Death in the Orchid Garden (18 page)

L
ouise had hurried into her clothes, but still she was late. She came down the elevator and jogged down the hall to the conference room, relieved that this route through the hotel did not take her by her noisy adversary, the parrot. If it screamed at her one more time, she might be tempted to commit avian homicide.

Pulling open the carved koa wood door, she hoped to find that the police chief had ordered up rolls and coffee, as he had the last time this unlucky group had met.

No food, she saw, as she entered the room. Again, she was the last to arrive, but this time the chief was not so forgiving. “Please sit down in back, Mrs. Eldridge,” he briskly informed her. “We've already started and now you've set us back a bit.”

Red suffused her face as she slipped into a seat in the last row. Mercifully, Chief Hau took a moment to rustle his papers as Louise tried to regain her composure. How could she tell the chief she had the same legitimate excuse as the last time—her clever husband was giving her information on the principals in this case, some of which might prove of value to him.

It was a smaller group this time. Nine of the eleven civilians who went to the Big Island were here, as well as Marty and Steffi Corbin. The other visiting scientists, the local TV crew, and the NTBG's Tim Raddant and Sam Folsom had apparently been dismissed from police consideration.

The Corbins turned their heads and gave her concerned looks, but the rest of the group focused on what Police Chief Randy Hau was telling them.

Casting a disapproving glance in Louise's direction, he said, “I'll repeat briefly what I just told you for the benefit of the latecomer. After last night's events, no one need plan to fly out of here today or tonight. I know you want to get home, so we'll gauge this day by day. I think it's a bit premature to reserve a day flight for tomorrow afternoon, but you can make tentative reservations, if you wish, for the nine thirty flight tomorrow night.”

The murmurs began then, as people could not contain their feelings about this disruption in their busy lives. Louise closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hide her dissappointment. After the events of the past few days, she longed to go home and fall into Bill's arms. Yet the thought of leaving John behind in a hospital was uncomfortable, almost scary. There was a murderer on the loose. Her cohost could have witnessed the killing of Bruce Bouting. Would a person who'd shoved a man into two thousand-degree lava hold back from killing a witness lying helpless in a hospital?

Dr. Charles Reuter spoke up and to Louise's disappointment he had lost the bonhomie he'd exhibited yesterday when they hiked the Kilauea Iki caldera. In a voice filled with disapproval, he said to Randy Hau, “Before the latecomer arrived, you were about to tell us why we have this continued delay in our departure for home.”

The police chief's impassive face showed no disapproval of the scientist; he was probably happy that people weren't yelling at him. “First of all, let me report on the two people who didn't return with you last night. I'm sorry to say that Dr. Bruce Bouting was dead on arrival at the Hilo Medical Center last night. He suffered severe burns, as well as smoke inhalation.”

Louise noted that Anne Lansing's head drooped as she heard these words, as if she hadn't been there when Bouting's body was placed in the ambulance. Christopher Bailey, sitting next to her, put an ample arm around her shaking shoulder.

“John Batchelder is in the Hilo Medical Center,” said the chief. The minute he mentioned John's name, Louise felt tears coming to her eyes. “He's suffering from burns he acquired when he tried to pull Dr. Bouting away from the lava. He's being transferred this morning to Wilcox Memorial in Lihue, where a doctor on staff is a burn specialist.”

“John Batchelder's a real hero,” commented Tom Schoonover. He turned back and smiled at Louise. “That makes two heroes from the Washington PBS station.”

The dark-haired police chief looked back at Louise and then down at Schoonover, who was in the front row. “He sure is a hero. And so was Mrs. Eldridge the other night on Shipwreck Rock.”

“How is he doing?” asked Marty Corbin.

“Our latest report on Mr. Batchelder is that he's hanging in there, but naturally he's in a lot of discomfort. I want to assure his friends that he is receiving very good medical care.”

Ralph Pinsky spoke in a calm voice. “Chief, I have an important medical engagement on the mainland. I realize how traumatic it was for everyone last night and I offer my condolences to Miss Lansing and Mr. Bailey, as well as my best wishes for the recovery of Mr. Batchelder. But the reason for our staying here is what?”

