sun hat and a liberal slathering of sun block on my chest and arms. While Keoni tested the chemistry of the water, I was supposed to adjust the jets for optimal impact on our backs and legs.

  “You should join me, Keoni. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a lot shorter than you and I can’t really set the jets for you.”

  “Well, honey, we’re not always going to sit in the same places. We can’t begin to guess the size of future guests. Simply position the jets mid-way for now and everyone can adjust them to their liking.”

  Standing back to evaluate his handiwork, Keoni shook his head. “I know what I forgot. Unless we want several tables around the spa, I think I should put in a small wall of interlocking pavers at the back, for our towels, beverages and other things.”

  “How about having a wall and a couple of tables? Maybe a set of stackable tables? And I think we need a couple more chairs for people who might not want to get in the tub, but want to sit near it.”

  “Sounds like another run to Costco.”

  “The Ladies should be getting a call to pick up the lights they ordered for their pathways and garden. Maybe I could tag along with them and see what we can use?”

  “And just how are you going to get several tables and chairs for us, plus their purchases into the mini-van, Natalie?”

  “Why don’t we drive over in your truck the day they go? That way you can advise them if there’s anything else they need to complete the lighting?”

  “Good idea. Knowing you, our own list will have grown far beyond the tables and chairs.”

  In a few minutes, Keoni joined me in the spa with a bottle of Laurent-Perrier Brut Champagne. Soon we had other things to occupy us than discussing patio furnishings. After planning another romantic rendezvous at midnight, I beckoned for Miss Una to join us. Since she’s comfortable sitting beside me when I’m in the whirlpool bathtub, I had hoped she would enjoy this new level of companionship. Sadly this form of familial togetherness was not to be. The intensity of the bubbles and jets were too much for her. She moved back to the edge of the patio, where she methodically washed the spray off her whiskers with her paw.

  As we chuckled at the cat’s disdain for our new outdoor activity, Joanne appeared at the gate between our properties. Trying to be polite, she waved broadly to make sure she was not interrupting anything too intimate.

  “Come in and see our latest home improvement project,” Keoni called out.

  After wiping her hands on her gardening pinafore, she opened the gate and came across the grass with a small basket.

  “A couple of goodies for you two,” she said, setting the basket on the table before approaching us.

  “You know me well, Joanne. I love goodies of all kinds,” I replied, lifting my glass of bubbly.

  As I motioned toward the wide rim of the hot tub, she sa
t down and ran her hand across the foam created by the jet closest to her.

  “I’d offer you a glass,” said Keoni, “But unfortunately, we just finished the bottle.”

  “Don’t worry about it. After I freshen up, I’m going to enjoy some Beefeater gin and with a splash of tonic and a squeeze of Meyer lemon juice. Speaking of which, you’ll find a couple of the lemons, a few heirloom tomatoes, and a cucumber in the basket.”

  “Oh, yum,” I said with anticipation.

  “In addition, I’ve got some wonderful news about Samantha. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but John Dias just called me and it looks like Samantha can come out of protective custody.”

  “That’s great,” responded Keoni. “We’ve been out here for a while without any telephones.”

  “What happened?” I asked. “How can he be sure she’ll be safe?”

  “You know JD wouldn’t be doing this if there were any question about Samantha’s safety,” countered Keoni.

  “The big news is that Luke Turner’s body was found at Diamond Head Beach Park last night. With him gone, JD sees no reason for Samantha to have to remain in hiding. Right now, I’ve got to go in and tell Izzy. We haven’t done anything with the maid’s quarters since she left. I’m going to put fresh sheets on the bed and towels in the bath…and maybe arrange some flowers to welcome her home.”

  With that, Joanne turned and strode purposely back to the Mokulua Hale. Keoni and I sat quietly for a couple of moments, digesting our individual responses to the update.

  “Well, like you said, Keoni, John wouldn’t be doing this if he was uncertain about Samantha’s security.”

  “Mmhm. Nevertheless, I can’t wait to hear the details of this new development,” said Keoni with a serious look.

  CHAPTER 19