Dead Before A Rival Read online

  The years had treated Joanna’s brother, Marshal, less kindly. Sid was to find out later that Marshal was two years younger than his sister. He looked twenty years older. His blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed. With a frame indicating a former athlete, Marshal showed no current signs of interest in any activities requiring energy. Sid, noticing Marshal’s hands had a perceptible shake, was convinced Marshal would have benefited from consultation with Jeff Bentley’s doctor.

  Joanna’s two close attendants were remarkable in being so different. The tall, tanned and muscular Bart, with his heavy shock of black hair, stood out in the crowd. While Joanna exuded wealth, Bart radiated health. He was restless and overly helpful from the moment Sid and Kay had come aboard. Joanna’s arrival increased Bart’s activities by a factor of ten. He was everywhere: helping the crew with the lines; rushing up to the bridge to give the captain unneeded and unheeded advice on how to leave the shelter of the marina; coming back down the ladder in a couple of jumps and swinging on the handrails as he did so to offer drinks—which were not yet ready to be poured—to anyone willing to be distracted by him.

  David Rouse, on the other hand, was quiet and withdrawn. If a stranger had been asked to guess David’s occupation, “dentist” would have been one of the top five choices. In his late forties, his thinning, fine blond hair was already disheveled by the mild breeze blowing off of Elima’s high, central ridge. Where Sid had developed an instant aversion to Bart, he found David Rouse to be a quite agreeable person. The one behavioral characteristic David shared with his rival was his attentiveness to Joanna. She, like a seventeenth century French queen, accepted the attention as though it were simply the nature of the world.

  If David Rouse looked like a dentist, Manuel Silva looked even more like a sea captain. The fiftyish commander of the Jomark had a heavy head of gray hair crammed under a visored cap. Any director, casting for an actor to fill a seafaring role, could not have asked for a more convincing figure. The captain’s weathered face spoke of years at sea and exposure to the elements, while his brown eyes buried amidst wrinkles seemed designed to view distances across blue waters. An unlit pipe in his mouth completed the picture.

  Sid slipped away from the crowd to watch Captain Silva skillfully maneuver the Jomark away from the slip and through the opening in the breakwater. The instrument panel would not have been out of place on a jumbo jet. As soon as they had moved out beyond the entrance buoys, the captain swung the ship around to follow the coast along a northerly route. Turning to Sid, after Bart had decided that with the boat safely outside the breakwater his services were no longer needed in the wheel house, the captain asked, “Surprised?”

  Sid nodded. “I can’t believe how quiet it is. It’s just as quiet as a sailboat I was on once.”

  “Two custom Rolls engines account for it. There are special dampeners on them to handle vibration. After the old scow of mine I had off of Midway, this is like riding in a feather bed.”

  “How do you deal with all those instruments?” Sid asked, pointing to the flashing lights and monitors.

  The captain laughed. “I know it looks like I’d need a college education to read them, but that’s mostly shibai. The builder’s representative flew out from Miami to show me how to sail her. Over drinks that night, he admitted the compass and the fathometer is about all we really need. If something goes wrong, the lights flash red and the computer screen tells me in plain English what’s happening. If we don’t listen, a female voice cuts in to tell us in so many words what has to be done. I’d never let Mrs. Forbes know it, but even Bart Cain could run this boat.”

  “Where are we headed for?”

  “Mrs. Forbes wants to pull up near Waipa Falls. It’s fairly sheltered along the cliff, though we shouldn’t be having much in the way of wind today anyway. We’ll probably sail around some along the coast and then anchor off of there during lunch. Then we’ll turn south and go out to Cook Reef. Bart want’s to do some scuba diving. I haven’t heard of anything planned beyond that. The weather should hold until the onshore breeze builds up later in the day.”

  “Does it get rough then?” Sid was trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. Captain Silva’s mildly amused reaction indicated Sid’s efforts at concealment had been unsuccessful.

  “As I said, there’s nothing heavy brewing.”

