The Phone Call (A Psychological Mystery Short) Page 4

  He approached the office where he conducted business. He had left the Maui Police Department nearly three years ago where he worked as a homicide detective, deciding it was no longer right for him. At times, he second-guessed the decision to leave behind the steady pay and camaraderie with his fellow officers to become a private eye. But, for the most part, he was sure it was the right thing to do as an independent spirit. Now he called his own shots in going after the bad guys and sometimes even the good ones.

  As Naku glanced at the words "Eddie Naku Investigations" on the window, his lips curved into a half smile. He was proud of who he was and what he had accomplished. He went inside the place that included a waiting area, his office, and that of his very capable secretary, Vanna Dandridge.

  She greeted him while making a face. "I wish I could just stroll in here whenever I please."

  He chuckled, noting it was just past one o'clock and this was his first visit to the office today. Eyeing the forty-year-old, petite, and twice divorced redhead, he joked, "You can. Problem is, if you did, I'd be totally lost without your steady hand."

  She flashed her teeth. "True enough."

  Naku chuckled. "I thought you'd agree." He updated her on the case of the jewel thief that was now closed and then stepped into his office. It was about as nondescript as it got with white walls and beige carpet. There was a wooden desk with his laptop, leather chair, and a couple of stacking chairs for visitors. He had considered remodeling, but figured the money could be better spent elsewhere.

  Sitting at his desk, Naku glanced out the window at a couple of palm trees in the distance. His phone chimed, indicating a text message. It was from Kathryn Higuchi, a former wealthy client and his current lover. The text said she was visiting the mainland with her teenage daughter and that when they got back to Maui, she was looking forward to some romantic time together. He texted her back, indicating he felt the same way. He really did enjoy her company and what she had to offer in and out of bed, even though he had no idea where their relationship was going. Maybe nowhere, or maybe everywhere. Time would tell.

  Then his thoughts turned to his former love interest, Gayle Luciano, an international flight attendant. Though they had gone their separate ways, the truth was he had not gotten her entirely out of his system, and perhaps never would. But that was his problem, not hers.

  Naku's cell phone rang. It was Jerry Quinabo, a Maui Emergency Medical Services worker. The two had been friends since Naku's days on the force when he'd seen one too many crime victims or offenders being carted off.

  He answered the phone curiously. "Hey, Quinabo. What's up?"

  "Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time, Naku. Just thought you'd want to know that a friend of yours—at least I assume he's a friend, since you're on his cell phone contact list—Frank Iwamoto is dead—"

  Naku sat up, as if pushed, startled by the words. "What—?"

  "Yeah. Apparently he took an eight story dive from a condominium lanai, according to a woman who witnessed the whole thing. My partner and I are on the way to the hospital right now with Iwamoto's body, as identified by a neighbor, but a doctor doesn't need to confirm what's staring us in the face—he didn't make it..."

  Naku remained mute with disbelief.

  "So I take it you knew him?" Quinabo asked.

  "Yes, I knew him," Naku said. "He was a friend.

  "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it's my job."

  "Yeah," Naku said weakly. "Mahalo for letting me know."

  "Anytime," Quinabo said awkwardly. "Or hopefully not..."

  Naku hung up while trying to wrap his mind around the news that Frank Iwamoto was dead. He had just seen him last week. As a fellow Hawaiian private investigator, Iwamoto had shown him a few tricks of the trade. The two had even worked a complicated case together once involving a hitman and a missing bride where the hitman turned out to be in cahoots with her in a murder.

  Iwamoto had fallen eight stories to his death. How did it happen? Why did it happen?

  Naku wanted some answers before drawing any conclusions. But even that seemed hollow, as it would do nothing to bring his friend back to life.

  * * *

  Two days later, Naku strolled into the Maui Police Department located in Wailuku, the county seat of Maui County. He had gotten scant information on the death of Frank Iwamoto and decided it was time to go to the source of the investigation. So he returned to his old stomping grounds, which he was known to do more than once while investigating cases.

