Authors: Jeanne Matthews
Bet Your Bones (23 page)
The early Hawaiians didn’t count past forty thousand. They couldn’t comprehend anything bigger, more numerous, or longer. They called it kini, the ultimate number. The clock on the wall said 10:10, but it might as well have said forty thousand. Kini. Forever. That’s how long Dinah had been sitting in the police interrogation room in Hilo bashing her brains and trying to figure how Raif’s phone had ended up in her purse.
Langford tapped a Bic against a yellow legal pad. “Help us to understand. If you didn’t put it in your purse and you didn’t see anybody else put it in your purse, how do you suppose it got there?”
“As I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t know.” Dinah’s thoughts seethed with stories of people unjustly convicted—people who spent years in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. She was sitting in a hard plastic chair in a stark, windowless room that was as uncomfortable as they could make it without placing it in a dungeon and across the table from her was the implacable face of a man who sent people to the clinker for a living. The trapped air ponged of fear and suspicion and the B.O. of the last customer interrogated in this room.
“What say we buy you another cup of coffee and see if that stirs a memory.”
Fujita yawned and arched his back. “I’ll go make a fresh pot.” He left and Langford sorted through the items in her purse as if he were doing an inventory.
“Aren’t you supposed to have a warrant before you search someone’s personal property?”
“When a dead man’s phone rings inside a lady’s purse, that’s what we professional law enforcement people call probable cause. In which case, we don’t need a warrant.” He pulled her book of myths out of the purse. “This sure looks interesting. Myths and Legends.” He opened the book and read, or pretended to read, while Dinah worst-cased the course of her life from here on out. A grueling trial during which she could produce no alibi and no explanation for Raif’s phone; the sentencing—she’d probably get the death penalty due to the heinous nature of the murder; and years and years in jail while she waited for a date with the electric chair. Were prisoners on death row allowed to work in the prison laundry? As she contemplated her future, the prison laundry seemed like a bright spot.
Fujita returned with the coffee in one of those cone cups in a brown plastic holder. He set it down in front of her.
“We should have copies of this book lying around the station, Fujita.” Langford stabbed his finger at a passage in the book. “There’s a whole chapter on crime. You read about the pu’uhonuas, Ms. Pelerin?”
“Not yet.”
“They were places of refuge. In old Hawaii, anybody who broke the law, no matter how minor, would be put to death. The chiefs had no patience with lawbreakers. There was no such thing as an accident. The law was the law. But if the lawbreaker could get to a pu’uhonua, he’d be safe, absolved of his crimes. All he had to do was confess. We’re kind of like a pu’uhonua here, isn’t that right, Fujita?”
“Absolutely. And the way Mr. Reid’s family was looking at you, Ms. Pelerin, you’d be smart to trust us. Talk to us. A lot has changed since the old days. We believe in accidents. We know how situations can spin out of control when you least expect them to. Tell us how it broke between you and Raif. We can help you.”
Co-habiting with Detective Nick Isparta had taught Dinah many things she’d rather forget, but it had left her with a fair knowledge of how the police operate. They did not hand out absolution. They did not make idle chitchat with people they invited into the interrogation room or, as Nick called it, “the box.” And they most definitely could not be trusted. These cops hadn’t read her her rights or informed her that she was under arrest, but she was under no illusions. Everything she said could and would be used against her in a court of law.
Fujita sat down next to Langford and picked up her passport. “You must care a lot about your friend to fly all the way from Manila to be in her wedding. Were you out there for business or pleasure?”
“I was assisting an anthropological expedition. There was no salary, but my food and lodging were paid.” She tried to recall Nick’s checklist of “tells.” If the perp’s eyes move right, he’s remembering. If they move left, he’s concocting a story. Or was it the other way round? She focused on Fujita’s hands as they turned the pages of her passport and concentrated on not licking her lips.
“You do a lot of traveling. That must get pretty spendy.”
