Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (21 page)

He shrugged.

I watched him shift from one foot to the
other. His eyes darted around, connecting everywhere except with my
gaze, which I kept steadily on his face.

"Willie... you left your post that night,
didn't you?"

"Look, don't tell, please." The cockiness was
all gone. I was looking at a scared overgrown teenager. I waited
for him to continue.

"Clarissa, that's my girlfriend, she came by
that night. She was crying and carrying on, said she had to talk to
me. Said she just found out she was pregnant, and what were we
going to do about it.

"I had to get her out of here. I got a wife
and kids at home, too. I had to calm Clarissa down before she did
something stupid."

A girlfriend? Wow, he
was
a busy
little dude.

"I took her back to her car, and we drove
down to Ahukini Landing. It's only a quarter mile or so away, but
at least it's private. I was only gone maybe a half hour."

"Did you lock the gate when you left?"

"I think so, but I'm not really sure. I was
busy worrying about where I was going to come up with abortion
money, when my wife takes every paycheck of mine straight to the
bank."

He looked like he might burst into tears.

"Look, I can't let Jack Akito find out about
this. His wife and mine are cousins. He'd kill me."

I almost felt sorry for the little jerk. How
do people manage to get themselves into these things? I wondered if
he had ever considered the merits of keeping his pants zipped.

I left him standing there looking
considerably less sure of himself than he'd been when I
arrived.

Chapter 16

Back in my car, I looked at my watch. It was
still only two o'clock. Drake wouldn't be through with his last
flight until around five. A glance at the date told me that, unless
I changed my plans, I only had two more days here on the island. I
really should buy some gifts to take back home.

Besides, distancing myself from the case for
a few hours might help snap something into perspective that was
still missing.

Willie had told me that Joe did maintenance
for both Mack and Bill Steiner. Could he somehow be involved in
their legal scrapping? If he had a grudge against Mack, that would
certainly be one way to fuel the fire. I wondered how I could find
out more about the ongoing battle.

I had started the car, and put the gearshift
in reverse, when I heard the distinctive boom-boom-thud,
boom-boom-thud of a stereo behind me. Joe Esposito's top-heavy
looking red pickup truck was just pulling into the lot. He parked
two spaces down from me and cut the engine. I backed out, and
headed back toward the road.

As I drew even with his truck, I felt him
watching me. When I looked out at him, he quickly averted his eyes.
The little glass fuse, down in my pants pocket, rubbed against my
leg.

Joe walked on past me, without a backward
glance. In my rearview mirror, I saw him present his security badge
to Willie Duran, and pass through the gate. Willie said something
to Joe, and they both looked up at me.

The Mack Garvey/Bill Steiner question
continued to nag at me. Here was one man who made no secret of the
fact that he'd like to put Mack out of business.

Seeing that Mack went off to jail would be a
quick and inexpensive way to do it. A lot less expensive than a
legal battle.

I debated whether to try and track Steiner
down and question him. Assuming I could, though, what would I ask
him?
Hey, Bill, ever think about killing some guy you don't
know, just to put one of your competitors out of business?

Somehow, I didn't think I'd get too far with
that.

The traffic light at Ahukini and Kuhio took
forever to turn green, but I finally got my chance. I was
wandering, I had to admit, a little at a loss for what to do next,
halfway looking for somewhere to buy a few tourist goodies.

On my right, I suddenly noticed the newspaper
office just ahead. On an impulse, I pulled into the parking area,
almost getting rear-ended in the process.

If they had copies of back issues, I might be
able to find something about Steiner's and Mack's lawsuit. Mack's
file only presented one side of it. I wondered if the battle had
ever made the local news.

On the outside, the newspaper office looked
about the same as many other small businesses on the
island—cinderblock building with peeling paint, weeds growing up
through cracks in the parking lot. Inside, though, it was clean and
well-lit. A half dozen people worked at computer terminals.

The girl at the front desk had skin the color
of toffee, and straight black hair that was so long I wondered how
she avoided sitting on it.