  Pleased at the reassurance, Sid returned to the rear deck where the passengers had already chosen their favorite spots. Sid’s first impression of a friendly, relaxed group thoroughly enjoying a day’s outing was dispelled when he became aware of at least two points of tension. One, he had expected, the other came as a surprise.

  ***

  From the shelter of the afterdeck, the cruise to Waipa Falls was a twenty minute segment from a Hawaii Visitors Bureau video. The water was glasslike and a deep blue. Closer to shore, the sea turned to a bright, blue-green breaking into a low white froth as it approached the island. The shore, itself—as the Jomark glided northwards—changed from white sands, to black, to broken piles of lava rock, and it finally became high bluffs, stretching as much as two and three hundred feet toward the blue, blue sky with its scattered puffs of white clouds. Coconut palms clustered in sheltered coves.

  Wherever the slope away from the beach was gentle enough, tropical vegetation covered the dark lava with a dense, rich green carpet. The warm, tropical sun, which had just come over the ridge, made each of the contrasting colors sharp and brilliant. A small school of flying fish broke the water almost under the boat’s prow, flashing their rainbow patterns in the light of the newly risen sun, while an eight-foot hammerhead kept pace with the boat for several miles.

  Joanna, Sam and David were sitting under the canvas awning covering the forward half of the deck. Bart Cain had his own chair pulled up next to Joanna’s, but his nervous energy kept him in a constant state of movement. Sid expected him to start doing one-arm push-ups at any moment. Sam was filling the air with a description of her recent world cruise. David was nodding absently. Sid, sitting three chairs away, for a moment regretted the almost complete absence of engine noise, since it meant he could hear Sam’s monologue all too clearly. Seemingly long inured to the sound of her mother’s voice, Joanna was engrossed in a romance, though only a couple of chairs away from the garrulous Sam. Marshal had just gotten up and gone below.

  Jeff, Fe and Kay were sunning themselves beyond the edge of the awning. Jeff was stretched out on his back, looking reasonably fit in his brief bathing trunks, and basking contentedly in the company of his two fellow sunbathers. Kay was wearing the bikini she had bought special for the occasion. Like most husbands, Sid wondered how two minuscule pieces of fabric could have cost so much.

  Miss Filipinos costume made Kay look overdressed. Though fully appreciative, Sid said to himself, “If there’s an inverse correlation between prices and amount of material, then the two band-aids and a cork making up Fe’s apparel must have cost her a week’s pay.”

  Kay lifted her head, shaded her eyes and called to Sid. “Put on your trunks—they’re in the pack—and join the sun worshippers. And would you pick up the other tube of sunscreen that’s in there?”

  Sid got up to run the errand, having decided a little sun wouldn’t hurt. Turning to go down to the cabin where they had left their rucksack, he just avoided bumping into the young steward who he had overheard Joanna call Dolph. Dolph was taking orders for drinks and was standing next to Fe. Sid knew no Illocano, but he was certain the usually melodious language could sound so angry only if it was indeed spoken in anger. Even Jeff, realizing something was awry in the brief exchange, turned his head in their direction. By then, Dolph had moved along to Kay and was asking her what she would like to have to drink.

  In spite of the sunglasses she was wearing, Sid could see annoyance on Fe’s face following the encounter. Or was it annoyance? Thinking back on it later, Sid was convinced it was a far stronger emotion.

  Chapter 3

  Waipa Falls was not only a dis
appointment, it was non-existent—and that, even though it had not been an especially dry year. As Captain Silva pointed out, the watershed which in the past had soaked up the water on the cliffs above the falls had long ago been denuded to provide more land for sugarcane. “Waipa Creek used to be a year-round stream. Now, when we get a heavy rain, the water comes down in torrents and takes chunks of the cliff along with it. The mud run-off spreads out for miles around. Three days later the falls are just a trickle. A week later, and you won’t find a drop of water coming over.

  “Now, with all the development going on on the bluffs, there won’t even be cane fields to hold the water. There’ll be falls only when it’s actually raining, and then they’ll be raging torrents.” He paused, then added. “In a good tropical storm, with the wind howling and thirty foot waves pounding those rocks, I wouldn’t be surprised to see some of the buildings come down along with the stream and parts of the hillside.”

