Chapter Three

Homicide Detective Frank Nishimoto was at a family picnic at Queen’s Beach when his phone buzzed to indicate he had a text message. ‘Call office.’

“Dammit,” Frank mumbled. He called in. A murder in Portlock. No ID of the victim yet, but a ritzy house. No suspects in custody.

Frank disconnected and went to tell his wife, Mary, to enjoy the rest of the day and have one of the kids drive her home. The ‘kids’ were all grown, but they were a tightly knit family and had regular outings. Frank enjoyed seeing his three children and his five grandchildren. He saw them all too rarely. It was not unusual for his days off to be interrupted: he was a senior member of the Honolulu homicide squad.

Within minutes, Frank was driving his department subsidized Ford Malibu around Diamond Head and onto Kahala Avenue, past multi-million dollar oceanfront homes. He circumnavigated Waialae Golf Course and entered Kalanianaole Highway, which took him along the ocean all the way out to Hawai’i Kai. Homes lined the highway, offering only occasional glimpses of the inviting ocean to the right.

Frank turned right off Kalanianaole and proceeded into the wealthy area known as Portlock. The oceanfront homes here, with their spectacular views looking toward Diamond Head, were multi-million dollar properties. He pulled into a narrow lane between two houses that were on land long ago subdivided from a main estate. There was a tall oleander hedge on the left and an old, wood panel fence on the right. As he neared the water, he turned left into a driveway of what was a beautifully landscaped estate. He parked under the shade of a large monkey pod tree in the center of the circular driveway.

The house was two stories, wood frame, in the style of an old missionary home. It had large, koa wood entrance doors, leading into an Italian tiled entrance hall. Beyond the entrance hall was an expansive living room, with plush white carpeting. The ocean-side wall of the living room was all glass and glass sliding doors, which opened onto a large lanai, deck, and pool. Beyond the pool was a lawn, then a small stretch of sandy beach fronting Moanalua Bay. In the distance was the backside of Diamond Head, which, in the stark afternoon light, was a surreal silhouette.

It was, to Frank, an awesome sight. As he stood in the entrance hall and took it all in, he’d almost forgotten why he was there. Then he saw a patrolman he vaguely recognized pick something up off a side table on the lanai. Frank took off toward the man.

“Hey! What are you doing there? What’d you just pick up?”

The officer turned, a surprised look on his face. He held up a book of matches. “Just a book of matches,” he said, “Nothing important.” He tossed them back down on the table.

Frank took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. “You’re at a murder scene, Officer—” he paused, reading the nametag, “Lee. Everything’s important.” Frank saw that most of the activity was out by the pool. He spoke to Officer Lee again. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

“I was the responding officer. I got a call to investigate possible gunshots, so I—”

“Go out to the front of the house, then call Bill Hampton and ask him to get over here. When you’re done, go back to the office and write your report.”

“But—”

Frank ignored him and walked out toward the pool, looking around. A cream-colored chaise lounge sat next to a small matching side table on the flagstone deck. There were rust-colored stains on the chaise, which Frank assumed was blood. A rifle leaned against the table.

On the table was a bowl of potato chips, which were splattered with tiny drops. Next to the bowl was a short glass with a small amount of clear liquid in it. There was a pink droplet on the side of the glass and on the table was a small water spot. A black iPhone lay on the deck. Frank bent down and looked at it closely. It was smeared with grease. Then he saw the two arms lying on the deck near the chaise, about three feet apart. Both arms were bare, hairy, and oiled with suntan lotion. There was something strange about one of the hands. Frank moved closer to get a better look. There were potato chips stuck to the hand. What the hell?

He looked around and saw a police photographer taking pictures at the pool. He took a few steps and saw that a head was lying on the bottom of the pool. A torso without arms was eerily bobbing, like it was standing up, in the shallow end.

He recognized Sergeant Russell Cabrillo, pointing out something to one of the photographers. Frank walked over to him. “What’s up, Russ?”

They walked back toward the living room, almost instinctively moving away from the death as they talked. Cabrillo referred to his notebook from time to time as he filled Frank in.

“The house belongs to Maynard Laws,” Cabrillo paused to look at Frank. Frank’s face was impassive.

“Know who he is?”

“Yeah, that investment counselor. One of my aunties has money invested with him. Is that Laws in the pool?”

“Don’t know yet. Doc should be here any minute. She was testifying at Circuit Court on a case, but I took the liberty of asking her to come out as soon as she’s pau.” In Hawai’i it was unusual for the Medical Examiner to attend to the scene of a murder, but Frank nodded his approval.

“As soon as the photographers are done,” Cabrillo continued, “we’ll have the pieces pulled out of the pool. None of my guys are crazy about climbing into the pool to pull the guy out.”

“Don’t blame them. Let me talk to Doc about how she wants it handled.” Frank knew that Dr. Padma Dasari, the coroner, wouldn’t want anything damaged by using a hook or the pool net. That could destroy critical evidence.

