In the back near a service entry, one of the tables was laden with food, beverages and settings of china, silver and crystal. Facing us from the far side, sat a diminutive elderly man with an impeccable goatee. As we neared him, I saw a boutonniere of Lily of the Valley in the lapel of his grey pinstriped suit. Leaning against the table beside him was a cane topped by a griffin carved in gold. Before him were a tea service as well as a crystal decanter and stemware. Taken as a whole, the vignette looked drawn from a spectacular spy or gangster film set in the 1970s.
“Ah, Monsieurs, Mesdames, et Mademoiselle, please be seated. I may now call you Mademoiselle, I believe, Samantha? Do come and join me.
As Keoni seated Joanne and Izzy, Samantha stared across the table at the man who played host.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said, as Keoni moved to seat her.
“You are correct, my dear Samantha. While we did not meet formally, I was just departing when you arrived for dinner with Quinton Duval, an associate of mine in Paris. It was the night after you had delivered my goddaughter to her school in Switzerland.”
“You’re Naomi’s godfather?”
“Yes, indeed. Before we continue, I wish to thank you, former detective Hewitt, for watching over Miriam’s Ladies, as you rightly call them.
“And now, it is time for some refreshment. Please help yourselves from our simple menu: Champagne grapes; sliced Fuji apples; warmed brie cheese; mini baguettes; and petits fours glacé with liliko`i fruit syrup. And allow me to pour from a selection of beverages. There is your mellow Kona coffee, Darjeeling tea, and my personal choice, Armagnac from the Gascony region of France.”
Keoni gave a small nod for me to make a selection for both of us and then, as usual, remained a silent observer. The other women chose to drink tea with clotted cream in fine china. I selected to partake of the Armagnac in goblets of a unique crystal pattern. While pouring our drinks, Monsieur again gestured for us to help ourselves to the delicious looking food. China, silverware, and glassware clinked as we began eating and chatting about other significant teas we had attended. Gradually, the pauses in conversation lengthened as we readied ourselves to learn the reason for this meeting.
As Samantha completed stirring sugar into a second cup of tea, she looked up at the man she must have realized was an important element in the landscape of Luke Turner’s European operations. When her curiosity finally overcame her timidity, she cleared her throat and asked, “When did you learn I’d married Luke?”
“Oh, my dear, I have followed most every aspect of Luke’s life, since long before you appeared in his inner circle. You see, not only was Naomi my godchild, but her mother and father were as well.
“But isn’t Naomi Luke’s daughter?”
“No. Luke was not her father. My nephew was. Unfortunately he died in a less-than-ideal business transaction, after which Luke Turner burrowed his way into the heart of my family. After he married Renée, we had to accept her decision to join him in your beautiful Hawai`i. As you can imagine, we were delighted when Naomi was sent to school in Switzerland. And, after her mother died, we were pleased that Naomi decided to remain with our family in France.
“There were many reasons why I initially watched you from a distance. As you may imagine, our family’s business concerns are very complex. Each person who enters into the picture must be, shall we say, evaluated for their appropriateness. While we live in an age of 24/7 connectivity, certain events and personages must be considered within the framework of a longer view.”
Throughout this soliloquy, Joanne and Izzy quietly sipped tea and nibbled cake. This did not prevent them from watching Samantha as closely as they did our host, who remained unidentified. And although Keoni had barely touched his drink, I had no qualms about accepting a second glass of the king of French brandies.
Continuing his story, the small man said, “Sadly, several items under review were incomplete at the time we became aware of Luke’s intention to marry you. In fact, the nuptials had already been performed and you were his wife. It was only after your wedding that we finally had confirmation that Renée’s death was not an accident. With the many intricacies our family faced, it was decided that we would remain in the background and watch what unfolded from a distance. But, once the death of Miriam Didión fully demonstrated the maniacal machinations of Luke Turner, several of my associates felt the time had come to halt his unseemly mayhem before anyone else we cared about was harmed.”
At this point, movement stopped and all eyes were riveted on the smoothly-spoken man. While I was fascinated to hear his story completed, I could not wait to hear John Dias explain how this obvious scion of the Marseilles underworld had been allow to enter the United States.
“Ah, now I have the full attention of everyone. How, you may be wondering, does all of this connect with your beloved Miriam? To explain these complexities, I shall have to move our story to an earlier time. As you know, Miriam and her parents escaped across multiple borders to find safety in Sweden during the Second World War. Clearly the impact of her rescue from the Nazis never left her. While she did not have to endure the atrocities faced by others, the fear of knocks on the door at night, and whispered conversations by fear-filled loved ones remained in her memories—and, I believe, also in her nervous system. I never entered a room without announcing myself, and tried never to whisper to others in her presence.
“Like most of the world, I am sure you know her for the research positions she held in her youth, and later, from the articulate speeches and first-person stories she wrote to accompany the photo journalism of her dear Henri. But I knew her, and Henri, from the time before anyone in the public knew of their work. Henri was older than Miriam. By ten years. While she was a toddler in the latter days of the war, Henri was a young teen, helping the underground in France. Beyond that, the details of how we knew one another in our youth are not relevant to this conversation.
