Right from the Gecko (4 page)

“And tell them what? That you—” He stopped himself. “Okay. Here's my cell phone.”

I cleared my throat, bracing myself for the reaction I knew my next statement was going to elicit. “Actually, I think I'd like to go down to the police station and talk to them in person.”

Nick threw out his arms in exasperation. “Jessie, are you
kidding
? You're honestly telling me that you plan to waste the rest of the afternoon talking to the police about a missing envelope that you're not even sure was taken?”

I didn't point out that
I
was sure.
He
was the one who wasn't sure.

Instead, I simply replied, “That's right.”

“And how do you propose to get to the police station, assuming you even know where it is?”

“You and I talked about renting a car after the conference so we could see the rest of the island,” I told him in a calm voice. “I'll just move the reservation up a few days.”

“Jess-ie…” he said, not even trying to hide his frustration.

“Nick,” I interjected before he could go on, “I already feel involved in what happened to Marnie, just because I was probably one of the last people to see her alive. One of the very last conversations she had before she was murdered was with me! But now that someone actually broke into our hotel room and stole something they believed belonged to her—while I was alone in the shower, no less—I can't simply stand around and do nothing! Especially since the intruder is undoubtedly going to think the tape is still in my possession. They'll probably be back!”

“So you're going to trek all the way over to the police station?”

“It won't take that long,” I assured him. “And I should turn over Marnie's tape to them anyway.” But I didn't sound very convincing, not even to me.

Nick sighed. “Jess, what happened to that reporter is horrific, and I understand that it shook you up. But I thought coming to Maui for your veterinary conference was supposed to give us an excuse to take a vacation together.
Not
for you to get involved in something as dangerous as a murder!”

I opened my mouth to argue my case further, then realized there was no point. “Tell you what. After I get our room changed, I'll run over to the police station and talk to them about what happened, and then you and I can meet back here at the hotel at six o'clock for the poolside Polynesian dance show.”

Nick thought for a few seconds. As he did, I searched his face for a crack in his stoniness. And then: “Will there be umbrella drinks?”

I laughed, relieved that he was finally coming around. “Plenty of umbrella drinks. Mai tais, piña coladas, you name it.”

“And dinner afterward—with mahimahi and pupu platters?”

“Enough for our own private luau.”

“Okay. Six o'clock.” He cast me a wary look, just to make sure I knew he thought I was making a volcanic mountain out of a molehill.

“This is just one of the many reasons I love you,” I told him, sprinting across the room and kissing him on the cheek.

In less than a minute, I'd pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed the canvas sun hat I'd brought, tucked Marnie's tape into my backpack, and dashed out. I was suddenly in a hurry to get out of that hotel room, a place that just minutes before had been occupied by some unwelcome visitor, and settle into a different room in some other part of the hotel.

But I was also in a hurry to talk to the Maui police. And while I hadn't managed to convince Nick that something was very wrong, I hoped I'd manage to do a much better job with the cops.

The good news was that the Royal Banyan Hotel had a car rental service right on the premises, reachable by a stairwell that was accessible through the lobby. The even better news was that its inventory of available cars included a nifty dark blue Jeep Wrangler that came equipped with something called Command-Trac four-wheel drive. I didn't know exactly what that meant, but from the way it looked, the sturdy little vehicle could have made it through the Haleakala crater, zipping along the forbidding terrain as if it were no more challenging than a few irritating speed bumps. Daredevil antics aside, scuttling around a tropical island in a Jeep was undoubtedly going to be more fun than lumbering around Long Island in a veterinary clinic on wheels, or even in my beloved red VW Beetle.

But I hadn't come to the fun part of the vacation yet. I still had some nasty business to take care of.

Before leaving the immense underground parking garage that sprawled beneath the Royal Banyan, I tried out all the Jeep's buttons, levers, and other technological toys, wanting to make sure I wouldn't encounter any surprises once I got it out on the road. As I fumbled around for the seat adjustment, my hand made contact with something plastic. I pulled the mystery item out from underneath the seat and discovered I was the proud new owner of a pair of sunglasses.

Unfortunately, they were so badly scratched that they'd outlived their usefulness. The fact that one of the earpieces was also pretty wobbly didn't help.

So much for doing a crackerjack job of cleaning out the rental cars, I thought with annoyance, looking around for a garbage can. Since none was in sight, I tossed the shades into the glove compartment.

I did a quick search for other leftovers. Then, once I was sure any additional clutter that accumulated in the car would be the result of my own carelessness, I took off for police headquarters in Wailuku.

Guided by the map I'd picked up at the car rental counter, I headed south along Honoapiilani Highway. As I traveled along Maui's scenic western coast, I tried to think positive. My hope was that this Detective Peter Paleka who was mentioned in the newspaper, or whoever else I managed to speak with at police headquarters in Wailuku, would put the whole incident of the missing envelope and how it might be related to Marnie's murder into perspective. Or maybe he'd simply do a better job than Nick had of convincing me that I'd imagined the whole thing.

I was still trying to convince myself of that possibility when my stomach suddenly lurched, an annoying phenomenon that seemed to occur pretty much every time an unsavory thought popped into my mind. I instinctively grasped the steering wheel more tightly to make sure I didn't veer off the road.

What if whoever wanted that cassette badly enough to break into my hotel room thinks
I
know something? I thought. What if he assumes I know what was on the tape he was so desperate to get his hands on?

And what would happen once he realized he'd snatched the wrong tape? I wondered. Sooner or later, he was bound to discover that the one he grabbed out of my hotel room contained nothing more interesting than some jovial veterinarian relating amusing anecdotes about the zany antics of his clients and their pets. Would he come back, determined to get hold of the right one?