“Tell the photographers to hurry. I’m sure she doesn’t want the body parts under water for longer than necessary.”

Cabrillo hurried away to speed up the photographers. He was back in a few moments.

“We should be able to recognize Laws when the head comes out, if that’s him. I know what he looks like and so do some of the other guys.

“The forensic team is already at work, dusting for prints. There are a few sets of tire tracks on the driveway, and we got pictures. A plaster mold wouldn’t work, too gravelly. I doubt that’ll help us any.

“A neighbor called in to say she’d heard a shot.” Cabrillo looked at his notebook to check the time.

“A shot?” asked Frank.

Cabrillo nodded, then continued with his recital of information.

“It was at 2:24 p.m. The neighbor was Mrs. Peterson.”

“Get someone over to take her statement,” said Frank.

“Already being done.”

“Okay, go on”

“No one else seems to have been home. No maids, no family. Officer Lee was the first on the scene. He’d been interviewing some burglary victims in the area and got here at 2:55. I got here immediately thereafter, at 2:57. We sealed the area and had homicide call you. I let the photographers and the other forensic guys in, since I knew you’d approve. You got here at 3:33.” They both looked up and nodded to Dr. Dasari as she strode directly to the scene of the murder.

Frank turned back to Cabrillo. “Have the forensic men be sure to get fiber samples from the living room rug. Unless the killer came around the side, he’d have had to pass through the living room to get out here.” He paused, thinking. “Also, have them check the entry tile for footprints. If the killer took his shoes off, he may have left a print. That marble tile should be perfect for leaving prints.”

Cabrillo looked up from his notebook and chuckled. “You think the killer was polite enough to remove his shoes before walking into the living room?” Frank glared at him until Cabrillo nodded and made a note.

“What’s up with that rifle by the pool?” asked Frank. “It doesn’t look real to me.”

Cabrillo nodded his agreement. “It’s just an air rifle.”

Frank pondered that for a moment, but then moved on. “Don’t forget to check to make sure they bag the glass and the iPhone out there. We’ll want to check on any incoming or outgoing calls today.” He glanced around. “Has anyone noted any signs of forced entry?”

“Nope,” Cabrillo answered. “The front door was unlocked. Anyone could’ve gained access from the beach, and there’s only a waist high fence with an unlocked gate at the side of the house.”

Frank went over and talked to Doc for a few minutes before meandering back toward the lanai, waiting for the team to pull the body parts from the pool. The lanai furniture looked expensive. The chairs all had plush cushions. Next to one chair was a small koa wood side table, on which he noticed the book of matches. He bent over to read the embossed letters on the glossy white front. “La Cannelle, 53 quai des Grands-Augustins, Paris”. Frank called out to Sergeant Cabrillo.

“Put those matches in a bag. And make a note that Officer Lee’s prints are probably on the cover. The idiot picked it up. Assuming the body is Laws, make a note to check to see if he or his wife had been to Paris recently.”

Frank still had matches from his trip to Greece five years ago, but he didn’t leave them around for people to use; they were treated more as souvenirs. These matches had been on the lanai table, not thirty feet from the scene of a murder. He made a mental note to talk to Lee’s supervisor.

Just then, Frank heard Detective Bill Hampton’s booming voice.

“What a pleasant spot for a murder. Howzit Frank, what’ve we got?” Bill walked past Frank and continued out to the pool.

“Holy shit! What the—”

Despite everything, Frank had to smile. He hadn’t seen Bill speechless many times. Bill stood still, looking around but saying nothing for several minutes before he came back to Frank.

“Jesus Frank, we’ve been on the force a long time, but have you ever seen anything like this?”

Frank had been thinking the same thing. There’d been lots of gruesome scenes, a lot of cases with more blood and guts. There had even been a few dismembered body cases, but for sheer bizarre terror, he had never seen anything quite like this. The eyes staring up from the bottom of the pool; the eerie way the torso seemed to be standing up in the water; the hand with potato chips on it.

“Can’t say I have. It’s pretty bizarre. But to top it off, I think we might also find that the victim’s been shot.” Frank filled Bill in on the details he’d been given by Cabrillo.

“Well, I guess if you’re going to murder someone, it pays to make sure you got the job done.” Bill’s famous black humor was coming back.

“How’re we going to get him out of the pool?” Bill asked.

“I already talked to Doc about that. I don’t want our guys going into bloody water and Doc doesn’t want the body to stay in the pool for as long as it would take to drain it. Besides, once the water level got low, the body would start banging around in the pool, so we’re trying to get the torso pushed over to the side of the pool as delicately as possible so we can pull it out. They’re using the pool net to nudge the head over to where we can get it. Doc doesn’t want any more trauma to the body than we can help.”

Bill nodded his agreement. “Has someone already taken water samples?”

