Murder on Mokulua Drive

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne;

  Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear.

  William Shakespeare [1564 – 1616]

  Later that day, John called to say he would be dropping in. Almost immediately thereafter, he showed up at the back door.

  “Glad I caught you. I figured you’d like to know what’s been going on the last couple of days,” he said.

  This time he accepted our offer of hospitality. Before we settled on the back lānai, Keoni grabbed a couple of bottles from his special stash of Weasel Boy Ale. I poured myself a glass of Sterling Pinot Grigio and plated some smoked salmon, fresh mozzarella cheese and garlic pita crackers.

  “Mm, this is a great end to another busy day,” said John with a broad smile.

  “I agree. And think about the calories and alcohol content we’re saving with this fine brew. It almost makes up for the rest of the calories we’re consuming,” added Keoni.

  “With the miles showing on my pedometer during this case, I don’t think I’m going to worry about today’s little snack. Besides, look at all the meals I’ve been missing.”

  “Don’t say we haven’t offered,” I interjected.

  “So what’s been happening? Since you haven’t called, I figured you must have been busy keeping all the balls in the air,” said Keoni with obvious curiosity.

  “Well, there’s been a lot of activity. But to be honest, we have no expectation of a resolution any time soon. About all I’ve been doing is dotting the “Is” and crossing the “Ts.” The big news is that instead of our having one unexplained corpse, we’ve now got two. And, still no solid lead on the perp, if the same guy killed both Miriam and Luke Turner.

  “It’s probable that Samantha’s husband put out a contract on her, and Miriam died by mistake. But thinking it and proving it are two different things. We’ve got nothing linking Luke Turner to Miriam’s murder. Now that he’s dead, I doubt we ever will. Since we found no sign of a conspiracy to kill Samantha, with Luke gone there’s no reason for her to remain under wraps with us or go into witness protection. That’s why I’ve dropped her back with The Ladies next door.”

  “So where did Luke’s body show up?” asked Keoni.

  “Two nights ago, a 911 operator got a call from a couple of kids who’d snuck out for a romantic midnight rendezvous at Diamond Head Beach. Instead of scooting around any cops who might discover their after-hours use of the park, they ended up calling the cops when the girl stumbled over Turner’s corpse.”

  “Hardly what they expected from their clandestine date,” I said.

  “You’re right about that. Although Ken`ichi and I had already pulled our regular day shift, we were called back in when Detective Sybil Carter realized there was a possible connection to Miriam Didión’s death. So there we were, pumping java to keep our eyes and minds open enough to absorb the case at hand. And COD? There were no gunshot wounds, nor abrasions or other marks on the body that couldn’t be attributed to his time in the ocean.”

  “That doesn’t mean much in this age of clever murder,” responded Keoni.

  John nodded and continued. “Obviously we’ll have to wait for the ME to tell us the cause of death, but we think he’d only been in the water a few hours. However, he’d departed from the home he was renting on Wai`alae Iki Ridge a day earlier. When we arrived at the house, we found no one on the premises, and no personal possessions. There was no food in the refrig or cupboards and no sign of habitation in the bedrooms or bathrooms. Just the shell of a high-end rental with basic furniture plus accessories, dishes, and cookware.”

  John paused to take a long sip of ale and eat a cracker piled with salmon and cheese.

  “We found some brochures and paperwork in a kitchen drawer, so we were able to track down the property broker. We learned that Luke had given an abrupt notice to vacate two days earlier. Evidently he had hired a cleaning company to put the place in pristine condition to minimize the ability of anyone to follow him. Everything was so highly polished, I doubt we would have found any forensic evidence.”

  “Sounds like Luke had been through the drill before,” observed Keoni.