Chief Hau said, “It's because we've uncovered some new facts about both the death of Dr. Flynn and the death last evening of Dr. Bouting.”

A hush came over the group.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this may be very disturbing to you, but both of these deaths have highly suspicious elements. At this time, we're withholding final judgment, but we're obliged to investigate each of them as if it were a murder.”

Steffi Corbin gasped; others began talking excitedly to those sitting near them.

Chief Hau put up a hand, demanding silence. “Now we know you were questioned last night at Volcanoes National Park by my two men and the park rangers. But we want to question all of you again, in the hope that we can shed some light on what happened there in the park, as well as what happened Friday night on Shipwreck Rock.”

He held up a lined yellow pad. “I want to schedule you for interviews before you leave this room. I hope it's clear that you must remain on the hotel grounds until you're told you may leave. And that means eating all your meals here. Kauai-by-the-Sea is being guarded by a sizeable group of my officers.”

George Wyant, decked out as usual in his old shirt and shorts and hiking boots, threw back his blond-tipped head and laughed out loud. It was a raucous sound in the quiet room. “For God's sake, we're in detention! I have an idea. Why don't you ship us to
Molokai?”

Louise wished the young man didn't talk so recklessly, especially since the police might have evidence linking him to a murder or two.

The ever-serious young Nate Bernstein turned to Wyant and said, “That was completely uncalled for and utterly insulting.”

“Lighten up, buddy-boy,” said Wyant. “Can't you recognize a joke when you hear one?”

“Not a very funny joke, George,” retorted the solemn-eyed Bernstein. “If you'd ever read the history of what happened on Molokai and the terrible lives of those poor, benighted lepers, you'd never . . .”

“Okay, that's enough now,” barked Police Chief Hau. “Mr. Wyant, Dr. Bernstein, let's not quibble. We know this disruption in your plans is not welcome news. But we'd like to think that you're all cooperating with our investigation. You're free to swim, eat, drink in the bars, and even dance, if you want, on the patio tonight. We just don't want any of you to leave the hotel. Tom Schoonover and Henry Hilaeo are free to leave the hotel, but not the island. Are all these details understood?”

George Wyant stared at the police chief. “And I bet you'd like to interview me first, wouldn't you?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“You're quite right, Mr. Wyant. Why don't you sign up for the ten o'clock slot?”

At that, the meeting adjourned and the quiet group changed into a talkative crowd.

Steffi and Marty hurried over to her and Steffi enfolded her in her ample arms. Again, Louise felt a visceral sense of comfort. She envied people with large mothers; Louise's own mother, though affectionate and given to hugging, was slim and kind of bony. With someone as ample as Steffi, it was like being embraced by a big pillow, but a pillow with feelings.

“Oh, Louise,” her friend said, “you look so pretty in your yellow dress, but I know inside you must feel awful. I heard that you were the one who found John.” Her big brown eyes were filled with remorse. “We feel so guilty, because we drove up north and had a glorious, peaceful day, while you all were caught in this tragedy.”

As soon as Steffi released her, Marty put a big arm around her bare shoulders. “Hi there, Lou. That was one bad time you had down there on the Big Island. D'ya think John's gonna make it? How'd he look?”

“He looked—”

“How bad were the burns?” interrupted Marty. “Will they affect his looks? What will John Batchelder do if his looks are ruined?”

Steffi grasped his arm. “Marty, stop that! What a thing to talk about now! Let's just hope he lives.” She turned to Louise. “ How bad off was he, honey?”

Louise was recalling guiltily the way she'd teased John about losing his looks—of how he could always turn to producing if this ever happened to him. “The burns were pretty bad on his left side, especially his left arm. And, there were burns on the left side of his face. I hope those weren't too bad. The fumes probably were as hard on him as the fire. I think we should get permission to go and see him.”

In an excited voice, Steffi said, “I like that. We can find out from John what happened. I can tell they think someone shoved Bruce Bouting into that horrible lava!” With that she hurried over to talk to the chief.