“When Henri and I met years later, I was charmed by his lovely bride and impressed with the skill and artistry with which the duo combined their talents to present gruesome scenes in a way that stirred a world-wide audience to action. The years passed, and sometimes we met in ways not unlike those of our youth. You see, while Miriam and Henri were working publically against human trafficking, sometimes they were using the same methods to move women, children, and others across borders with the same networks as the white slavers against whom they were battling.”
The room had been quiet before this pronouncement. It now radiated the heavy silence of a courtroom in which a verdict in a capital case was about to be announced.
“The difference, of course, was that Miriam and Henri were putting all their resources and even their lives on the line to help such people escape from absolute hells on earth. From their years in this work, it is possible to picture someone emerging from the shadows to punish anyone who interfered with criminal profit-making or a twisted honor killing.
“My friends may have seemed high-minded about the causes they served. However, when it came to ensuring that the helpless escaped from horrific circumstances, there was nothing Miriam and Henri would not do. That meant that they would deal with anyone they had to in order to accomplish their goals.
“Many of the networks they tapped into had been utilized during World War II. The reawakening of these cells and organizations for aiding persons in need was not difficult for those who knew how to inspire passion. Some of these people had been members of La Résistance Française, what you call the French Resistance. You may know of their work to render collaborators of the Germans ineffective and their brave acts of sabotage. They also helped Jews, Gypsies, and Allied soldiers elude the Nazis.
“Unfortunately, by the late Forties, altruism had given way to profiteering for some French patriots—many of whom were simply returning to the lives they had led before the war.”
“Are you speaking of the Unione Cor
se?” asked Keoni, finally breaking his silence.
Showing considerable emotion, Monsieur responded heatedly, “Now you are crossing into a dialogue we shall not have. There are, and have always been, many individuals and organizations who involve themselves in the moving of goods and persons for the benefit of themselves. In such matters, there is a code of ethics you may not understand or appreciate. It is not my purpose today to explore the underworld of my city, or my country.
“It is enough to say that Miriam and Henri knew who could help them accomplish any task at hand. And, with their focused view, they ignored activities irrelevant to their own endeavors. With this background, let me turn to more recent events. As you may have surmised, Luke was associated with manipulations of people, as well as the moving of all manner of portable objects and substances. His bywords were, ‘whatever the client wants, the client gets.’ As I eventually learned, these words also expressed what he demanded of those who served him.
“The complicated dissolution of Luke and Renée’s estate in Playa de Carmen masked many details of her death. It took considerable time for my associates to uncover the fact that my dear goddaughter had been ‘assisted’ in the fall that caused her death. Then, at almost the exact moment that truth was presented to me, I learned what had happened to Miriam.”
After a prolonged pause and glance at Keoni, Monsieur continued. “The reason I am able to sit here with you for this little tête-à-tête, is that despite my intentions, I had nothing to do with the events of these last weeks. As you know, the man with whom Luke contracted to remove you from this planet, Samantha, became incapacitated in the marshes of your beautiful island. Prior to that incident, the man had already dispatched your husband. Whatever reason he may have had for so doing has not been uncovered by the authorities, and I doubt that anything I might do would reveal his reasoning. At least there is one less case in which your authorities need to invest further time, effort or funds.
“As much as I wish I could turn the clock back, there is nothing we can do but look forward. When we examine the work that Miriam and her friends accomplished, the effects are innumerable. Although the number of people they were able to help may be small, the impact has been great—and not merely for those individuals and their families. Every life is precious, and each person who is saved may one day help someone else in need. This is the ‘pay it forward concept,’ I believe. Was there not a popular American film that reflected what Miriam and countless others have done, and will continue to do in their own ways?”
We looked at each other and again nodded in reply.
“I must repeat that there is no way to measure the eventual fruits of Miriam’s labors. As you know, when Miriam spoke of her “Ladies,” she was like a gardener speaking poetry to her flowers—each blossom so different, yet blending together in a profusion of beauty. I would like to think that when you hear a story in the media of a woman or girl in dire straits who has suddenly disappeared in the dark of a moonless night, you can smile and wonder if this is the blooming of another seed planted by Miriam and Henri.”
“And what about you?” I could not help asking.
“Me? Oh, no. Do not confuse me with the noble ones. Rather, my family and I have been in positions to help repay kindnesses shown us in our own times of challenge.”
At the pronouncement of those words, the service door swayed open slightly.
“Before I leave you, let me share one of Miriam’s last communications with me. We had both been alone for several years since the passing of our spouses. She had come to Paris to join me in attending a fundraising event in Paris featuring a great diva retiring from the opera. I shall not recount the tale of how we had all become acquainted. I will say that the woman had used her talent and resources to help Miriam over the decades of their acquaintanceship. As a final homage to our mutual friend’s work, the diva was donating her country home as a refuge for women and children gathering strength to begin their lives anew.
