Prospect for Murder (Natalie Seachrist Hawaiian Cozy Mystery 1)

by Burrows-Johnson, Jeanne; June, Yasamine;

  At last, the Sergeant concluded his presentation. “Nathan, from what was said earlier, I believe you’re the one person who hasn’t seen the grounds. Is there anything I haven’t covered…that you have questions about?”

  Nathan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I realize this is only an overview, but are you going to show us where the car was, the one that Ariel…landed on?”

  “Uh, no. I have some video of the property that I’m going to present next. But let me assure you there will be nothing…mmm…too graphic. Most of this recording was made after the first responders and crime scene techs had left.”

  Setting up for his next segment, I noticed Sergeant Nakamura look at both his boss and Keoni. No one spoke, but I had a feeling that was only because Nathan and I were present. I was not sure whether I wanted to be a fly on the wall after we left or not. Nathan now knew about my residency in the infamous apartment. However, I did not think he should face the scene so soon after the unfolding forensic story and was grateful that Keoni would be taking me back to the apartment. Whatever Keoni did after we parted was up to him…and maybe Lieutenant John Dias.

  Soon the Sergeant’s tour of the Makiki Sunset Apartments resumed—this time in living color. His video opened at the front of the complex. It focused on the mail boxes and parking spaces for disabled persons, as well as delivery and moving companies. The videographer then drew his audience into the courtyard, up the stairs of Building B (on the right), and along the walkway to the front of apartment B406. After a brief tour of the apartment, scenes shot from the lānai were shown, but fortunately that segment had been edited so that little was shown of the parking space onto which Ariel had fallen.

  Finally, the audience was taken on a tour of the perimeter of the property. We began by moving to the left, around the corner of Building A, to view its assigned parking spaces and a couple of trees at the back. Next we moved around the right corner of Building B to the parking assigned to its tenants. The space where Al Cooper’s Mustang had been parked was the fourth from the corner of the building.

  Clearly, part of the video had been shot before the HazMat people arrived, so we had to look at the blacktop darkened with any number of substances…many of which I simply did not want to think about, let alone identify. This was where Ariel had breathed her last breath. I was glad the scene was brief.

  Ken`ichi Nakamura cleared his throat, while clicking off the image of the site where Ariel had died. “I think this provides you with sufficient information for now,” he said.

  John Dias then took up the mantle of dealing with the bereaved family of the deceased. With a polite “thank you” to his sergeant, he again opened the floor for discussion.

  Nathan roused himself to ask quietly, “So, she fell from…the balcony of the apartment she was planning to rent?”

  “Well, um…with her hitting the car twice, the angle of her fall is not clear, and there is no physical evidence above to indicate the exact point of her drop.”

  “I, I think that she actually fell from the refreshment alcove next to the apartment.” There. It was said. I did not know how I was going to explain why I thought so, but I was hoping the detectives would not press me for proof.

  “That’s an interesting idea, Natalie. Is there something specific that leads you to think that’s what happened?” questioned the Lieutenant.

  “Mmm…,” I began.

  “She’s right about the possibility of the girl falling from the refreshment alcove, John,” offered Sergeant Nakamura. “Initially we didn’t pay much attention to the idea. But when we didn’t find any obvious evidence on the lanai, we did look at the alcove briefly. We’ve been waiting for the findings of the autopsy and the forensic examination of the Mustang before pursuing a couple of theories we’ve been considering.”

  John resumed the lead. “That brings us back to the car—and the single earring. As you were coming in, Ken`ichi, we were discussing the fact that Ariel was found wearing a single earring, and the fact that she should have been wearing a second one. Of course, it’s possible it was lost in the impact with the car. Clearly we have to give that car another going over.

  “Also, the owner of that Mustang…the handyman Al Cooper…has made some…extreme remarks about the deceased. I want you to get started on a background check as soon as we’re through here. Also, Keoni will be contacting us after he calls a couple of his buddies who may be involved in the car club that was exhibiting at Ala Moana Center that night.”

  Turning to me, he pushed his inquiries. “So Natalie, while you’ve been at the apartment, have you learned anything else that can help us in our investigation?”

  I looked at Keoni, who again patted my shoulder. “Well, most of all, I’ve been getting to know Pearl Wong, the manager. I expressed an interest in the history of the apartments and during teatime she started sharing her family’s story—beginning in Shànghăi in the 1920s.”

  “Now that’s really beginning at the beginning,” chortled the Lieutenant.

  “I’m seeing her again tonight, for cocktails. I plan on steering the conversation to the present to learn more about life at the apartment complex. But having specialized in oral history in school—and doing more than a few celebrity interviews—I know I can’t grill her with direct questions,” I volunteered.

  “Well, it’ll be interesting to hear what you learn tonight. What about the place in general, what have you discovered so far?” asked John.

  All eyes in the room turned on me.

  “Pearl Wong and her sister, Jade Bishop, each own one of the two buildings. Jade owns the one I’m in. She’s had a stroke and now lives in a nearby assisted-living condo. Her son, or maybe he’s her stepson, Richard Bishop, lives on the property. He’s belligerent and creepy. But aside from staring at me a couple of times, the only thing objectionable about him is his constant battling with Al Cooper.

