Venom: A Thriller in Paradise (The Thriller in Paradise Series Book 3) (5 page)

“But it isn’t salmonella poisoning,” a voice said behind them. They turned as a group.

“So, Dr. Shih,” Cobb said.

The small woman dipped her head with a quirky smile. Her white coat displayed a few strategic dabs of what could only have been blood, a badge of her office as medical examiner. Her eyes, behind rimless glasses, were bright and quizzical. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Koenig.”

“They did not die of salmonella?”

“No indeed. They died of something else entirely.”

“And what is that?” Takamura asked.

“Respiratory failure. They suffocated.”

JURISDICTION

Commander Shafton left the Nawiliwili office at three-fifteen, allowing more than enough time to get to Lieutenant Takamura’s office for his three-thirty appointment. The day was fine although too hot, but Shafton paid no attention. He drove with his eyes straight ahead and his hands holding both sides of the wheel in a firm, steady grip. His mouth, too, was firm and steady. His subordinates would have recognized suppressed anger.

He was a stocky man with firm, steady ways. His eyes, spaced far apart as though to cast his hazel gaze in more than one direction at once, looked out from beneath graying hair that fell in a neatly waved arc over his brows, which were level and black. All in all, he felt he had a commanding presence and was not personally aware that Lieutenant Takamura considered his feet too small.

He parked precisely on Rice Street and walked the half block to police headquarters.

Takamura was not in, but was expected to return soon. Commander Shafton went upstairs and found the second floor lounge, where he helped himself to a plastic cup full of coffee and the telephone.

He spoke for several minutes in quiet tones, glancing from time to time at his watch. He was just hanging up when Takamura appeared at the head of the stairs, followed by Sergeant Handel and another man Commander Shafton did not know.

“As I told you,” Shafton said before Cobb could speak, “The
Ocean Mother
is being towed to Nawiliwili. There’s a storm out there, and Kalalono is no place for a ship that size in bad weather.”

Cobb raised an eyebrow. “‘Heavy disappointment causes my heart to sag.’ Your tow will cause problems for any ongoing investigation. It would have been better to leave the vessel alone; there may be evidence on board.”

If Commander Shafton recognized the quote from Charlie Chan he gave no sign. He was singularly immune to sarcasm. Irony belonged to a different universe entirely. “There was no sign of crime— unless you know something I don’t.” Commander Shafton was so smoothly shaven that he appeared almost sexless. Cobb knew that in fact Shafton shaved twice a day and just now exuded the faint but unmistakable aroma of English Leather. The smoothness of his skin was matched by the smoothness of his tone.

“In fact, all seven victims died of asphyxiation. They stopped breathing. I do not believe these could be called natural deaths.” Cobb opened his office door and ushered the others inside.

“Now Commander, we must find an accommodation with one another. We probably have a crime on our hands. It is within our territorial limits, since it was discovered on a ship grounded on Kauai soil. The ship, however, may be declared derelict, although we could not say it was exactly abandoned by its captain and crew.”

“That may be a debatable point,” Commander Shafton agreed softly. “But they are all dead. There is no more formal abandonment than that. We are not concerned at the moment with rights of salvage, though, but with safety of shipping in coastal waters. That is my responsibility. Precedent suggests the Coast Guard should be conducting the investigation prior to a determination of criminal activity. Lieutenant, you overstepped your bounds when you authorized the removal of the bodies off that ship.”

“Commander, those bodies were past rigor mortis. These are the subtropics, and decomposition was imminent. There was some urgency.”

“I will allow it to pass. But we will take charge from now on. I am willing to allow your department to observe pending proof of crime.”

“Very well. When do you expect the ship to arrive at the harbor?”

“It shouldn’t take more than four hours. Say around eight this evening.”

“Very good I assume my men and myself will have free access to the ship for investigative purposes?”

Commander Shafton nodded reluctantly. “You may not know this, Lieutenant, but I was due to go on leave today. I have a flight to Paris. But if this is a medical matter, then the public health threat would prevent me from going. Personally, I hope you find evidence of a crime.”

Cobb said nothing for a few moments. Then he leaned forward. “Have your people taken Geiger counters aboard?”

Shafton was surprised. “Why would they do that?”