It wasn’t a question. Dinah didn’t comment. She took a sip of the coffee, which was lukewarm and evil tasting, and tried to project where Fujita was going with this.
“I’ll bet a lot of these countries you visit have a problem with illegal gambling. Weren’t you reading about some big uproar in the Philippines, Lieutenant Langford?”
Langford closed the book of myths and inclined his bulldog face across the table. “A big gambling syndicate paid bribes to some of the president’s cronies to cover up an illegal numbers game they call Jueteng. You know what Jueteng is, Ms. Pelerin?”
“No.”
“Long odds, no limits on minimum or maximum bets. Poor people love it. And so do the syndicates. They rake in millions every year.”
“Of course, they have to hire the right kind of intermediaries to pass the bribes to the politicians. The kind of people who can come and go without raising questions. People with American passports,” said Fujita. “When did you first meet Mr. George Knack?”
“Yesterday. Actually, I saw him in Honolulu, but we didn’t meet. What are you getting at? If you think I have anything whatsoever to do with any gambling syndicate, you’re a zillion miles off base.” She sounded spluttery and she realized that she was nervously winding a lock of her hair around and around her finger. Excessive grooming was another sign of guilt on Nick’s checklist. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap and sat up straighter. “Is George Knack involved with a Philippine gambling syndicate? Is Tess Wilhite?”
Fujita opened his notepad and leafed through the tabs. “Mrs. Reid says that you and her husband spent the night together in Honolulu after the attack on Ms. Kemper.”
“That’s not true. We sat together in the hospital waiting room for a couple of hours and then went our separate ways.”
Langford leered. “You have to admit Raif was an attractive young man. And from what we’re hearing, he spread his charms over a wide swath. Did you and he have a little something extracurricular going on?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Come on, Dinah,” purred Langford. “We’re not here to pass judgment. Love’s a many-splendored thing, right, Kimosabe?”
Fujita flashed his partner an offended look. Dinah remembered that his first name was Kimo and assumed he didn’t care for the sobriquet. But instead of shooting back at Langford, he transferred his displeasure to Dinah. “Maybe you decided you didn’t want to share the gentleman’s attentions with his wife and his other women friends. Maybe you borrowed Ms. Kemper’s gun and put a stop to his bed-hopping.”
“I could not care less about Raif’s sex life.”
“How about Ms. Kemper? Did she care? Was she one of his close friends?”
“What?”
“A lot of sex can break out before a wedding.” Langford’s face was ill-suited to a leer, but he kept on trying. “The thought of all that monogamy ahead. Some brides will jump at a last chance to be bad. Did that happen with your friend? Did she give Raif a tumble and then get worried that he’d snitch on her? She wouldn’t want to risk losing a rich husband like Xander Garst. Maybe you helped her dispose of her problem.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Langford twiddled with his Bic. “Claude Ann was probably the shooter. Hers are the only prints on the gun. Then maybe you helped her drag Reid’s body toward the skylight to confuse the time of death, and one of you had the bright idea to take his phone away with you and call Lyssa Reid to further confuse the time of death.”
“None of it’s true. I don’t know how that phone got in my purse. I’ve never seen it before.”
“There’s no use denying it,” said Langford. “Look, Ms. Pelerin, we’re just trying to work out the why and how. If you tell us that Claude Ann did the murder and just asked you to hang onto the phone for her, then you need to give us a statement and set matters to rights.”
“Obstruction of justice isn’t much of a crime,” offered Fujita. “You were only trying to help a friend. Heck, maybe she didn’t even tell you it was the dead man’s phone. Why don’t you write it all down for us and clear things up?”
They were all over the map. Throwing ideas against the wall to see what stuck or what got a rise out of her. All they had to go on was a gun that could have been swiped by any number of people and Raif’s BlackBerry, which the murderer had planted in her handbag. Which he, or she, would have purged of any incriminating evidence. The police hadn’t had time to find out what secrets the phone held. They weren’t ready to make an arrest. She said, “If Claude Ann had shot Raif, she wouldn’t have left the gun for you to find with her prints on it and if I were trying to hide his phone, I wouldn’t be toting it around, fully charged and turned on, inside my purse.” She looked directly at what was probably the one-way mirror where somebody was ogling her for signs of guilt. “And unless I’m under arrest, I’d like to leave now.”
