Murder on the Cliff (16 page)

“They ought to fence it off in some places,” Toni added. “The edge has caved away in spots, and it’s not very well lit.”

“I can see that,” said Charlotte, looking out. “Maybe you can use your influence with the city government to get a fence put up.”

Toni smiled, and looked up at her husband.

“Tell me,” said Lew, “what do you think about Okichi-
mago
’s death?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think it was a suicide?”

“No,” she replied bluntly. She explained about the sake cup and about her conversation with Keiko.

“I’ve got news for you. The police don’t think it was a suicide either. The state medical examiner says the body was found too far out from the base of the cliff for it to have been a suicide. He thinks she was pushed.”

Now that he mentioned it, Charlotte remembered that the body had been at least ten feet away from the base of the cliff.

“He’s ordered a reconstruction of the fall. Apparently it’s the only way to tell whether a fall was a suicide or a murder. He’ll be using a dummy that’s the same height and weight as Okichi-
mago
.”

“That sounds
very
interesting,” said Charlotte with a coquettish smile.

“I saw those eyes light up,” Lew teased. “They’re going to stage the reconstruction tomorrow morning. I’m going to be there. I can take a hint: would you like to come along?”

“I certainly would,” Charlotte replied.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

“Do the police have any leads yet?” Charlotte asked as she rode down Bellevue Avenue with Lew the next morning.

“They don’t, but I do,” Lew replied.

“You do!”

“Do you know about the feud between Marianne Montgomery and Paul Harris?”

Charlotte nodded.

“According to their great-aunt’s will, the house and property pass to Connie’s descendants, namely Marianne, and Paul’s descendants. The only trouble is that Paul doesn’t have any descendants.”

“And the idea that Marianne’s daughter will eventually inherit Shimoda is enough to drive him crazy,” said Charlotte. She was reminded of his disgusted expression when Dede had entered the temple in her spike heels.

“Exactly,” said Lew. “He’s been talking for years about adopting Nadine’s sons as his heirs. In my opinion, that’s the only reason she’s stuck it out with him. But he’s never done anything about it.”

They turned onto Narragansett Avenue and drove past the long buff pink walls of Bois Doré, the mansion where the coal magnate had hung gold fruits from the pollarded lindens lining the approach to the house.

Lew continued: “According to my confidential source, Paul had finally decided to do something about it, but it wasn’t Nadine’s sons that he was planning to make his heirs, it was Okichi-
mago
.”

“Whew!” Charlotte exclaimed. “This is a new wrinkle. Who’s your confidential source? Toni?”

Lew looked over at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Just a hunch, I saw her chatting with Nadine at the ball. They looked as if they were friends.”

“They are. Her younger son and our son are on the same tennis team. Nadine told Toni that she’d seen a revised copy of Paul’s will naming Okichi-
mago
as his heir, and some other papers designating her as his adopted daughter. She was very unhappy about it.”

“I can imagine,” said Charlotte.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone who told you this. I don’t want to get into trouble with my wife, or get her into trouble with Nadine. I’m married to one of those hot-blooded Latin types.”

Charlotte gave him her solemn word.

“I can’t tell the police about it for obvious reasons, but I can tell you. You’re close to the family. Maybe you can find out something the police can’t—like who murdered Okichi-
mago
.”

“Won’t the police mind my interfering?”

“I’ll make it their business not to mind. If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell them that you’re acting on my authority. I’ll introduce you to the chief this morning. He’s an okay guy.”

“Do you think it was Nadine who killed her?”

“Maybe,” Lew replied. “She has a strong motive, but so do a lot of other people. Think about it.”

Charlotte did. “Marianne,” she said after a minute. “If Marianne killed Okichi-
mago
, then the house and property would go to Dede.”

“Right. Marianne is crazy, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now. She is capable of dreaming up the wackiest schemes imaginable, and—more than that—of putting Lester up to carrying them out.”

“Connie told me about how Lester nudged Paul’s car from behind with his own. They were arguing over something. Paul accused him of attempted murder, and then reduced the charge to vehicular assault.”

“Where did this happen?” asked Lew.

“In the driveway at Shimoda.”