  “Despite its condition, there were a few suspicious issues associated with the house. First, no one at the leasing agency had spoken to Luke personally. However, the correct lease number was cited in the nighttime call. But with executive lessees, it’s common for underlings to make such notifications. Second, the groundskeeping contractor received an equally impersonal announcement of termination of service. Again, since the contract number was provided, there was no reason for the company to question the call or keep a copy of the voice message. Third, the servants Samantha told us about are nowhere to be found. We’re checking airline manifests for the last couple of weeks, but who knows if we’ll come up with anything. We know that at least two of them are Mexican nationals, and you know how slow Mexico is to extradite anyone to the U.S. in a capital offense case.

  Keoni snorted and nodded knowingly.

  “We found Luke’s Merc Cabriolet parked on the road to the beach. His wallet and some miscellaneous papers were in the glove compartment, including a rental contract for a storage unit down on Wai`alae Avenue. When we checked that out, we found a ten by thirty-foot air conditioned space crammed floor to ceiling with antiques, high-end electronics, and the man’s custom attire hung in several wardrobe boxes. Oh, and on one side were three huge boxes with Samantha’s clothing crammed inside. He must have given her a pretty good allowance, because the designer labels I saw will justify the dry cleaning bill.”

  “Since she’s his legal wife, all the stuff we found in storage will pass to Samantha, since Hawai`i is a community property state.”

  “That’s good for her,” I said. “Even if she doesn’t want it all, she can probably sell everything for a nice amount of cash.”

  John nodded. “We interviewed the staff at the storage joint, and they said they’d seen a small van from the Kahala Home Services Company parked near the unit.”

  “Is that the same people who had Kahala Maids? Are they still in business?” questioned Keoni.

  “Yeah, but they’ve changed their name and logo. Instead of a couple of Hilo Hattie types, they’ve got a hot chick in a miniskirt with a feather duster and a guy in a tux with a martini glass on a silver tray. Anyway, the storage folks said the van went in and out from about nine in the morning to closing at six the day before someone dropped off the house keys at the property leasing company.

  “Oh, one other little detail. Once we got the car hauled in for analysis, we found a single item of interest—a recent CD by Carla Bruni.”

  “Isn’t she that model-turned-singer who married French President Nicolas Sarkozy at the Elysée Palace in Paris?” I asked.

  “That’s the one. I asked Samantha about Luke’s taste in music, and she said he didn’t speak French and didn’t listen to French music. When they entertained, he usually hired Hawaiian slack-key musicians. His own music library consisted of country western and classic rock and roll. His preferences were confirmed by the programmed FM radio stations in the car—KHCM for country and KDNN for Hawaiian music. That leaves us with the question of who put that CD in the van?

  “Samantha’s also been helping out with the names of Luke’s colleagues. Some she’s been able to confirm through her old day planners. So far we can’t find any trace of the men she’s named: no purchase or long-term leases for cars or property; no driver’s licenses or auto registration; no records of them with national hotel chains; and no appearance on airline manifests. It’s like they never existed.

  “However, I’ve talked with Interpol. They’ll be getting back to me about several things, including those illusive contacts. Before you ask, I’m not questioning Samantha’s honesty. She turned over her day planners with a lot of sticky notes on memorable dates and people. Much of what she recorded through the last few years has proven to be on target—just not o
n the guys I was hoping to pin down.

  “In spite of the gaps in evidence, several of the puzzle pieces point toward France. In addition to the CD in Luke’s car, and Samantha’s numerous trips to France, there’s also the diving watch you described, Natalie.”

  “Another French connection?” I said laughing.

  Reaching into his pocket, John presented a printout from a website for Swiss watches. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s a Blancpain SA. Each one is handcrafted by an individual watchmaker and only a few are made per year. The company’s a couple hundred years old, but after going bankrupt, it ended up in the hands of the Swatch Company. The mechanism is very unique and those little points you noticed are quite distinctive. Jacques Cousteau had one and U.S. Navy divers used them back when they weren’t quite so pricy.”

  “That’s it! This is exactly what I saw in my vision. I didn’t realize I was looking at something so specialized.”