Langford made a mouth of peeved impatience. “We’ll get back to you with an answer in a few minutes. Bring that phone, Kimosabe.” He pushed his chair back, tossed his Bic on the table, and bulled out of the room.
Fujita’s lips moved silently in what Dinah assumed was an unflattering retort. He ran a hand through his bleach-blond hair, picked up the bagged BlackBerry, and followed Langford.
The skin on the back of Dinah’s neck prickled. Maybe they were going to arrest her after all. She looked around at the blank walls and felt like a monkey in a cage. She twirled the same lock of hair around her finger, caught herself, and put her hands down on the table.
Fujita’s notepad lay right there in front of her. He wouldn’t have left it there on purpose, would he? Were they watching? She picked it up and thumbed through the alphabetical tabs. What did the police know that she didn’t? She glanced at the door, which would be bursting open any second and turned to the R. In a neat, almost calligraphic hand under the name Raiford Reid was a précis of the known facts.
Last seen alive 6/29 at 11:45 by D. Pelerin. Vic stated he was off to play poker in Pahoa. Est. time of death 12:30—3:30 near Kalapana. VA resident, no priors. Witness statements—see tabs. Connection to Varian killing? See V.
Hurriedly, Dinah flipped to V.
Patrick Varian—Punahou ’94 –’98—Raiford Reid.
Rented by wk., Bayside Apts., Hilo. Clothing, books, papers, PC. Computer forensics report pending.
The door bumped open and Dinah dropped the notepad.
Langford was talking over his shoulder as he shoved inside. “Take your gripe to Larson and see where it gets you, Kimosabe.” He gathered up the items he’d taken out of Dinah’s purse and piled them back in. “You’re free to go for now. We’ll be touch.” He glanced down at Fujita’s notepad and his beady eyes went beadier. He snatched it off the table and pitched it to Fujita. “Looks like you forgot something, Kimosabe.”
Fujita caught it and glared.
Dinah said, “It’s nearly midnight. Will someone please give me a ride back to Volcano?”
“There’s a pay phone downstairs,” growled Langford. “Call one of your friends to pick you up.”
“This way,” said Fujita. “I’ll show you.”
She followed him to the phone, thanked him tersely and, when he’d gone, she dialed Jon’s cottage.
“Leave me a message,” said his voice on the answering machine. “I la maika’i nou. Have a nice day.”
Claude Ann threw her arms around Dinah and hugged her tight. “I thought you’d never call.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Then your brain’s sprung a leak. You should’ve known we wouldn’t cut and run. We had a lawyer and a bail bondsman lined up and ready to go into action, didn’t we, Xan? Oh, honey, you look beat. You must be ready to keel over.”
Coming from the fetid smell and chill of the indoors into the warm, fragrant night air had a tonic effect on Dinah. “I’m okay. Just take me away from this place.”
Xander hooked arms with both women. “The car’s across the street. This way.”
Claude Ann pushed Dinah into the back seat and crawled in next to her. “It’s closer to drive down to the big house. You need a hard drink and a soft bed fast. I’m gonna stay with you tonight. Xander’s goin’ back to Volcano with the others.”
“Where’s Marywave?”
“With Phoebe. Phoebe’s a godsend. She’s always gotten on with Marywave, but lately she’s just knockin’ herself out bein’ sweet.”
Xander took his place alone in the front seat and played chauffeur.