“In the
driveway
!” Lew shook his head. “Sounds like Lester. Paul too, for that matter. Probably neither one was going faster than six miles per hour. Newport has got to be one of the world’s craziest towns.”

“So far, we’ve got Nadine, Marianne, and Lester.”

“What about on the jealousy front?” asked Lew. “I hear Okichi-
mago
’s. Japanese patron wasn’t too happy about her taking up with the wrestler.”

“Tanaka,” she said. “He didn’t strike me as being too upset about it, but maybe that’s just his Oriental inscrutability. I suppose he could have killed her in revenge. Then there’s Hayashi.”

“Who’s Hayashi?” asked Lew as he pulled the car into the driveway.

“Tanaka’s assistant, I think he was in love with Okichi-
mago
too. He might have killed her for the same reason.” She explained about him hissing “
Tojin
Okichi” into Okichi-
mago
’s ear at the geisha party.

“That makes five,” said Lew.

“Even Shawn, I suppose. Although it’s farfetched, she could have rejected him too. Maybe the idea of inheriting Paul’s millions opened up some prospect for her that made the idea of marriage to Shawn less enticing.”

“Six,” said Lew, as he turned off the ignition. “See what I mean? The murder suspects really multiply once you start thinking about it.”

8

The circular driveway was crowded with police cars: there were several gray state police cars as well as the local black-and-white Newport police cars. In a state as small as Rhode Island, it didn’t take long to get to the scene of the crime. The capital, Providence, was only forty-five minutes away, as was just about any other spot in the state. The knoll on which the temple stood had been sealed off with barriers joined by yellow plastic tape printed with the words
POLICE LINE
.
DO NOT CROSS
. On the gallery, half a dozen policemen stood around drinking coffee from white Styrofoam cups. It was a beautiful morning, cool and crisp. The low gray clouds that had been hanging over the ocean had been blown away by a stiff offshore breeze, carrying the oppressive heat and humidity with them. Sixty feet below, the waves splashed gently-against the shingle beach. Lew introduced Charlotte to the police chief, a tall red-faced Irishman named Kilkenny, and to the burly local detective who would be handling the case, Detective-Captain Sullivan. But the star of the morning’s proceedings was the state medical examiner, a tanned, dapper man named Ken Miller, with a gray crew cut and a red bow tie. He stood under the wind-contorted pine at the south corner of the gallery with two state policemen and a young reporter. By Miller’s gestures, it was obvious he was talking about Okichi-
mago
’s fall. As Charlotte and Lew approached, the state policemen left, heading back toward the stairs to the gallery.

“They’re going down the base of the cliff to see where you found the body yesterday morning, Miss Graham,” said the medical examiner.

“I guess I don’t need to introduce Miss Graham,” Lew said. “Miss Graham, this is Doc Miller, the state medical examiner.”

“Indeed not,” said Miller, pumping Charlotte’s hand. “I’ve known Miss Graham since I was a teenager. At least I feel as if I’ve known her that long,” he added. “And been in love with her that long, too.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte.

“I don’t think there are many of Miss Graham’s fans who haven’t been in love with her,” said Lew. “I invited her to witness this morning’s procedures,” he explained. “As you may know, she’s had some experience with police work.”

“Oh yes. I read
Murder at the Morosco
,” said Miller. “Lots of interesting work there on cartridges. I also heard about that herbal poisoning case you helped solve up in Maine.”

“You New England medical examiners must talk to one another.”

“We do, we do,” he said genially. “Actually, I think a lot more people die of poisoning than we know about. Hard to catch poisoners. If you want to do away with somebody, that’s the way to do it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind at city hall,” said Lew with a smile.

“This young man is from the
Newport Daily News
,” said Miller, introducing the reporter. “I’m afraid our beautiful geisha’s death is going to be the lead story in tomorrow’s newspaper.”

The reporter greeted Charlotte and Lew. “I was just about to ask Dr. Miller why he thinks Okichi-
mago
’s death wasn’t a suicide.”

“You mean autokabalesis,” said Miller. “There, I’ve done it.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve always wanted to use that word in an interview. Thought I’d eventually have occasion to use it in connection with the Newport Bridge. We’ve had people try from time to time, but we’ve usually managed to talk them out of it.”

