Murders of Conveyance, page 13
The shock I felt must have registered on my face.
“The pressure of his search for our family’s treasure aggravated the mental condition that was already impacted by the drugs he took. This is what brought him to the action resulting in Ariel’s death. My dear, I am so sorry for the role our family’s deceit played in that sweet girl’s death.”
“Oh, Pearl,” I said, hastening to put my arms around her fragile shoulders. “What a burden you have carried. I thank you for revealing this secret of your lives. But Nathan and I know there was nothing you, or your sister, could have done to prevent her death.”
“Jade and I debated telling you the full truth. I made the decision to wait until her passing, since, as you have said, there was nothing any of us could do to change what had happened.”
“Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”
“Shall we rest for a moment?”
“Yes, of course.”
We sat back in our chairs, and for a few moments, Pearl held the prayer beads in her hand and intoned some Chinese words softly. I remained still but watched her from the side. After a few moments, she looked over at me, smiled faintly and sighed.
“Thank you, Natalie. You are the only person with whom I could share this moment.”
Pearl then brought out two silver goblets and a small split of Champagne. We sat for a short while, sipping our effervescent wine and inhaling the heady fragrance of incense while looking through the flickering candlelight at the statues on the altar.
* * * * *
After Pearl dropped me off at my car, I thanked her again for including me in the celebration of Jade’s life—and for her personal revelations. As I headed home, I thought about what I had learned. At one level of consciousness, I felt a profound sense of closure regarding Ariel. Prior to Pearl’s disclosures, it had seemed that my grandniece’s death was without reason. Although I had never blamed Pearl or her sister for what happened, I had felt confused as much as angry about her demise. At least now I could understand the depth of the killer’s obsession with rumors of hidden treasure.
My time in the Wong family tomb had also allowed me to feel I had shared in the sisters’ lives on a deep level. While they may have benefited from the wealth of their parents’ success in business, their lives in a new country paralleled the experiences of most immigrants. Unlike many other immigrant children, in addition to learning a new language and living in a society with unfamiliar customs, they grew up without the love and guidance of their parents. After completing their education, the one person who had been there throughout their youth was suddenly removed, and like their father, never heard from again.
At least they had received legal and financial direction from their family lawyer. And although Jade’s eventual marriage to the man who had protected the sisters’ nest egg may not have overflowed with love, they seemed to have enjoyed a comfortable companionship. While I might never know the full extent of what Jade’s husband, Richard Bishop Senior had done for them, obviously the women had not just survived. They had thrived.
CHAPTER 10
It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle [1859 - 1930]
Once behind the wheel, I phoned Keoni and told him I had accomplished my mission and had some new information on Pearl and her family. After learning he was just beginning his trip home from the North Shore, I realized he would require a substantial dinner. And although I had enjoyed the barbecue, I would not last through the night without another caloric influx. After stopping in Kailua for Niçoise salad and pasta primavera, I considered the challenge met.
At home, I checked my messages and I called John Dias to inform him Pearl had received the copy of the Tao Te Ching I had won in the scavenger hunt and the text of false clue number six. I speculated she would have a solution to the clue’s riddle within a couple of days. John responded positively and announced he had just received the initial autopsy report on Professor Zhāng and was hoping we could get together the next day.
“Sorry that I’ll be breaking in on your Sunday. But I’ll be in Lanikai for a round of golf at Mid-Pac Country Club and would like to have both of you look at the report.”
“No problem John. Keoni is handling a round of emergencies with clients today. I’m free until next week, when I’m scheduled to interview the chef of a culinary school.”
“Great. My tee time is at eight, and with three of us in the party, I should be through by eleven.”
“That sounds good. We might even get in some exercise before you arrive. There’ll be leftovers from tonight’s dinner, so let’s make it a working lunch,” I offered in closing.
After Keoni arrived home, we spent a while looking over the notes each of us had been compiling. Keoni’s, of course, were focused on the technical details of John Dias’s case. My notes centered on my visions of the mid-twentieth century demise of the man in the vanilla suit in the hallway of the Chinatown hotel—as well as that of the similarly clad man in the corridor of our hotel in Honolulu.
By that evening, life was settling down. Everything from our week’s holiday had been cleaned and put away. Miss Una was delighted to play with the scraps of paper we generated in the office. Later, she nestled down with us during a couple of classic British comedies on PBS television. Of course, I am sure her favorite part of having us home was being able to eat fresh food on demand.
The next morning, we decided a swim at the beach was more important than tidying the yard or restocking the kitchen. Because we would be gone for a prolonged period of time, I was glad to find Miss Una playing with the kittens in The Ladies’ backyard. After gracing us with a nonchalant glance, she returned to licking the face of the smallest female kitten. Izzy had named her `Ilima, since she is orange and white and our family of felines was usually found at play near the large flowering shrub of the same name.