“Done,” said Frank.

They surveyed the scene as two officers worked under the watchful eyes of Dr. Padma Dasari to get the body out. Frank couldn’t help letting his gaze linger on ‘Doc.’ Even at a gruesome murder scene she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her stylish, short cropped hair accented her high cheekbones and her long, elegant neck. Her dark black eyes set off her nut brown skin. Over her blouse, she wore a navy blue, lightweight jacket with ‘Coroner’ printed in white letters across the back. Somehow, it looked stylish on her. When the head was finally lifted out of the water and placed on a plastic body bag, Frank and Bill walked over. It appeared to be swollen, and the eyes bulged in a horrifyingly vacant stare.

“It’s Maynard Laws all right,” said Cabrillo, who had come up behind Frank and Bill.

“Yeah, I recognize him too,” said Bill. “His picture’s been all over the tube and the papers.”

“Even so, we’ve got to get an official identification. The guy was married, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, sir” said Cabrillo. “To a local gal, if I remember correctly.”

“Bill, get one of your men to locate Mrs. Laws. I’m going to check around the house, see if there’s a study or desk somewhere with personal papers. Maybe there’s some other family.

“Doc, anything on whether Laws was shot?” She’d been bent over the torso and looked up as Frank spoke to her.

She spoke with a slight accent, which had a rhythmic cadence. “Looks like it. Probably a .38 to the abdomen. I doubt it was a fatal shot, but give me time to do my autopsy.” She bent back over the body.

“Now what the hell? Why would someone shoot a guy, not kill him with the gun, then whack off his head and arms?” asked Frank.

“I suppose the killer could’ve chopped off the head and arms first, then shot him, but that makes even less sense,” Bill said.

Bill continued to mumble to himself while Frank went off in search of personal papers. Frank didn’t understand any of this. The victim was shot, then mutilated, presumably while he was still alive. The head and the torso were then thrown into the pool, although, he supposed, they could have fallen in at the time of the dismemberment. Doc or the forensic guys should be able to tell whether or not the body had made impact with the deck before going into the pool.

Frank toured the house. By and large it was tastefully furnished, although some pieces of art or furniture were strangely out of place. Frank figured Laws had used an interior decorator, then, thinking they had good taste, had supplemented the designer’s work with pieces of their own. Money and taste don’t necessarily go hand in hand.

He found a room that looked like it was a personal study. It was small, compared to the rest of the rooms, and contained a beautiful Japanese cherry wood desk, a matching cherry wood bureau, an easy chair made of soft leather, and wall-to-wall bookshelves on two walls. There were no personal pictures. Frank found that unusual, but not necessarily strange.

He opened the center drawer on the desk. Several Mont Blanc pens and some beige stationary with ‘Mr. and Mrs. Maynard Laws’ embossed in gold across the top were neatly placed in the drawer. That was all.

Frank opened the right hand top drawer. He saw an appointment book. He took it out and leafed to Friday, August 23. He saw a notation, ‘Iwalani to H.K.’

“H.K.,” Frank mumbled to himself. “Hawai’i Kai? Hale Koa Hotel? Or someone’s name?” He didn’t see any other entries that leapt out. Naturally, everyone whose name was in the book would be checked. He placed the book on top of the desk and kept looking.

He found a checkbook in the second drawer down on the right. He stared at the figures he found, amazed by their size. Tarn’s Caterers, $15,320. Neimen Marcus, $12,533.20. Honolulu Mortgage, $25,699. A twenty-five thousand dollar a month mortgage? “Yikes.”

Then, again mumbling out loud, “What’s this?” He read the entry: ‘Akamai Travel. 8/20, $4,737.’

Maybe H.K. was Hong Kong, mused Frank. He’d have someone call Akamai Travel.

In the third drawer down, Frank found a ledger book. It was filled with names and figures. Investors? He’d look at it later. He saw nothing else of import, but decided that he’d get Mrs. Laws’ consent to a more thorough search.

He took the appointments book, check-register, and ledger to the lanai with him and wrote out a receipt for the items he was taking. They were necessary to the immediate investigation of finding family and/or suspects and he therefore had a legal right to remove them from the house.

The body parts had finally been removed. The house had been photographed, and prints had been lifted from everywhere and everything capable of rendering a good print.

Frank ordered the house sealed and posted an officer to stay at the premises in the event Mrs. Laws or someone else showed up. He took another look at the blood stained deck. Then he lifted his eyes to the magnificence of the view beyond. The ocean sparkled. Diamond Head was a beckoning silhouette to this tourist mecca.

He’d have to remember to call Auntie Leona tonight to ask her how much she’d invested with Laws. He then went to the front yard to deal with the growing number of reporters. When he appeared, the reporters began shouting questions at him, some aggressively pushing their colleagues to the side, anxious to get something in time for the six o’clock news, only a half hour away.