She showed me to the microfiche reader, and
demonstrated how to work it. I asked to see the issues from one to
two years old.

According to Mack's file, the lawsuit had
started about a year ago. I hoped to find something right before
that time that might have precipitated it.

Steiner's name wasn't difficult to locate. He
was obviously one of the more vocal helicopter operators on the
island, frequently quoted on one issue or another. I went back
fourteen months, and didn't find anything linking his name to
Mack's. I kept looking.

Another month or more passed with no mention
of either name. When I next came across Steiner's name, I stopped
with a jolt.

Steiner had been arrested fifteen months ago
for assault and battery on one Gilbert Page.

According to the article, the California
tourist, Page, had become verbally abusive after having a few too
many at a local night spot. Apparently, an exchange had begun
between the two men, the subject of which was the cocktail waitress
who had served them both.

The argument had ended with Page out cold on
the floor, and Steiner being escorted to the drunk tank.

I flipped the film back a few more days, but
there was no further mention of the incident. I wondered whether it
truly was a random bar fight, or had Gil and Steiner known each
other?

Even so, I wasn't sure how this new twist
would help Mack. It still didn't alter the fact that Mack had
admittedly been one of the last to see Gil alive, and that no one
had yet brought Steiner's name into the picture. Not one of the
people who had been around the maintenance hangar that night had
placed Steiner there.

Once again, I considered tracking Steiner
down and questioning him. Again, I couldn’t seem to formulate
questions that would make much sense.

I switched off the microfiche reader and
thanked the girl for her time.

Back in my car, I debated where to go next.
Without a better plan, I headed toward a little shopping area near
the hotel to look for gifts for those back home. The various
implications of the case roared around in my head, not solving
anything, but not leaving me alone either.

Finding a parking space at the small
mini-mall of shops took about ten minutes—three passes through the
parking lot before someone vacated a spot. I took advantage of
their leaving, cutting off a sports car full of college kids.

Situated in a center courtyard around which
the twenty or thirty shops held ranks, I located a cluster of pay
phone. I dialed Bill Steiner’s helicopter company, realizing that
he would probably be out on a flight. To my surprise the
receptionist put me right through to him. I briefly introduced
myself and my purpose.

“I ain’t talkin’ to no one who’s working’ for
Mack Garvey,” his voice informed me harshly. “Talk to my
lawyer.”

“Wait!” I paused to be sure he hadn’t hung
up. “I just wanted to ask a quick question or two—not about Mack.”
I rushed the words out.

He didn’t say anything, which I took as a
go-ahead.

“Did you know Gil Page before the night you
got into the fight with him in the bar?”

“Huh? Look, lady, I don’t know
what
the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“Never mind.” I thanked him and hung up. I
believed him. And I’d known the theory was far-fetched.

My hand rested on the inert phone receiver,
my eyes staring out at nothing for a full three minutes, until I
realized that a woman was waiting to use the phone.

“Sorry.” I turned away.

I spent the next hour at the crowded little
tourist trap, stocking up on goodies to take home with me. Kona
coffee for Elsa; macadamia nut chocolates for Ron—although he
certainly doesn't need them; ball caps for his three kids. I also
picked up a dozen postcards. If I mailed them this afternoon,
they'd probably arrive in New Mexico within a week after I did.

I strolled through a couple of the other
shops in the little strip where I bought the treats, admiring the
silks and hand painted clothing, wondering whether I should get
myself a little something, too.

Halfway down the row, I paused before a
window, staring but not seeing.

Holy shit, I thought. How blind could I have
been?

The mannequin in the window was wearing a
lime green bikini with the matching jacket.
That's
what was
missing from my room last night.

I'd never returned Susan's jacket to her as I
intended, but it wasn’t there after the break-in.

I froze to the spot, my mind dancing.

What was the connection? Susan didn't know I
had the jacket. But, Catherine did. She had seen me take it from
the pool, although I hadn't said anything to her about it. She
would have probably assumed it was mine.