  He ran into Detectives Leila Kahana and Jonny Chung, former colleagues of his. He had dated Leila briefly, before Naku started looking elsewhere, as did Leila.

  "Seems to me, Naku, you just can't stay away from us," she joked.

  "You got me, Kahana," he played along. "With your gorgeous looks and quick wit, I can't resist coming back for a visit every now and then."

  "If I were in your shoes, I'd probably do the same thing," Chung said. "Instead, I get to partner up with Kahana and get the fringe benefits every day."

  "That's enough you two," Leila said, coloring. "Don't do me any favors, Naku."

  He grinned thoughtfully. "Hey, I wouldn't dream of it."

  "And, Chung," she said, "the only fringe benefit you're ever going to get from me is a hard kick in the ass when you step out of line."

  "Ouch!" Chung cringed and rubbed his ass.

  Naku preferred to quit while he was ahead. "Don't let me keep you guys. I'm looking for Detective Sanderson."

  "He should be in his office," Leila informed him. "Are you looking into the death of Frank Iwamoto?"

  "Unofficially," Naku told her. "He was a friend."

  "I knew him too," she said. "We crossed paths from time to time during investigations."

  "Yeah, he was around long enough for that to happen," Naku acknowledged of the fifty-something late private eye.

  "He probably should have been around a lot longer," Chung said, eyeing Naku. "But it doesn't always work out that way."

  Naku agreed. "Tell me about it." He glanced at Leila. "See you later."

  "You too," she told him and walked away with her partner.

  Naku headed over to the office of Detective Tucker Sanderson, who was standing over his desk studying the contents of a folder.

  "Detective Sanderson?" Naku said, getting the attention of the fortyish, chunky, balding man wearing a cheap navy suit.

  Sanderson looked at him. "Eddie Naku, I presume?"

  "Yeah." He had phoned ahead of time, but preferred to talk in person. They shook hands.

  "Heard you used to be quite a character around here," Sanderson said.

  Naku grinned. "Don't believe everything you hear. I just did my job."

  "Fair enough. Have a seat and I'll tell you where we are on Frank Iwamoto—"

  Naku sat in a chair in front of the desk and watched as Sanderson opened up another folder and looked inside.

  After a moment or two, Sanderson said levelly, "We think Iwamoto either took his own life or fell to his death accidentally. Take your pick."

  Neither seemed unfathomable to Naku. He knew, for one, that more people in law enforcement committed suicide than died in the line of duty. He supposed the same might be true for private detectives who faced many of the same day to day stresses, minus the pay and medical benefits.

  At the same time, private investigation work could be a dangerous business, with most PIs placing themselves in danger at one time or another. Had this been one of those times?

  "No sign of forced entry?" he asked.

  "None that we could find," Sanderson replied. "And there was no indication that anyone was in the condo at the time, other than Iwamoto. The man had a blood alcohol level of nearly twice the legal limit. The toxicology report is still pending. Some people we spoke to suggested he was depressed over money; others said it was due to a relationship that ended badly. We haven't been able to verify either conclusively."

  "Was there a suicide note?" Naku wondered.
/>   "We didn't find one," Sanderson said. "Of course, that doesn't mean he didn't kill himself. The facts appear to speak for themselves. My guess is Iwamoto tried to drink his way out of his sorrows, made his way out to the lanai with the low railing, and either lost his balance and fell over or decided to check out then and there."

  Naku took a breath thoughtfully. "Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought I did," he allowed, while knowing that in reality their friendship had not been very deep. Meaning, he was hardly in a position to know what may or may not have been going on in Iwamoto's head.

  "Do we ever really know anyone all that well?" Sanderson asked skeptically. "Hell, I thought I knew my ex-wife pretty well. Turned out I didn't really know her at all. She left me high and dry and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."

  "Sorry to hear that," offered Naku.

  Sanderson sighed. "After five years, I'm over it now. I just wanted to make a point about how easy it is for people to go against the grain of how we may perceive them."

  "Point taken."