Dinah looked out the window as they cruised along the deserted streets. The blackness of the bay and the ocean beyond drove home to her the blackness of her situation. Of Claude Ann’s situation. Of their situation. She had a sense of impending doom, or impending incarceration which seemed tantamount to doom, and she hadn’t the faintest glimmer what to do next. The prospect of Hank and Phoebe raising Marywave while Claude Ann wasted away in prison accentuated the blackness. “Your prints are on the gun, Claudy, and the killer planted Raif’s phone in my purse. He may have thought he was planting it in yours, but either way, he’s trying to make one of us the patsy.”
“But who? I can think of people who might’ve wished Raif dead, or at least out of their hair, and I’m one of ’em. Xan is, too, and maybe even Jon. Xan and I have talked about it. We know how bad things look. But who would want to frame you or me?”
Xander stopped at a traffic light and Dinah felt rather than saw him looking at her in the rear view mirror. She leaned her head back against the seat and feigned sleep. She wished that she could eliminate Xander from the list of people who might want to frame Claude Ann. Legally, they were only business partners at this point. Did he stand to benefit if she weren’t free to claim her share of the profits from the Uwahi deal? There was no way to ask with him listening, probably no way even without him listening. Claude Ann would brook no doubts about the man she loved.
The miles slid past. Dinah didn’t open her eyes and Claude Ann and Xander didn’t speak to each other until they reached Kapoho Beach and the guard had to lift the gate for them. Xander drove on to the house. Claude Ann jumped out of the car, gave Xander a quick kiss, and went ahead to unlock the house. Dinah yawned and opened the door.
“Dinah?”
She looked back.
Under the grainy overhead car light, Xander frowned in a way that reminded her of one of those morally conflicted, shady characters in film noir. “I said it before, I’ll say it again. I didn’t kill him. But you need to know that if Claude Ann or you or either of my children should be charged, I’ll confess to the crime. Do you believe me?”
“I want to, Xander. I’m trying.” She started to get out, but turned. “Did Jon attend Punahou school?”
“No. He had the grades, but he didn’t want to leave the Big Island. Do the police think someone from Punahou had something to do with Raif’s death?”
“It’s not clear. It’s a link to the other murder. The archaeologist.”
“Ask Steve. He graduated from Punahou.”
That morsel was hard to swallow. Steve and Varian and Raif were all in their early thirties. If they all went to Punahou Prep, wouldn’t they have been aware of each other? Why had Steve not mentioned this coincidence when he was riffing on the subject of coincidences? Still harder to swallow was Xander’s promise to confess to Raif’s murder if the police came after his nearest and dearest. Was he an innocent man prepared to forfeit his freedom and possibly his life to save the people he loved, or was he a guilty man beguiling them with a promise he didn’t intend to keep? She didn’t take overmuch comfort from hearing her name on the list of those he’d go to prison to protect. Taking the fall for one’s beloved might be romantic. Taking the fall for the beloved’s maid of honor was crackbrained. As he drove away, she imagined him congratulating himself with something noble like, it is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done.
She trailed Claude Ann down the driveway, across the deck, and into the house, ablaze with lights. Claude Ann was already pottering among the bottles and glasses at the bar.
“Make mine light,” said Dinah. “I woke up about forty thousand years ago with a hangover and nothing’s gone right since.”
Claude Ann thrust a tumbler of amber liquid into her hand. “When do you think that phone was sneaked into your bag?”
“I’ve been going over and over that question. The only time I remember it being out of my sight was at the Kilauea Lodge when we both left our bags on that banquette next to Paul Jarvis and Xander.”
“There were a lot of people millin’ around that night, Dinah.” Her defensive tone made it clear that Xander was off-limits as a suspect.
And then there was Marywave, presumably also off-limits. Dinah called to mind the triumphant look on the kid’s face as she dialed Raif’s number. Could her father have given her Raif’s phone and inveigled her to smuggle it into the purse? She wouldn’t conspire with him against her mother, would she? No. And even if Hank had killed Raif, he would have no reason to take his phone and no reason to call Lyssa at the spa. He wouldn’t even know she was there.
Dinah took a sip of her drink. “Jerusalem, Claudy. What’s in this?”