Marty shook his head. “I know this murder stuff is your bread and butter, Lou, but . . .”

“Not really,” she objected.

“Well, I sure would like to go home.”

“There's something ironic here, Marty,” she said. “I've always had this fantasy of swimming in a lagoon in a tropical paradise. Now here I am, trapped in my fantasy, condemned for the unforeseeable future to swim in the hotel lagoon, to partake of endless luaus and eat the overly rich food in the dining room, to drink interminable mai tais—”

Marty chuckled. “And only be released when and if the police solve the crimes.”

Suddenly, Chief Hau called out to them. “Hold on, folks. I forgot one thing: the media. TV crews and reporters are all over the place, but are being kept off the hotel grounds so as not to disrupt the routine of Kauai-by-the-Sea. That doesn't mean they won't try to contact you one way or the other.” He twisted his face in a semblance of a smile. “Maybe they'll even shout at you across the shrub barriers on the grounds, so be forewarned. We would prefer if you didn't share with them any details you have of these two tragic incidents. What you do later, once this is cleared up, is your own business, of course.”

Marty poked Louise hard on the upper arm. She turned in surprise at the unexpected jolt and saw that his brown eyes were lit up like an excited child's. “The media, Lou, the media!
Inside Story
, to be exact. They'll eat it up—I should have thought of it right off the bat! That's how we're gonna re-coup our losses on that program with the two dead scientists. Re-coup them and make a profit, besides.”

“You mean you're going to sell the tape of that program to
Inside Story?
” she asked.

“Why not?” said Marty. “You can bet every network is out there right now clumsily trying to re-enact what happened to Matthew Flynn and Bruce Bouting, because we all
know
human tragedy drives the TV news. And what could be more enticing to them than footage of a guy who gets his head chopped and then is thrown off a cliff . . . and another guy who's shoved into a raging river of lava!”

“
Marty
,” said Louise, alarmed at her producer's unchecked emotions.

He interrupted her. “I don't even have to deal with
Inside Story;
I could sell it to
any
of the major outlets. I don't have a
re-enactment
, I have the genuine article, the tape with the two murdered scientists alive—walkin' and talkin' and sweatin' and arguing their fool heads off in the National Tropical Botanical Garden!”

Louise felt as if the bottom were dropping out of the world as she knew it. She'd felt this way before when humanity proved to be too hard to take. At the moment, it was her own producer who was kindling in her this sense of doubt about the inherent goodness of man.

She looked straight into Marty's eyes. “You're quite an operator, Marty.” She looked down at her wristwatch. “Let's see, Bruce Bouting was burned to death twelve hours ago.” With that, she turned away and walked across the room.

By the time she'd approached Randy Hau, her ire had cooled somewhat. The police chief smiled at her, apparently having forgiven her for her tardiness. “G'morning, Mrs. Eldridge. Um, everything all right?”

“Not exactly,” she said glumly, “but you don't want to hear about it. Chief, I have to tell you about something John Batchelder said last night, just before he lost consciousness.”

Hau looked around and saw George Wyant across the room, waiting to go with him for a private interview. He put his finger down on the yellow-lined sheet. “How about eleven? Can we get together then?”

“Yes. And where will we meet?”

He nodded in the direction of the hotel lobby. “We've taken over the office of Melanie Sando, the public relations director. It's the second from the end in that line of offices behind the registration desk.”

Melanie Sando, Louise guessed, was the woman in the lime green suit who'd had words with her the other day. “Fine. I'll see you then. I talked to my husband this morning; that's why I was late to the meeting. He told me some things that might interest you. He has quite a conduit of information back in Washington, D.C.”

“He does, huh?” said the chief. “A State Department employee, isn't he? Well, I won't turn down any help I can get, Mrs. Eldridge.” He shook his head. “There's a terrible dearth of physical evidence in these kinds of incidents. They're outdoors and there are no fingerprints, for one thing. I look forward to talking to you.” He smiled. “And I forgive you for being tardy. Just don't let it happen again.”