“It appears this ship has recently participated in an excursion to protest the latest French bomb test in the South Pacific. If they wandered inside the security zone for the test, perhaps the ship was contaminated. It is only a suggestion, of course.”

Shafton stood up and pressed his hands down on the edge of Takamura’s desk. “Why didn’t someone mention this before?”

Cobb shrugged. “We didn’t know until… recently. It’s the responsibility of the Navy or Coast Guard to keep track of vessels and their travels, I believe. I am just a policeman.”

Shafton’s face flushed. He released the edge of the desk with an effort and took a step back. “Very well. I’ll take charge of this matter personally. That ship could be contaminating our waters by itself, not to mention whatever was aboard her that caused all those deaths. I’ll expect to see you at the harbor this evening. And I’d like to know whatever you find out about the cause of these deaths.”

He turned on his heel and walked from the room. The sound of the starch in his uniform was loud compared to the empty silence he left behind. Finally, Chazz broke the silence. “You took that very well.”

Sergeant Handel cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. “You didn’t mention Dr. Shih’s report, Lieutenant.”

“No,” Cobb said “Well.” He stood up and stretched “Let’s go downstairs, shall we? We have a little time before you have to go to the airport to pick up Patria and the little one.”

The records room was in the basement, unattended at the moment. A new file envelope lay on a green table. The envelope was thick and an unattractive orange. The white paper tag labeled it Homicide #234. Cobb hefted it in his hand for a moment before lifting the flap and peering inside. “Very nice,” he murmured, reaching in. He pulled out a handful of passports of various nationalities and fanned them out on the table.

“What have we here?” He held one up. “Jeffrey Laurel Hudson, American, thirty-two years old.” He held the photo toward Handel “Recognize him?” he asked.

Handel nodded “The pilot.”

“Weren’t you there?” Chazz asked Cobb.

“I was busy driving Mrs. Takamura to the hospital and left the preliminary investigation to Sergeant Handel, who has done a fine job by bringing the log and these passports.” He pawed through the others. “Three Americans. Two French. One Dutch, a Canadian. Very interesting. Who’s the best sailor on the island?” He directed this question at Handel, who shook his head.

“I’m not sure. I think maybe Sammy Akeakamai’s brother Willard. He works a lot of the yacht charters out of Hanalei.”

“Okay.” Cobb checked his watch. “Chazz, Aloha 3245 gets in in a few minutes… Are you interested in pursuing this investigation?”

Chazz showed the edges of his teeth. “You drag me away from an interesting if terrifying dive on the big island, hustle me here in a state plane, tell me we have a mystery with seven deaths, and now you ask me that?”

“Meet us at Nawiliwili around eight. Scott, why don’t you and I go have a chat with Sammy?”

Chazz was wondering how he was going to get to the airport when a patrol car pulled up. The officer inside leaned across and rolled down the passenger window. “Dr. Koenig?”

“Yes?”

“The lieutenant asked me to take you back to the airport. To pick up your wife?”

“Oh? Thoughtful of the lieutenant.” Chazz climbed in. The other two crossed the street to the County Building where Takamura’s former partner Sammy Akeakamai was some kind of keeper of public records.

The County Building was never a busy place even at peak hours, but it was nearly deserted this late in the day. The high foyer echoed the sound of the front door closing behind Cobb and Handel. An administrative gloom closed around them. They walked as softly as possible to an office on the right and entered.

Sammy Akeakamai sat behind a desk facing the wall, a telephone receiver almost lost in the folds of flesh between his ear and shoulder. His thick graying hair stuck up in tufts. He scratched on a yellow legal pad with a ballpoint pen. Cobb craned over the counter to see: a repetitive pattern of chevrons and sharks. The page was nearly full, which meant that Sammy had been listening for some time without speaking. He turned in his chair when the two policemen entered. It creaked alarmingly, and he said into the telephone, “No, no, everything’s fine. I’m still here.” He winked at Cobb.

Mumbling noises emerged from the vicinity of his ear. His broad face remained impassive as he removed from his desk drawer a paper-wrapped toothpick, carefully peeled the paper in a thin straight line down one side, gently eased the pick from its wrapping, and inserted it carefully between his left lower bicuspid and canine He chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“I’ll get right on it, your honor,” he said at last. He carefully replaced the receiver and smiled at Cobb.