By the time John arrived, Keoni and I were showered, dressed, and sitting on the front porch looking at the fountain’s new pattern of synchronized color changes ranging from pink to purple. The light show had been one of Keoni’s latest DIY projects. Joanne told me that Keoni had seen me watching a display at Costco and bought the LED light kit as a surprise.
John must have showered before coming over; despite his girth, he looked as sleek as if he were courting a new girlfriend. I was tempted to ask what he had planned after leaving us but decided that might be asking for too much personal information. For privacy, as much as convenience, we again gathered at the kitchen table. Within minutes, the three of us were sharing our individual perspectives on John’s case as we munched on cold cuts, leftover salad and hand-pressed apple cider.
“In addition to the autopsy, I have a little news that should interest you, Natalie,” announced John. “As promised, we’ve begun researching the source of your original vision. So far, we’ve been able to confirm some of what the three of us were told during our tour of the Chinatown building. There’s always been at least one shop on the ground floor. After World War I, the Shēn family did convert the two middle floors into what we’d call a boutique hotel today.
“Now that we have a Chinatown address, we’re looking into mid-twentieth century murders,” said John. “Of course, a case that old means paper—a lot of paper—because HPD hasn’t had the resources to digitalize everything going back that far. Nothing has shown up on our radar yet, but we’re cross-checking with cases of missing persons. Your description of the perp in your vision sounds like a pretty savvy woman. If she had the skills to go through a room the way you described, there’s no telling how she might have disposed of an inconvenient body.
“It’s too bad we don’t have four seasons in the Islands. If we did, you might have been able to pin down a time of the year by the temperature, or the wearing of overcoats, or—what did my Mother call those things she put over her heels in the winter?”
“Galoshes?” I asked.
“Yeah, galoshes,” John replied.
“You’re right about my inability to pinpoint the time of year,” I said. “The only thing I can say about time is that I think my vision took place in mid-day, with full sun. And since most days are sunny in Honolulu, that doesn’t get us very far in determining the month.”
“Another unknown has to do with the dead man’s ethnicity. You’ve ID’d him as looking Chinese. I’m willing to accept your identification ethnically—with one big proviso. There’s no way of knowing what his nationality was. He could have been a resident of Hawai`i, a tourist from the mainland, or a foreign national from Taiwan or Hong Kong.
“And there’s the possibility he was from the People’s Republic of China. Mao Zedong and his buddies may have locked down that country for the most part, but there were still people who managed to escape from his workers’ paradise. In addition, there’s also Singapore, Malaysia and the Philippines, which all have Chinese populations.”
“It sounds like my suggestion that the murdered man I envisioned was Chinese has opened up more questions than it solved,” I said with disappointment.
“Don’t worry about what you can’t answer now. Most everything you’ve shared with me from your visions has eventually been proven true. Think of me as the case stenographer. I’ll just keep notes as we go along. We’ll see what it adds up to later. All right, Natalie?”
“Sure, John. One thing at a time,” I responded.
“To get back to what we know so far. I can tell you that Hotel Shēn catered to Chinese businessmen traveling to Hawai`i and beyond. In the run-up to World War II, there may even have been some hanky-panky going on with call girls working out of the place. As you probably know, Hotel Street has been a red-light district for a long time. What few people are aware of, is that in that period before World War II, the industry was actually government supervised—to minimize the chances of both crime and disease. With the thousands of single men working on the plantations and a growing number of military personnel, there was an obvious need to be filled.
“Martial Law was declared on December 7, 1941, following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and other parts of the island of O`ahu. Every aspect of life in the Islands became subject to official scrutiny. As I said, women of the evening were already being supervised by officialdom. With the growing need for female companionship for the military, they were brought in from the mainland. To maintain control, the women were given short-term contracts and assigned to specific houses in the red-light district where they lived as well as worked. Except for a few supervised outings to Kailua Beach park, they were not allowed out of their restricted neighborhood. Amazingly, with condoms being issued to the men using their services, there were few case of sexually transmitted diseases.”
“I knew part of the story, but your research has really added to my understanding of the era…and that aspect of life in historic downtown Honolulu,” said Keoni grinning.
For a moment, I looked at my companions with barely concealed anger. “Well, you two can act like this is a joke. But I’ve always had a certain respect for women who, for one reason or another, have had to make their living horizontally. It isn’t called the oldest profession without reason. After all, it caters to men. And it is men who have continued to control a world in which for many women, and children for that matter, there is no other means of earning a living.”
The smiles slipped off their faces. John Dias said nothing. He looked down at his shoes. Keoni knew he was in trouble. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I didn’t mean to be so flip. Pardon the expression, but JD and I have both worked the streets for a lot of years. I also respect many of those women. In fact, there were quite a number of crimes on my watch that would have gone unsolved without their tips and active help.”