  “So far I haven’t met many of the tenants personally. There’s Ashley Lowell, a young Navy wife, and her little boy Cory. Mrs. Espinoza, an older Portuguese woman, has lived at the apartments for many years. Both of these women seem to do their errands in the morning and by afternoon they’re back in their apartments, probably for nap time.”

  I paused to take a sip of water. “Beyond that, the tenants are largely UH students and young soldiers and sailors—pretty much around Ariel’s age. Several of the military guys are semi-permanently absent; they just rent a budget apartment to stow their gear while they’re overseas. There’s no swimming pool to hang around and the various groups don’t seem to interact much, except in games of volley ball. When outside, they’re usually coming or going from their cars, getting the mail, or barbecuing. Keoni can tell you about what he saw when we toured the grounds.”

  “Thanks for that thorough report, Natalie! I can see that working in journalism trained you well for on-site research,” responded John. “Without witnesses, unexplained trauma to Ariel’s body, or forensic evidence at the scene, we were at a standstill. So I know your input will prove invaluable.

  “Make sure you keep in close touch with Keoni, who, I know will be sharing his perspective with us. It’s okay for you to continue observing daily life at the apartments and conversing with Pearl Wong. But don’t, I repeat, don’t do any further investigating on your own.

  “I’ll personally review the preliminary CSI reports. Kenichi, I’d like you to have the car’s exterior and interior re-processed as soon as you leave here. Evidentiary wise, the sites we examined at the complex were clean, with no scuff marks indicating a struggle. However, depending on our review of everything, we may need to go back for a second CSI round.”

  After we said goodbye to Sergeant Nakamura, Nathan reached into his pocket. “I didn’t know what might be useful, but here are some of Ariel’s recent records.” He reached forward with an envelope. “There are a few bank statements, a print out of outbound and incomin
g emails, her schedule from last month through next month, and a copy of the bill for her smart phone account, which just arrived. I didn’t have a chance to go through it, but you’ll be able to see her… last calls, John.”

  John and Keoni looked at each other. John then turned to Nathan. “Did she usually have her phone with her? There was so little in her fanny pack. We thought that she was either planning to hop the bus back to campus to pick up the rest of any other belongings she’d have had with her on a normal day…or…she didn’t want contact with anyone.”

  Although he did not say it aloud, I knew there had been speculation that Ariel might have jumped on purpose. Surely he must realize how stupid that idea was. Especially on the first bright day of summer, with her life was in perfect order. How could it make sense for a young girl to have gone to look at an apartment that was to bring her independence as an adult and instead of leasing the apartment, she chose to kill herself? It was probably a good thing that no one in the room had dared to put this suggestion on the table for open discussion.

  Calming myself, I answered as though unaware of the unspoken current in the room. “You’re right. There’s no phone. I can assure you she was never without her phone.”

  I could not deal with the tension any longer. There was no way I could avoid revealing my visions. I looked at Keoni, who gave me a small nod. With little preamble, I began. In total silence and with few changes in facial expression, Nathan and the Lieutenant listened to my descriptions of the three visions I had had regarding Ariel. Especially the detailed one I had experienced as Ariel. After I finished, John Dias looked at Keoni for a long moment.

  Nathan eventually commented. With sardonic humor he said, “You can’t imagine how much fun it was as kids to be on the playground when she’d conk out during one of her trips to the other side.”

  “Well,” said the lieutenant, turning to me, “Now I understand your decision to move to that apartment.” Beginning anew, he turned to Nathan. “Did you and Ariel talk about what she had scheduled that day? Did you see anything unusual on her calendar?”

  “I knew she was going to look at an apartment. When I looked over her calendar in preparation for today, everything looked normal. On the printout I brought, you’ll see that aside from her classes, she’d circled “3 pm” and wrote “APT” and “TJ” in capped letters. At the time, I thought “TJ” was an abbreviation for the apartment or maybe a realtor.”

  “Given the name of the apartments and their manager, it’s unlikely that the letters “TJ” have anything to do with either. From Natalie’s vision, they appear to belong to someone who was going to become her roommate. We’ll check her phone bill and track the numbers listed. Did she use a computer contact data base…did she have a separate hardcopy address book?”

  “She and Brianna are strictly electronic. Once I asked Ariel what she’d do if she lost all the information stored on her computer. She said that wouldn’t be a problem, that she and her twin provided backup storage for each other.”

  Looking up from the papers he had been sorting, John Dias said, “That makes two items that are missing from her belongings. I don’t think our CSI team would have overlooked a cell phone. Ariel’s phone bill will provide her carrier and number, but thank you for bringing it. It’ll give us a jump start. Maybe you could describe the phone—color, manufacturer, style, features….” He then opened his notepad to a new page and passed it to Nathan.

  “Of course,” answered Nathan, quickly jotting down the requested information.

  “Well, I think that’s all we can cover today. We’ll be reporting back to you once we’ve been able to process these latest leads,” John concluded.