  Sid looked up at the precipitous cliff, and was thankful he and Kay had chosen a site for their new home on a gentle slope a mile removed from the ocean.

  Kerwin Kaawaloa, Captain Silva’s “first mate,” guided the Jomark skillfully into a sheltered spot south of the dry falls. The ocean was still glass smooth. Kerwin released the anchor from the pilot house and then came down to help with setting up the tables and chairs in the Jomark’s lounge, a room taking up half of the ship’s length. Several of the passengers had gotten restless and were wandering about the ship. Sid went down to watch the lunch preparations.

  “Don’t I remember you from somewhere?” Sid asked Kerwin, while the broad-shouldered native-Hawaiian was locking the tables into place.

  “You should, Mr. Chu,” Kerwin said, a smile lighting up his dark features. “You cross-examined me in the Harlowe trial.”

  “Of course,” Sid said, now clearly remembering the courtroom scene, “You were one of the witnesses who saw Lucas Harlowe crawling out of the window at Uchima’s Market.”

  “That’s right. Luke still won’t talk to me since I testified, but I only reported what I saw.”

  Sid shrugged. “I wasn’t happy about what you were testifying to, either, but I knew you were telling the truth, and that’s the way the law works. If we could be sure witnesses were always telling the truth, we probably wouldn’t need the law in the first place. Then I’d be out of a job. How do you like working on this boat?”

  “I’m not sure yet. This is really the first time we’ve been out to sea for any length of time since I was hired last month. It beats heck out of bagging groceries, for sure. I used to spend all of my spare time out on one boat or another, so it’s nice to get paid for being where I used to have to spend money to get to.”

  “Is this all you do?”

  “Mrs. Forbes has all three of us working full time. Captain Silva stays with the boat. Dolph,” Kerwin nodded toward the galley where the steward had just disappeared, “works at the Forbes Ranch helping the cook. I do a little landscaping there, but Captain Silva keeps me busy most of the time working on the Jomark. It’s pretty near a full-time job just keeping it clean. It sure is a nice boat.”

  Sid had to agree, though a growing swell was making him a little uneasy. The anchored craft lacked the rock steadiness it had while underway. Leaving Kerwin to finish his task, Sid decided to explore the forward part of the ship. Walking between the galley and the large storeroom, Sid continued on through a narrow passageway lined with staterooms. Passing the closed door of one of them, he heard a woman’s giggle, a young woman. From the moment she spoke, he could distinguish the musical rhythm of the native Illocano speaker, though he could not make out the words. The bantering male voice was more difficult to place.

  Deciding whatever was going on was none of his business, and that to be discovered before the stateroom door would be thoroughly embarrassing, Sid walked quickly on to the end of the passageway. He went past the other staterooms and up the ladder which, on land, he would have called stairs. From near the top he looked back down the passageway and could see a pair of legs in men’s trousers stopped in front of the cabin where he had heard the voices. Unlike Sid, this listener showed no indications of hurrying away. Sid shrugged and went out to the bow of the Jomark where Marshal Dalquist was talking to Kay, ostensibly about the reason for Kay’s and Sid’s presence on the boat.

  ***

  “Why do drunks show their drinking in their eyes first?” Kay was thinking as Marshal started to explain about his run-in with the law.

  She had been looking for Sid and had strolled down the length of the Jomark to the bow. As she had been standing in the vee formed by the two railings and looking up at the ridge running the length of Elima, she had heard footsteps behind her. They belonged to a somewhat unsteady Marshal Dalquist.

  “I’ve been hoping to get you or Sid alone,” he said, his eyes shifting their focus back and forth. “That damn Honolulu firm isn’t doing diddledy squat for me?”