  The next day, the coroner's physician, Doctor Patricia Lee, made it official by ruling the death of Frank Iwamoto a likely suicide.

  * * *

  "I want to hire you," Ricky Iwamoto said, sitting across from Naku in his office.

  Naku studied the son of Frank Iwamoto. He was in his thirties and slender with short black hair. Naku could see the resemblance to his father, which made it all the more painful for both of them.

  That notwithstanding, he wasn't sure there was a case to be pursued. "The police and the coroner seem to think that your father took his own life or, at the very least, accidentally fell after drinking himself into a stupor."

  "Maybe he did," Ricky conceded. "Or maybe something else happened—"

  "You think he might have been murdered?"

  Ricky shrugged. "You tell me. My father was a private investigator, just like you, and he always seemed to find clients. He made his fair share of enemies over the years. Maybe someone decided to get some payback. Or maybe a current case got too hot to handle."

  "There was no evidence of foul play," Naku pointed out, peering across his desk.

  "That's why I want you to dig around and see if there was something the police missed." He took a flash drive from his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Naku. "Those are the cases my father worked on for the last couple of years that I downloaded from his computer. Apparently two or three were still active investigations."

  Naku sat back thoughtfully, still not convinced there was anything to investigate. Then again, the Frank Iwamoto he knew did not seem like he was ready to end it all. But that still didn't mean he didn't. However, an accident was even more plausible when combined with him being intoxicated.

  Naku leaned forward. "The police described Frank as having money problems or relationship issues, suggesting one or the other may have pushed him over the edge."

  Ricky sighed. "My father and I weren't very close—not since he and my mother split up nearly a decade ago. So I can't say if he was having money problems. As far as relationships go, he was never involved with any woman for too long. It wasn't in his DNA. The notion that he killed himself because of a failed relationship or was so careless he did it accidentally is ridiculous."

  "How can you be so sure?" Naku pressed him. "You said you weren't that close to your father."

  "I wasn't," he maintained. "But that didn't stop us from talking or hanging out together sometimes. I owe it to him and my mother to make sure the authorities get it right about what happened. We need to know the truth, whatever it is."

  Naku took note of the "we," meaning him and his mother, rather than simply him. This was not a surprise really. Hawaiians had the utmost respect for those who had passed on in wanting them to be buried without a dark cloud hanging over them—or at the very least some closure. Clearly this was what Ricky and his mother needed to put this chapter of their lives behind them.

  Though Naku was open to looking into Iwamoto's death, maybe even for himself, it was still business and he needed to be up front about that. "I charge five hundred an hour or twenty-five hundred a day, depending on which applies," he advised, "plus any necessary expenses I may incur. I also usually ask for a five thousand dollar retainer for the cases I take on. If applicable, any excess will be returned to the client."

  "I can do that," Ricky said without flinching. "I have my own business and I've done well for myself."

  Naku nodded. "Okay, I'll see what I can learn about your father and how he ended up falling eight stories to his death. But I must warn you, there may be nothing nefarious about the way he died."

  "I understand. Will you take a check?"

  "Sure." Naku watched him pull out his checkbook and start filling in the blanks. "What type of business do you have?" he asked.

  "A clothing store."

  Naku couldn't help but think that it was a far cry from Frank Iwamoto's line of work. He was sure that was a good thing, as private eye stuff was anything but a piece of cake. And it could be lethal. Did that apply to Frank Iwamoto? Or was his death pure coincidence as it related to his profession?

  Naku took a look at the check and then at his new client. "I'll need access to Frank's condo and his office."

  "No problem," Ricky said. "I can meet you at the condo this afternoon at two and I'll give you the key to his office."

  "Okay."

  Naku took down the address of the condo, having never visited Frank there, before seeing Ricky out.

  Afterward, he filled Vanna in on their latest client. "Frank Iwamoto was a friend and colleague. But I still didn't know him all that well." He handed her the flash drive. "Take a look at his latest cases and see who he was working for and why. Beyond that, do some digging for anything that might be of some use to give us an accurate picture of him that might provide some clues as to why he fell eight stories with only one possible outcome."