“Hi, Boss. What can we do for you?”

“What are you going to do for his honor?”

“I forget. Something about the annual report. Made any arrests lately? I sure miss the old days. The thrill of the chase, the excitement of the arrest, all that.”

Cobb laughed. “Jaywalking. Petit larceny, maybe.”

Sammy looked aggrieved. “Come on,” he said. “We had some drugs here, once. I remember that. And then there was the excitement out at PACMAN, and the thing with the satellite…”

“Well…”

“And a murder or two. Come on. Things are dull now, admit it.”

“We’ve got seven stiffs in the morgue, off a boat Kimiko found last night.”

Sammy’s eyes grew round and large. He stood up and leaned over the counter. “Tell me about it.”

“I need a sailor, Sammy. Someone who knows currents, tides, winds. Someone who can read the weather.”

Sammy thumped his own chest. “Hey, Boss. It’s in our bones. I’m your man.”

Cobb nodded. “Okay. But I was thinking of your brother Willard. He runs charters.”

Sammy nodded, deflated. “Sure, he’d be pretty good. He’s on one now, though. You might find him somewhere around Lanai, reefing his sails, getting ready for dinner, which reminds me…”

Cobb gave up. “All right, dinner. Let’s go.”

Sammy closed up the office, and minutes later they were at the Paradise Cafe around a loaded table with cold beers in front of them.

No one spoke as the hot and sour soup, barbecued chicken wings and dim sum, the twice-cooked pork, and rolling lettuce appeared. They ate in dedicated silence. The restaurant was a favorite with the locals, but this early it was nearly deserted. Sounds of occasional stir-fry shot from the kitchen like heat lightning. A squeaky bearing in the ancient air-conditioning gnawed at them like a toothache.

Finally, Sammy scooped the last of his rice from its bowl and licked his chopsticks clean. He pushed plate and bowl away and waited politely until Cobb and Scott had done the same, unwrapping another toothpick, which he chewed solemnly for a moment before speaking. “All right, Boss. Give it to me.”

Cobb chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “It’s like this. A ship drifted into Kalalono Bay yesterday. Seven bodies aboard. Time of death is unclear as yet, but rigor mortis had passed. Cause of death is also hazy, but they suffocated.”

“So they had been dead somewhere between, say, six and thirty hours. I see what you mean.” Sammy gazed at his now-frayed toothpick. “Any signs of decomposition?”

“On the edge, I’d guess. Dr. Shih didn’t say specifically.”

“So rigor had just passed,” Sammy finished thoughtfully. “Cause of suffocation?”

Cobb shrugged. Dr. Shih had refrained from doing an autopsy pending notification of next of kin, but external evidence suggested they stopped breathing and died of oxygen deprivation. Causes could range from something they ate, which could be determined by autopsy of stomach contents, to disease, poison gas, or, Dr. Shih had jokingly suggested, voodoo or black magic. “Perhaps they were prayed to death.”

“Pathogens or toxins should leave traces. Dr. Shih will find them as soon as the decision is made to go ahead with autopsy.”

Sammy asked why she waited.

Cobb frowned at his hat, which he now held before him like a knight’s shield, its ludicrous device of golden plumeria blossoms on a blue, cloud-speckled sky aimed at Sergeant Handel. “Good question. There are two reasons, so far. One, we’re having a little jurisdictional dispute with the Coast Guard…”

“Aha! Commander Shafton.”

“Mmm. And two, there is, as yet, no evidence of crime. Which means various state and federal agencies have to approve in order to do autopsy without next-of-kin permission.”

“I get it. So you want to know where the ship was when everyone bought it.”

Cobb nodded.

“Were they under power? I assume this was not a sailing ship.”

“No sails. I’m no maritime aficionado, but it looks like some kind of converted navy vessel to me, a minesweeper or something. Eighty-five, ninety feet. The engines were shut down. Two of the crew were working on them when they died, an older man, Dutch, and a young American girl.”

“Right. So we assume they all died at about the same time, or they would be in different stages of postmortem. The ship drifted into the bay?”

Again Cobb nodded. “From the west.”

“That figures. Now this time of year the trades blow generally from the east or northeast, against the direction of the ship’s drift. The island would shelter that section of coast, though, so we can assume that it was current that brought it. Time of day?”