  Kay turned to face him, and Marshal leaned forward, with hands on each of the rails, thus effectively boxing her into the vee. It was then she realized he might have been doing so more to steady himself than to keep her from moving out around him. She decided to regard it as an innocent pose rather than a maneuver having an ulterior motive, but for the first time since putting on the skimpy bikini she felt naked and even more exposed than she actually was.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Marshal straightened up and removed one hand from the rail to make an emphatic, negative gesture, almost losing his balance as he did so. “There wasn’t the slightest reason for charging me. In fact, it was illegal, completely illegal. That was the first thing I told my lawyer. It happened in Honolulu. I was stopped at a red light on Kapiolani, some time after six in the evening, maybe later. This damn cop pulled up beside me and started flashing his light. I didn’t even know it was me he was after, so I didn’t stop for a couple of blocks until after he put on his siren. He wanted to know why I wasn’t using my seat belt. That’s what he stopped me for, and not for drunk driving.” Marshal was working on his indignation.

  “Did he say that specifically when he stopped you, that it was because you weren’t wearing your seatbelt?”

  Marshal seemed not to hear the questions. “Police can’t do that, stop you for one thing and arrest you for another. Anyone knows that. Jeff agrees. It amounts to illegal search and seizure. I had some words with that smart-ass cop.”

  Kay could well imagine the scene. She had once had a vociferous argument with Qual about the difficulties of police work. Just the thought alone, of dealing with drunks, appalled her. “No wonder the police become abusive,” she had said to the senior partner. “Some corporation executive gets stopped for drunken driving and heaps a load of shit on the cop’s head. How do you think the cop’s going to react?”

  Qual’s answer was, “I think he should dump it right back on the executive. He doesn’t. He saves it up and dumps it on some native Hawaiian he catches asleep on the beach.”

  Kay gave a silent three cheers for the policeman who Marshal was describing, and she looked forward to describing Marshal’s treatment to Qual. Marshal was rambling on. “The bastard pushed me into the patrol car like as if I was a common drunk. You’d think I’d held up a bank or something. He even called another car. You better believe I was pissed. Well, I wouldn’t let them give me a blood test. I told them I’d walk a chalk line or touch my nose, or whatever. I wasn’t about to let them go sticking any needles into me. I called Jeff, and he ran down my lawyer.

  “The firm’s Kishimoto, Kishimoto and a bunch of others. They handle Forbes Corp’s account. Old man Kishimoto himself came down. I’ll give him credit for what he did then. He pulled a few strings to keep me out of the slammer overnight. Even so, the judge next day yanked my license. He said it was automatic in cases of refusal to take the blood test. Young Kishimoto says it’s the law.” Marshal was getting increasingly unsteady on his feet and leaned against the starboard rail.
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br />   “I didn’t think much of the defense I got. Kishimoto brought in a so-called expert in criminal law, some smart-ass young Jew lawyer. I should have known he’d screw things up. He wanted me to plead. He said he might be able to get the drunk charge dropped. Might, mind you, and if he did I’d get off with a suspended sentence and might get my license back in six months. Shit! I wasn’t about to go begging. I know I wasn’t drunk when the cop arrested me. Well, I think it made Feinberg, or Feinman—or whatever his name is—mad because I wouldn’t follow his advice, because I didn’t see any great enthusiasm on his part when it came to defending me after I demanded a jury trial. I’d have done better defending myself. For one thing, he let the cop go on and on about how drunk I was and never once objected.”

  “What evidence did the policeman give for his claim you were drunk?”

  Again, Marshal seemed not to hear the question. “I don’t know how he ever let the jury be picked in the first place. Can’t you lawyers challenge them or something? I know half of them were teetotalers. You could tell by just looking at them. The long and short of it is I got a year in prison out of it. Can you believe it? If I’d gone out and mugged someone, I wouldn’t have had to serve a day. Sure, I’m out on appeal, but I can’t see how Feinberg is doing anything to earn the whopping big amounts he’s charging. Then he says my appeal will probably get turned down. That’s why I want you and Sid to look into it. Jeff says you two did a bang up job in the Hixon case. I figure if you can get a murderer off scot free, you should be able to get a DUI reversed, ‘specially since I was cold sober.”