  "I'll get right on it," she said and wrinkled her nose. "What a terrible way to die."

  "Yeah," he agreed, "and even worse if you were shoved or thrown off."

  She couldn't argue the point.

  Chapter Two

  Just before noon, Naku stopped by the Little Palms, a watering hole on Front Street in Lahaina. His friend, Owen Sasaki, was the owner. The Little Palms served the best beer and cocktails on the island.

  Naku watched as Owen, doubling as head bartender, approached him. "What's up, Eddie?"

  "Lost a friend recently," Naku muttered as he listened to the Hawaiian song "Aloha 'Oe" playing softly in the background.

  Owen, a dark-haired Pacific Islander in his thirties, frowned. "That's never good, man. Anyone I know?"

  "Frank Iwamoto."

  "Oh yeah, I heard about him. But I didn't realize you knew each other. I should have guessed as much, with both of you being private dicks and all."

  "Yeah, it worked out that way."

  "Sorry he kicked the bucket," Owen said.

  "So am I." Naku tried to imagine falling many stories to his death. It wasn't a pretty picture, meaning it had to be downright ugly for Iwamoto.

  "What are you having—beer? Or do you want something stronger?"

  "I'll stick to beer," Naku said. The last thing he needed right now was something stronger.

  "Beer it is. Coming right up."

  Naku watched as he filled two mugs, sliding one toward him and taking a swig from the other.

  "You working on anything right now?" Owen asked.

  "Iwamoto's son hired me to look into his death," Naku responded, putting the mug to his mouth.

  Owen cocked a thick brow. "You think someone took him out?"

  Naku shrugged. "Too early to tell. But it wouldn't be the first time a private eye got on someone's bad side."

  "That's true," Owen said. "Either way, I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of what happened to your pal."

  Naku met his eyes. "Mahalo for the vote of confidence."

  "Hey, just te
lling it like I see it, man."

  Naku only wished it was as simple as what he wanted. The truth was that each case was different from the last and the next one. All he could do was go wherever the clues led him and wait for the pieces to fall into place. Or not.

  He tasted more suds thoughtfully and asked, "Heard from Gayle lately?"

  Owen, who had introduced Naku to her, responded. "Yeah. Last I knew she was doing her thing in the air to New Zealand and back."

  "I wonder if she'll ever get tired of the constant travel," Naku said.

  "Maybe you should ask her sometime."

  "Maybe I will." Naku drank more beer and grabbed a handful of pretzels.

  "She's probably wondering the same thing about you as a private investigator," Owen suggested, peering at him. "It's always a two-way street, Eddie."

  "Yeah, I know," he said.

  "It's not too late to repair the damage and give it another go."

  Naku shook his head. "I think it is. We've both moved on."

  "People move on all the time," Owen told him. "Doesn't mean they can't realize the error of their ways and right the ship at some point."

  Naku grinned. "Since when did you become a philosopher?"

  "Been one all my life. Just takes the right people to get it out of me."

  Naku laughed and lifted his mug as did Owen, and the two toasted before Naku ate a few pretzels and drank more beer as he considered his next move.

  * * *

  Naku drove his Subaru Forester down South Kihei Road in Kihei. It was located on the sunniest part of the island in Maui County, with some of the best beaches, restaurants, and accommodations, along with views of West Maui. Upon reaching North Kihei Road, he saw the Coconut Heights Condominiums, the place where Frank Iwamoto had met his Maker.

  Driving into the parking garage, Naku spotted Ricky Iwamoto standing beside a gray Lexus.

  "Aloha," Ricky said tonelessly. "We can take the elevator up."

  "All right." Naku followed him to the elevator, which was already open for them to step into. "So how long did Frank live here?" he asked curiously as they moved up toward the eighth floor.

  "About three years, I guess."

  Naku considered the money problems Iwamoto was allegedly having. Even before seeing the place, it was obvious that real estate in this area did not come cheaply. "How was he able to afford this place?"