“It was an event that had been fulfilling in many ways. As we left the concert hall, the evening’s vibrant music echoed through our minds, while the taste of fine wine and food lingered on our palettes. We were waiting for our limousines when Miriam leaned in to me and whispered something I have tried to live by since. She suggested that I should remember the words of Henry David Thoreau who advised that, ‘We must live in the present, launch ourselves on every wave, and find our eternity in each moment.’”
His words lingered in the air for a moment. Then, after looking down at his watch, Monsieur rose, leaning heavily on his cane. Stepping back from his chair, he bid us adieu and safe passage in our lives and slowly walked out of the room.
As we departed, I looked up at a sign appropriately naming the space we had just left as the Lanikai Room.
Lanikai. That was where the denouement of Miriam’s life had begun and ended. What we had learned from our French connection had only added to our awareness of the stature of Miriam Didión—and to the sorrow we felt at her loss. The little girl of my vision had traversed a long and complex journey to become the gracious woman of world renown who openly welcomed me into her community. I may not have needed her help, but she had touched the core of my being. I knew that I would consider the light of her life in steering my way through many of the future choices I would face.
EPILOGUE
…Dance like a wave of the sea.
William Butler Yeats [1865-1939]
Two days later I dropped Izzy and Joanne off at the airport. Theirs was a heavily laden trip for many reasons. Urns containing the ashes of both Henri and Miriam accompanied them under provisions governing the shipping of human remains. As they were going on a Mediterranean cruise after visiting the Didión Center in southern France, they were taking two large suitcases apiece. In the cargo bay, there were also three cartons of Miriam’s journals that I had packed for donation to the Center’s library.
The airport was busy that morning and it took several passes before I could find space at the curb to let The Ladies off. As we drove around, I looked at arriving passengers streaming out of the terminal with leis around their necks and thought of the first time I landed at the old Honolulu Airport. Nathan and I were young children that chilly winter in San Diego. When we arrived in Hawai`i, what impressed me the most was the beauty of the ocean as our plane came in low over Pearl Harbor. As we walked from the plane to the old terminal building, the warmth of the moist air bathed my face. As we approached the fence where people stood waiting to greet those who had deplaned, I was struck by the heady fragrance of many kinds of fresh leis. Once within the gate, we were welcomed by our Auntie Carrie who had held a block party for her neighbors to help make the extensive number of plumeria leis with which she greeted us.
Scent and color can be so evocative of distant times and places. That must have been why Miriam loved her lavender bushes so much. Every time she looked at the depth of their color, she must have remembered the lilacs of Henri’s family home. In addition to the thrill of meeting his parents, it must have been a heavenly break from the smog-filled air of post-war London. I could imagine the young woman delighting in the plentiful food and wine of the rich French countryside.
Once The Ladies were on their way, I contemplated what I would do. With Keoni meeting a client for a working breakfast, I was in no rush to return home. Departing from the airport, I was filled with such a sense of contentment that I wanted to do something special. For the first time on my own, I drove up to the Pali Lookout above the Nu’uanu Pali tunnels leading to and from the windward side of the island.
It was still early morning and the tourist buses hadn’t arrived, so I had the viewing space almost to myself. The only people present were a young family of four sporting matching baseball caps featuring the insignia of the Hawai`i National Guard and a very senior couple who chatted about their first visit to the Islands thirty years earlier. Standing at the lava rock wall,
I looked out on a panorama framed by cumulus clouds floating across the sky. Vast expanses of green flowed from the volcanic Ko`olau Mountains down to the sea. It is amazing how much beauty life can bring us, in the midst of great joy as well as sorrow-filled times.
I closed my eyes for a moment and turned my mind to that inner space I sometimes visit at will.
* * * * *
I look downward through a dull sky at a dark gray sea. Dawn is approaching as the waves lap against a wooden hull. I see a small hand reach out, as though to touch the green foam dancing across the top of the icy water. The scene then freezes and dims.
Warm air envelops me with a hint of rain to come. A new vista emerges in a color palette that brightens from shades of mauve to full color. I look up at fluffy clouds floating through a sky that shimmers beneath a full moon. In front of me, a youthful Miriam Didión leans against a gazebo of white wrought iron. The lattice work is covered in lilacs reminiscent of the jasmine vines climbing up the side of Mokulua Hale. She wears a vintage ecru lace dress that looks as though it had been taken from a trunk at the top of the attic of the gracious French manor house. She is focused on swans swimming on a placid lake a few yards in front of her.
A door at the back of the home opens. I hear strains of Richard Rogers’ Some Enchanted Evening floating from what appears to be a conservatory. A man comes out onto the verandah with two glasses of red wine. It is Henri Didión dressed in a longish ivory dinner jacket from the late 1950s. He walks down a broad flight of stone stairs and crosses to the gazebo. I hear no dialogue, but as he nears Miriam, she turns with a smile and accepts the glass he offers. I stand below them on a sloping well-manicured lawn. He slips his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. The couple sips their wine for a while and then sets their glasses on the bannister beside them.
Murder on Mokulua Drive Page 28