“All right. I’m sorry I got so upset. But if you had read some of what was in Miriam’s journals, you’d understand why I responded as I did. As to the business at hand, I don’t have your resources, John. I’ve been thinking about how I could obtain some information that wouldn’t normally come out in a police interview. I think that if I can talk to the owner of the Shēn building in a relaxed atmosphere, I may learn something that could help your inquiries,” I suggested.
“And how do you plan to schedule a meeting with Bō Shēn?” asked John.
“Well, I am a journalist. I’ll tell him I’m writing an article on Chinatown…That participating in the scavenger hunt gave me a chance to appreciate the rich culture of the area. I can say that I accompanied Keoni on his tour of the building with you and was so impressed with his remodeling project that I’d like to write a story about the reconstruction process—and how dedication to honoring one’s family’s wishes is reflective of the Aloha Spirit.
“I think that’ll get me an interview with him. And when he’s giving me the grand tour, I’ll ask some questions about the generations of his family living together.”
“Well, I guess you couldn’t get into too much trouble doing an interview. But don’t tell Bō Shēn very much about the scavenger hunt, or the details of Professor Zhāng’s death.”
“That’s a given. I’m excited to track down the identity of the dead man in my first vision. When we were in the building the other night, I recognized the elevator and the green drapery tie back. If I’m with Bō Shēn, I might be able to get him to specify the remodeling that’s been done through the years.”
“Yeah. But remember that this man wasn’t alive during the time frame of your first vision. He’s two generations later. Who knows how much redecorating the family did in that time?”
“Well, there were those photo albums on display. I’ll bet that as a little boy, members of his family told him all about living in the old building. If I can compare the images from the albums against what he tells me, maybe we can piece the story together like a quilt. My only concern is getting him to agree to my recording the interview, which will lessen note taking, as well as make review easier.”
“Okay then. Go for it,” said John in conclusion of that issue. Moving on to the primary topic of the day, he began pulling files from his briefcase. “This is starting to become a habit. Per regulations, I’m keeping the report under my supervision. But I’d like your responses to what is said, and unsaid,” John declared with a tight smile.
He then shuffled through the files and began distributing them. “Here you go. By now you should know what to expect. Natalie, you’re going to focus on the Summary Autopsy Report. I’m only going to show you a few pictures. You’ve already seen the victim in a vision. I don’t think there’ll be anything gruesome or surprising—just a distance shot of the hallway before the vic was moved and some shots of the suite at the end of the hall. Like you said, the Professor and his killer could not have been in the hotel room very long, because the place was pristine—not even a tissue in the trash.”
Turning to his former partner, he said, “As for you Keoni, I want you to look everything over. Once Natalie starts giving me her feedback, we may get an idea for putting aspects of the case in focus. Your input may not be part of the official investigation, but I’m open to inspiration from every direction.”
Opening a file he had retained, John pulled out several 8 x 10 photos. He spread them out for both of us to examine. While there was nothing that surprised me in the pictures, I found the pooled blood around the professor’s head a bit depressing. I sighed and tried to put myself in the right frame of mind to be of assistance in the investigation.
“I’d like to ask you to do something a little differently today, Natalie,” requested John, pulling out a pad of yellow lined paper. “I’d like you to put the report on your left, and this pad to your right. Here’s a sharp pencil to write your immediate responses to what you see as you work your way through the report. As usual, I don’t care what they are. Just note anything that strikes you as particularly on-target, slightly off-target, or missing—or maybe something that isn’t even relevant to the report itself. Maybe you’ll think of a new topic for me to research, or something the CSI team might not have considered looking for. Anything and everything is welcome. Okay?”
I nodded and proceeded to align the pencil and notepad per instruction. Then I opened the folder. On the left, I saw a picture of the crime scene with an outline of the victim’s body. On the right was a single page summary of the ME’s initial findings. The form had not changed since I saw Miriam’s last summer. It opened with a fill-in-the-blank section requesting information: name of the decedent; case number; and dates of death and autopsy. Again, Dr. Marty Soli was the examining physician who performed the autopsy. The findings, of course, were wholly different.
The body is that of an adult Asian male measuring 67.4 inches and weighing 169 pounds. The body is normally developed, of unremarkable health, and appears consistent with the given age of seventy-two years. The victim was received wearing an off-white leisure suit with a tan and off-white bamboo print aloha shirt from the Hilo Hattie collection and brown and white wingtip brogues without socks….undergarments, include a white cotton singlet T-shirt and boxer undershorts…vintage silver Mickey Mouse watch with curved rectangular face and three-quarter-inch wide black leather band on left wrist. All items of clothing, except the undershorts and socks, were bloodstained. The shirts and suit jacket have brain matter splatter consistent with a gunshot wound to the head.
I have only seen Mickey presented in round watches, so the mention of a rectangular face caught my attention. The next information was less entertaining.