  “I can’t guess how far we’re going to get with this lead, but I’ve got several agencies looking into it. You know, the first link to France was actually the technique used by Miriam’s murderer. You see, death by garroting is typical of the underworld in Marseilles—especially done with the piano wire and dowels you described.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of pieces coming together,” I said with a sigh.

  “I wish there were more. It would sure help if one of the airlines or a hotel could confirm the arrival or departure of a single guy dropping in from France on the right dates. Also, there’s no buzz about Luke, his business concerns, or Samantha anywhere on the street. I wondered if the perp’s clever enough to travel with his own alibi, so we’ve been looking into the possibility of a couple, but so far nada.”

  “Maybe he is travelling with a woman, who may be unaware of what he does for a living. But instead of coming to Hawai`i from France, perhaps they came in from the mainland and the link to France isn’t obvious,” suggested Keoni.

  “You may be right. Recognizing such a couple will be more difficult,” responded John. “Anyone with the skills to pull these crimes off so cleanly is most likely mature in age and experience. If he’s a European born after World War II, there’s a good chance he’s studied English. So he could be travelling on a fake ID that has no connection to France.”

  “Have you checked with the Līhu`e Airport? There are a lot of charter flights coming in there from Canada—since so many Canadians have condos or timeshares on Maui. You might want to run the pertinent manifests past Interpol to see if someone recognizes an alias,” offered Keoni.

  “Good idea. Despite the lack of evidence at either crime scene, we’re glad to have a few leads to follow. And with Luke dead, none of his buddies in sight, and no sign of a personal property dispute, I feel we made the right decision about Samantha. Even so, I’d like you to keep an eye on things around the neighborhood, Keoni.”

  “That’s a given.”

  Shortly after his departure, we got a call from Izzy, announcing Samantha was back. “If we’d had more time and Detective Dias wasn’t concerned about safety, I would have hung yellow ribbons on the palm trees! Not all family is related by blood, and though she may not have been with us for very long, she’s already part of our `ohana.”

  Izzy’s joy at having Samantha returned was clear. Hopefully this time it would be permanent. I laughed and agreed with her recognition that Miriam had accepted the Hawaiian tradition of extended family.

  The following afternoon, I looked across our backyard at Mokulua Hale and saw Samantha helping Joanne in the garden. The two of them were laughing during some well-deserved down time. A movement caught my eye at the edge of the scene and I glimpsed Miss Una frolicking with the leaves and petals that had fallen from a plumeria tree. I wondered if having all of Miriam’s Ladies reunited would mean my ferocious feline could stand down from nightly guard duty.

  Toward the end of the day, Samantha called my land line to announce The Ladies’ order of solar garden lights had arrived. After a quick call to Keoni, I confirmed a mid-morning date for all of us to trek over to Costco and pick up their lights and some garden furniture for us. When we returned from our joint shopping expedition, we separated to position our new acquisitions.

  Every once in a while, I heard laughter floating through the air as Samantha played with the branches of solar butterflies, hummingbirds and flowers that would turn The Ladies’ cottage into a land of make believe after dark. It was as though the woman had lost two decades and rediscovered her childhood. This must be the shared joy that Miriam experienced whenever she helped someone find renewed strength and peace in their lives.

  As sunset neared, Keoni completed stacking pavers at the back of the spa as I finished rearranging the lānai furniture. Pleased with our efforts, I glanced across our yard and toward what had been Miriam’s home. Looking out from the kitchen, I saw Samantha standing with a basket of lemons and oranges balanced on the lip of the open Dutch door. Despite the shade of the roof, a shaft of sunlight bathed her freely flowing hair. With the chiaroscuro play of light and dark, the scene was reminiscent of a classic painting by a Parisian street artist.

  After a day of playing house beautiful, Keoni and I decided all of Miriam’s Ladies deserved some R and R and invited them to join us for a relaxing time in the hot tub. As I laid out towels for everyone and lit some bug-repellant candles, I saw the wisdom of Keoni’s insisting that we purchase a spa that could accommodate eight comfortably.