“Mostly bourbon.” She turned back to the bar, strained the juice from a jar of maraschino cherries into her drink, and plopped down in one of the club chairs.
Dinah set her glass on the coffee table and lay down on the black leather sofa. “Had Paul Jarvis ever met Raif? Could there be any reason on earth for him to want Raif out of the way?”
“They met socially once or twice. Lord knows what rude thing Raif might’ve said to him, but it wouldn’t have been enough to stir Paul to murder.”
“Was Jarvis ever in your hotel suite in Honolulu?”
“No. If the phone was put into your bag at Kilauea Lodge that night, turned on so it would ring, how long would it hold a charge?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it had one of those automatic power save features.”
“One thing bugs me,” said Claude Ann. “The murderer takes the phone to confuse the time of death or give himself a better alibi, whatever. But why keep it? Why didn’t he toss it after he made that call to the spa? Was his plan all along to land us in the soup?”
“Maybe he wanted to make sure Raif hadn’t stored any incriminating data on the phone. And when he saw that he hadn’t, he decided he could send the police off in the wrong direction by planting it on one of us.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t he need Raif’s password to find out what was on the phone?”
“Maybe he knew the password.” Dinah sat up. “I just remembered one other time when my purse was out of my sight. I left it in one of those locker baskets at Lyssa’s spa, which by the way is a front for illegal gambling.”
“Places like that always have extra keys,” said Claude Ann. “Do you think that George Knack guy is the murderer?”
Dinah was still trying to connect Varian’s murder to Raif’s murder and, apparently, so were Langford and Fujita. Varian and Raif had gone to the same school, along with Steve. Did all three of the former schoolmates like to gamble? Did that connect them? Knack had teased her with the information that a lawyer in Pahoa organized poker games. Suppose it were Steve. Suppose Varian had joined in one of Steve’s games after he arrived on the Big Island. Suppose he’d won more than he should off Steve and Steve killed him. Maybe Raif put two and two together and threatened to go to the police. Maybe he’d been blackmailing Steve, too. Steve would have needed to assure himself that Raif hadn’t recorded anything incriminating on his BlackBerry. He’d taken it away from the scene, checked it over, and later that night at the Kilauea Lodge, he could easily have dropped it in Dinah’s purse. She said, “I’m going to go to Pahoa in the morning and pay Mr. Knack another visit. If he confirms my suspicion, then I may have figured out who done it.”
Claude Ann’s eyes welled. “I’m afraid I know who done it.”
Dinah’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“Lyssa. She acted all lovey-dovey, but she knew Raif was cheatin’ on her. He made a big fat fool of her and she killed him and if she’s caught, her father’s gonna take the blame. Did he tell you?”
“Xander said he’d confess if you or either of his children were in danger of being charged.”
“I won’t let him do it, Dinah. He shouldn’t have to spend the rest his life stampin’ out license plates to make up for the sad fact that Lyssa lost her mama. When you go to that spa tomorrow, you find out if she was where she said she was, doin’ what she said she was doin’. Phoebe can’t vouch for her. If nobody else on the staff can, I’m gonna make her confess. I don’t know how, but I will if I have to beat it out of her.”
Dinah took a last sip of bourbon, closed her eyes, and laid back down. Claude Ann’s guess was as good as hers, maybe better. If Lyssa could buy Knack’s help to take care of the Tess problem, she could buy his help to provide her with an alibi. And here was the kicker: Lyssa could have picked her husband’s pocket and boosted his BlackBerry before he got off the plane in Hilo. In a place like Pahoa, how many cell towers were there? Could the cops pinpoint whether that call to the spa came from inside the city limits or ten miles south? Lyssa could have timed the phone call to give herself an alibi.
So many possibilities. So many secrets. Kini went by an eon ago. She felt a puff of air as Claude Ann spread a blanket over her. Her last thought was of Langford. She hoped the son-of-a-bitch didn’t sleep a wink.