And, what about Joe? If he had dropped the
fuse from the maintenance hangar in my room, why did he take the
jacket? What about his professed love for Catherine?

If he thought he was protecting her, how did
the jacket fit in?

I had absentmindedly watched Catherine pack
her suitcase this morning. If the green jacket had been among her
things, surely I would have noticed it.

And how did Catherine's being mugged tie in
with the demolition of my room and the theft of the jacket?

There were too many questions without
answers, and it was beginning to make my head hurt.

I headed back to the Westin. At the front
desk they informed me that Susan Turner had checked out early this
morning. Catherine Page had not left yet. It was only three-thirty.
She had left her wake-up call for five-thirty, so I assumed she
would still be asleep.

In my room, I sat down to write out a few
postcards. My thoughts refused to settle down, though, and I ended
up writing a few lines of banality on each. I did write a brief
paragraph about Drake to Elsa Higgins.

Within a few minutes, I had the postcards
finished, and was feeling restless. I thought about Steiner, and
the fact that he'd had at least one blowup with Page. But would
that provide motive for a murder almost a year and a half later? I
doubted it. His apparent confusion when I’d mentioned Page’s name
made me believe that he didn’t even remember the incident.

Catherine's admission this morning that Joe
had been in love with her kept tugging at my attention. It
certainly gave Joe a strong motive. Especially if he got wind of
the reaming out Gil had given Catherine over the phone that same
evening. He said he'd overheard the discussion between Gil and
Mack. I paced to the balcony. The fresh wind calmed me only
slightly and I turned back inside.

Maybe Gil’s phone conversation with Catherine
had come to light. One by one, the puzzle pieces were beginning to
come together. The answer was here, close.

I needed to talk to Joe, to see his reaction
to my new knowledge. But, the man intimidated me, and I didn't
relish confronting him alone. If I waited until Drake was through
flying, maybe he'd go with me.

The late afternoon sun shone from under gray
clouds and hit my glass door in a pink-gold shaft. I might still be
able to find Joe at the heliport. There should certainly be people
around, in case of trouble. I could always call Akito, and tell him
my theory. Somehow, though, I didn't think he would welcome it. He
was still set on the idea that Mack was the guilty man.

Until I had proof, I'd rather leave him out
of it.

Pacing around the room wasn’t helping,
though. I had to do something. I closed the drapes and left a light
on, then made sure I had securely locked the door. The elevator
seemed to take forever, adding to my sense of urgency.

Outside, the sky had an eerie twilight feel
to it. Although the sun wasn't quite down yet, the clouds had
thickened considerably. I put the top up on the car, started it,
and headed out to Rice Street.

Traffic was heavy, people rushing to get home
at the end of a long day. I left most of them behind when I made
the turn toward the airport.

I cruised slowly past the pads at the
heliport. All the helicopters were in, lined up in a neat row,
their rotor blades tied down for the night.

All except Drake's ship.

I glanced at my watch. Surely, he should have
been in by now. The thread of anxiety which had run loosely through
me all day cinched itself into a tight knot.

The maintenance hangar looked quiet—too
quiet. The helicopter wasn't there, nor was Joe's red pickup truck.
I didn't like the feel of it. The puzzle pieces that had eluded me
all afternoon suddenly fell into place. My gut clenched as I
realized the killer had probably gotten away.

Where was Drake?

The clouds which had earlier gathered in
clumps over the mountains had now spread into an even layer
covering the sky like a heavy gray camping tarp. The wind whipped
bits of debris across the ramp, the chain link fence catching the
biggest of them. A ripped potato chip bag flew past my ankles as I
got out of the car. I shoved my purse under the seat, slipping my
car keys into my pocket.

The guard was not in his enclosure, and the
gate was standing wide open. Something wasn’t right. I remembered
seeing a phone in the maintenance hangar. If I could get in, I
would call Paradise's office to see if Drake had radioed in.