  With faces glowing with the anticipation of a good time, Joanne, Izzy and Samantha came across the lawn in a line that made me think of the seven dwarfs. Keoni played the perfect host, greeting each of our guests with a glass of Asti Spumante, which we knew Izzy especially enjoyed.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” I said, gesturing toward the towels on Keoni’s new wall.

  “Gee, this is cozy back here,” noted Samantha.

  “Another of Keoni’s successes in beautifying Auntie Carrie’s home,” I said with pride. “How did your projects turn out?”

  “Perfectly,” said Joanne succinctly.

  “The lights are all so beautiful…the glass tulips, butterflies, and hummingbirds,” enthused Samantha. “I’m sure Miriam would have enjoyed them all.”

  “I’m sure she will enjoy them as they shine across the yard tonight,” added Izzy, pointing toward the clouds.

  Once I had a glass of bubbly and Keoni a glass of cinnamon tea, we toasted both of the cottages and settled into the warm water of the spa.

  “Each of you can adjust the jets behind your back for angle and intensity,” instructed Keoni. “I hope the water’s warm enough. With the heat of the sun, I didn’t want to set the heating element too high.

  “Mm, as Baby Bear would say, ‘It’s just right.’ But since I’m short, I think I will adjust the jet at my back,” said Izzy.

  “Hey, I lucked out, there’s a jet behind my ankle,” crowed Joanne.

  “That’s the inflow of warmed water,” explained Keoni.

  “It’s just so wonderful to be back at Mokulua Hale with all of you. This may not be where I grew up, but you’ve made me feel so welcome,” declared Samantha.

  “Remember, Mokulua Hale is your home for as long as you wish,” affirmed Joanne.

  It was plain to me that Miriam’s Ladies were as pleased to have Samantha back as families who’ve had a loved one come home from any absence. For Joanne and Izzy, the woman’s return signified their own nightmare was lessening.

  “So what have you decided to do, Samantha? We heard you were thinking of going back to school,” I queried.

  “I’m going to take some classes at Windward Community College. Joanne is going to help me review for the placement tests.”

  “I’m happy to help. It’s so wonderful that we live at a time when everyone can benefit from continuing their education,” affirmed Joanne.

  “Tell them wha
t you’re going to study,” prodded Izzy.

  “Since I already know Spanish quite well and have learned a bit of French, I’m thinking about getting a degree in European languages.”

  “That sounds wonderful. You never know when John Dias might have a need for those skills every once in a while,” Keoni observed.

  “I might even have a need for your assistance. You know that although I’m officially retired, I still take on writing and research projects. And today I accepted a new assignment for Windward O`ahu Journeys, writing a little piece on that new chef school,” I announced.

  “Congratulations,” said Keoni, lifting his glass toward me. “Is there any chance you might hang around long enough to pick up some ideas for putting all those pots and pans you’ve been un-boxing to good use?”

  Everyone laughed at the image of me executing even the simplest of menus.

  “I’ll have you know, I’ve been saving those pans for this very opportunity. I’m officially putting you on notice Izzy. I might learn to cook something you have yet to try.”

  “I’m really a very plain cook. Mainly a baker, you know.”

  “Whatever you want to call yourself doesn’t matter. Just call me when it’s time to eat!” said Samantha with a smile.

  “Now you two should share your news. Joanne has spoken to a rabbi and she and Izzy are planning several ways to celebrate Miriam’s life.”

  “Oh, please tell us what you’ve decided to do,” I said encouragingly.

  Joanne paused for a quick swallow of wine. “I spoke to the rabbi of a Reform Jewish synagogue about Jewish funeral customs. It seems that since Miriam did not practice the faith and had no children, we are not bound by Jewish traditions.

  “For example, although Jewish custom calls for burial of the body within twenty-four hours if possible, many religious as well as non-religious Jews like Miriam opt for cremation. That simplifies things. For instance, performing tahara, the ritual washing and purifying of a body, would only be done if she were being buried.”