For all I knew, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time had put me in serious danger. Maybe even as much danger as Marnie.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. I told myself that Detective Paleka would help me sort it all out. Meanwhile, I attempted to distract myself by rolling down the windows, breathing in the sweet, warm air, and taking in my surroundings.

I could see that this part of the island didn't cater to tourists. There were no humongous hotels here, no dense complexes of condos. Instead, this was where the real residents lived. I knew from Nick's guidebook that Wailuku had its share of attractions to lure visitors: antiques shops, an old theater, a very old church, and a museum of Hawaiian history inside the nineteenth-century home of a sugar plantation owner. But as I drove through, I was inundated with signs of modern-day life. I passed low-rise office buildings occupied by doctors, lawyers, and accountants, video stores and supermarkets, and a few national chain stores that were guaranteed to cure any tourist who might be suffering pangs of homesickness.

The Maui police station on Mahalani Street was a modern two-story building with lush trees decorating the front lawn. To the east was a dramatic view of the ocean. As I pulled into the parking lot, I was still trying to convince myself that I was simply letting my paranoia run away with me. The idea that I had inadvertently become involved in whatever Marnie Burton was involved in—a situation that had led to her murder—was almost too much to process. I'd come to Maui to learn about the latest developments in veterinary medicine, strengthen my relationship with Nick, and do something I rarely had time for at home: relax. Even I recognized that letting my overly active imagination get in the way of these three noble causes would be a major mistake.

I pulled open the glass doors of the station, hoping that by the time I left, I'd be laughing about how silly I'd been.

But I wasn't there yet. I squared my shoulders and approached the uniformed officer sitting at the front desk. He was wearing a dark blue shirt emblazoned with a shield-shaped patch. In the middle was an eagle, printed with the words
Maui County Police—Hawaii.

“I'd like to talk to someone who's involved with the investigation of Marnie Burton's murder,” I told him.

I braced myself for an argument, or at least a smirk. After all, that was certainly a typical response from the Norfolk County Homicide Department back at home. Instead, the police officer picked up his phone.

“I'll see if Detective Paleka is available. Your name, please?”

Nick was right, I thought, amazed. People really are friendlier in Hawaii—even though I wouldn't expect a police station to be a bastion of aloha spirit. I only hoped the warmth and mellowness that seemed to pervade every aspect of life on Hawaii would carry through my meeting with the police.

Fortunately, that meeting was with the man at the top. “Afternoon, Ms. Popper,” Detective Peter Paleka greeted me with a curt nod as I entered his small, cluttered office. “Thanks for coming in.”

I studied the stocky middle-aged man with dark brown eyes, jet black hair, and an expressionless face. He sat up straight in his chair, his back rigid and his hands placed palms down on the surface of his large metal desk. The red-and-blue-striped necktie he wore with his short-sleeved white shirt was held firmly in place with a tie tack so that it formed a perfectly straight line. His militaristic demeanor served as a startling contrast to his Hawaiian-American features, which I'd already come to associate with a relaxed island attitude.

He struck me as someone who was about as approachable as another Chief of Homicide I'd been forced to deal with: Lieutenant Anthony Falcone, who ran the Norfolk County Homicide Department back on Long Island. Falcone also had dark eyes that bore into me with such intensity that I frequently ended up squirming.

And he had that same stiff demeanor that invariably made me feel I was wasting his time. While Falcone had no qualms about coming right out and saying as much, Detective Paleka seemed much more polite. Still, aside from the governor and his entourage, I gave this man the award for the most uptight individual I'd encountered so far on the laid-back island of Maui.

As I studied him, I got the distinct feeling he was studying me too.

“I understand you have some information about Marnie Burton's murder,” he said, staring at me with disconcerting intensity.

“Not information, exactly.” I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. Now that I was sitting in the hot seat, I wished I'd put more thought into how this conversation was likely to go. “But given the timing of her death, I believe I was one of the last people to speak to her.”

Interest flickered in his dark eyes. “And did she say anything about where she was going or who she was meeting?”

“She said she was meeting someone she referred to as a ‘secret source' later that night.”

I searched his face for a reaction, expecting him to be impressed. If he was, he didn't show it.

“The two of you were close friends?” he asked in the same even voice.

“Not exactly. I just met her once.” In response to his look of surprise, I added, “I've only been here a day.”

The flicker of interest had vanished. “You're a tourist,” he said flatly.

I got the feeling he didn't mean it as a compliment. Sitting up a little straighter in my seat, I said, “Not exactly. I'm here for the veterinary conference at the Royal Banyan.” A technicality, I knew, but still something I felt was worth pointing out.

“I see. So you're Dr. Popper, not Ms. Popper.”

“Either is fine.” I appreciated the show of respect, even though the wary look on his face was already clueing me in to the fact that my revelation about Marnie's “secret source” hadn't made quite the impact I'd expected.

Detective Paleka folded his hands together. “Look, Dr. Popper,” he said, “I'm sorry about your friend, but I'm afraid there's not much of a mystery here. I just got off the phone with a witness who saw her coming out of a bar near the airport, the Purple Mango, at approximately nine-forty last night. She was accompanied by a man who's most likely the person who killed her. We'll be looking into whether she had a boyfriend, but this incident is probably the result of your friend picking up the wrong guy. Unfortunately, young women do it all the time. I can promise you we'll find out his identity. At this point, we don't have any reason to believe that what happened is any more complicated than that.”