  We all shook hands before exiting the room and Keoni again served as doorman when we left the building. After shaking hands with Keoni, Nathan hugged me closely and cautioned me again about keeping safe. Keoni then took me by the elbow gently and escorted me to his truck. Opening the door, he helped me into the cab and folded the edge of my dress inside.

  After getting into the truck, he glanced at me before turning his full attention to backing out of the parking space and moving onto the roadway. We did not speak on the return trip until he pulled into the apartment’s parking lot. He smoothly put the gear shift in park and turned toward me fully.

  Staring into my eyes, he quietly said, “I think it’s good that you brought up your visions. It put all of your observations in perspective for JD, and like I said, the police have dealt with gifts like yours before. You haven’t had another vision have you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to come up for a while?”

  Shaking my head, I patted his hand. “I think I need to be alone for a while.” I stepped down out of the truck with a sigh and turned toward the apartment I was beginning to loathe.

  CHAPTER 16

  …he who never made a mistake never made a discovery.

  Samuel Smiles [1812-1904]

  When I walked into the Makiki apartment, I felt physically and emotionally drained. Simultaneously, I was mentally stimulated by having examined the facts surrounding my grandniece’s death with medical and law enforcement professionals. They had confirmed my suspicions, although they had not answered all of my questions, or those of my twin Nathan.

  I was grateful for having had Keoni’s presence throughout the stressful ordeal. His experience as a former homicide detective, combined with his concern for my brother and me, made his silent support invaluable. That had been especially true when I was confessing my recent activities—and visions. I was glad none of the men had ridiculed me or discounted my input. In fact, they seemed to recognize that by surreptitiously renting the apartment, I was positioned to observe daily routines at the complex. Therefore, I was determined to be thorough in reporting anything I might learn in the future.

  The day had been a fine example of optimal information gathering. While neither Nathan nor I had been grilled by the officials with whom we met, their carefully drawn questions had encouraged our fullest participation in the investigative process. In addition, since Nathan and I had substantiated our whereabouts at the time of Ariel’s death, there was no question of our having been involved. More importantly, with Keoni to verify our authenticity, I hoped we had proven our value as sources of background information that would help the authorities.

  Tonight would be my second opportunity to meet Pearl Wong in my role as a new tenant for whom she felt an affinity. Despite my sense of urgency, in the long run it hardly mattered whether I could direct our conversation to issues relevant to the here and now. The key to unlocking anything she might (consciously or unconsciously) know about Ariel’s death lay in developing a good relationship. That meant expressing interest in whatever Pearl had to say.

  In truth, I had enjoyed the story of her family’s roots in China, even if it did not seem relevant to learning how my grandniece had died. But if the answer to the riddle of her death lay with the family that owned the apartment complex, it was not a waste of time to learn how they had ended up here…or the nature of their complex relationships.

  After reviewing the issues I wanted to explore that evening, I was pumped intellectually and poised to ask Pearl several questions. Unfortunately, as a journalist who sometimes conducted oral history interviews, I was again reminded of the discrepancy between my need for succinct answers and the methodology by which I would gain the most information from my interviewee. This was especially true since Pearl did not know she was being interviewed—much less by someone related to the death that had just occurred on her property.

  Having completed my preparation for my evening of congenial research, I answered the gourmand demands of a yowling Miss Una. Next I assembled a plate of leftover salad, focaccia bread, and papaya-orange juice from the refrigerator for my own late lunch. While nibbling my solitary meal, I thought about my dinner with Keoni. I found it hard to believe it had been
less than twenty-four hours since we were prowling around the grounds of the apartment and sharing an intimate evening of mixed metaphors and tentative feelings. Not only were his skills as a detective proving vital to my current inquiries, but our acquaintanceship of several years was moving toward something far more personal.

  While today’s meetings had been satisfying on some levels, several issues remained to be resolved. At the forefront of my mind was the statement that Ariel’s case was still classified as an “unattended death,” sometimes used as police-speak for suicide. But regardless of the category of her death, my grandniece’s second earring remained missing. This seemed like a vital clue to me. She never would have left home with only one earring. And, unlike me, she had not needed to remove an earring to make a phone call—which is the only reason I can see for having pierced ears.

  Where could that earring be? And, in addition to the earring, where was her smart phone? It was good that Lieutenant Dias was ordering a second examination of the Mustang on which Ariel had fallen. However, I doubted that the techs had been remiss in investigating a straight-forward scene like a single vehicle parked at a small apartment complex. That meant someone or something was responsible for the disappearance of at least two of Ariel’s possessions.

  The two missing items brought me to the primary question: If someone had purposefully removed them from the scene, was that person involved in her deadly fall onto handyman Al’s car? If that was the case, what was their motivation? Perhaps the lack of obvious marks of “pre-mortem trauma” meant that a weapon had not been involved—other than my growing suspicion that a pair of hands had been set in action by a malevolent mindset. And while first degree murder may not be the right label for the crime that resulted in my grandniece’s death, dead is dead. I had come here to learn the truth of the circumstances surrounding her death and that was what I was going to do.