“Autokabalesis?”

“The act of jumping from a high place for the purpose of killing oneself. Nope, don’t think she was a jumper.” He shook his head. “Several reasons. One: suicides usually jump facing out, which means that they land on their fronts. Miss Graham found Okichi-
mago
lying on her back, which means that she either pushed herself over the railing, or was pushed. If she pushed herself, it would have been a very awkward way to commit suicide.”

It was the same conclusion Charlotte had come to.

“Two: she was too far out. If she had pushed herself over the railing, she would have landed directly below. Miss Graham found her eleven feet out from the base of the cliff. Here’s a little known fact about the murder-versus-suicide issue with regard to falls: you can only propel yourself as far out in the air as you can on the ground. Suicides don’t always realize this. They think they can soar out into the void like Peter Pan.”

“You mean, she couldn’t have pushed herself with enough force to land so far out,” the reporter said.

“Exactly,” Miller replied. “I’ll show you.” He looked Charlotte up and down. “I’d guess you’re a couple of inches taller than our geisha, Miss Graham,” he said. “Five feet eight or so. Am I right?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Let’s see how far you can jump. Line your toes up with one of the cracks in the floorboards here,” he directed. Bending over, he marked the spot with a pencil. Then he stood back and signaled for her to jump.

Charlotte did.

Producing a tape measure from the pocket of his crisply pressed khakis, he measured the distance.

“Four feet, one inch. Very good, Miss Graham—you must have been a broad-jump champ in high school. Our geisha was eleven feet out. Quite a difference. The two situations aren’t strictly comparable: Miss Graham jumped and our geisha would have pushed herself, but it nevertheless illustrates my point. A lot of murderers don’t realize this. Actually, this little-known fact helped crack the famous Bowery bums case.”

Lew stood with his arms folded across his chest, primed for a story. “What’s the Bowery bums case, Doc?” he asked.

“Six or seven Bowery bums who supposedly jumped out of windows. Autokabalesis. There, I’ve done it again. Only they were too far out. Turned out to be a ring of murderers: they were insuring derelicts, tossing them out of windows, and then collecting on their life insurance policies. The lesson of the story is, if you’re going to heave somebody out of a window and you want to make it look like suicide, don’t get too carried away.”

“Something else to keep in mind at city hall,” said Lew with a wink at Charlotte. “Any other ideas on how to do away with someone without getting caught? I need all the help I can get.”

“Oh, lots,” said Miller. “Lesson number one: do it on the spur of the moment. Unless you’re killing someone obvious, like your wife—Evelyn, forgive me—murders committed in the heat of passion are harder to solve than those that are carefully planned. The reason is this: the carefully planned murder is the product of an abnormal mind that is going to make a mistake at some point. These guys have blind spots that will eventually do them in.”

“What if I’m not overcome by passion?”

“Then you can hire a contract killer. The contract killer flies into town, identifies his victim, squeezes the trigger, and pockets the money. There’s no connection except the money, no motive except the money. The killer and the victim are total strangers: there’s no complex web of human interactions for a sleuth to unravel.” He smiled at Charlotte. “Or, as I suggested earlier, you can always try poison.”

“But if your enemies at city hall suddenly start turning up dead, you can bet that Dr. Miller will know where to look,” said Charlotte.

“Just don’t push your opponent over a railing and try to make it look like a suicide,” Miller said. “I could be wrong, of course.” He walked over to the railing and picked up a walkie-talkie. “We’re going to find out.” He leaned over and waved an arm. “How’re you boys doing down there?” he said.

“All ready, Doc,” came the reply over the walkie-talkie.

Like the temple, the section of the Cliff Walk that crossed the Shimoda property had been blocked off by police barricades. Charlotte could see the disappointed dog-walkers and joggers looking up at the temple and trying to figure out what was going on. Several stood at the cliff’s edge, watching the policemen on the beach below.

“We’ll just be a minute more,” Miller said to the policeman below. He turned back to Charlotte and Lew. “We’re just waiting for our dummy to arrive. Here’s where she went over.” He pointed to the fresh scar on the surface of the weathered railing. “There’s a scrape on the railing that was made by the ornament on her obi. We found little bits of pearl embedded in the wood.”