Pillow Talk by James C. Clar

Editor’s Note: Read the previous adventures of the two Hawaii Police Detectives by clicking the link:
“Beggars Would Ride” and
“The Way The Cookie Crumbles”

Pillow Talk by James C. Clar

“You know, Jake,” Ray Kanahele said to his partner as the two pulled up in front of the Royal Palms Senior Living Facility on Kahala Avenue, “I’ve been teaching Maile to shoot?”

HPD Detective Jake Higa put the car in park and shut off the engine. He turned his head to the right and, as was his wont, looked at the stocky man next to him in silence. It was an old technique and it had served him well in many interrogations. Nature abhors a vacuum and Higa knew that, sooner or later, the person with him would feel compelled to fill the void with words.

Water from the sprinklers on the nearby Waialae Country Club shone with the distinctive iridescent colors of a prism in the warm morning sunlight. Joggers and folks walking their dogs negotiated the footbridge that spanned the drainage channel leading to the beach park two hundred yards or so to the south. The waters of the Pacific were an artist’s study in shades of blue, from azure and cerulean close to shore to sapphire and midnight blue out beyond the reef.

“Seriously, we’ve gone to the range a few times and she’s a natural. A good eye and a steady hand. Thing is, I’ve told her that if it ever comes to it, I want her to put a round behind my ear before I ever end up in a place like this. I don’t care how upscale it is.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Higa inquired with a deadpan expression. “I mean this is Maile you’re talking about!”

Kanahele hesitated a moment and then chuckled. His long-suffering wife of nearly twenty years was known for many things. Patience with her husband was not at the top of the list.

“Good point. The last few times I haven’t made it home for dinner, she’s given me the stink eye; like, hey, I should just shoot you now and get it over with.”

Higa didn’t respond. There was nothing more to say. Truth be told, both men had an aversion to nursing homes and anything even remotely resembling them – no matter how euphemistically they were named. It was personal, to be sure, but cultural as well. Hawaiians and Japanese honored and took care of their elders. To them, such places were for haoles … and for folks whose children refused to live up to their filial obligations. 

“Hey, listen,” Kanahele said as the two men walked up the white coral sidewalk between rows of towering royal palms, “Maile really appreciates you coming out here with me today. She’s been pestering me for over a week now. Says this old lady won’t eat until she sees a policeman. What was I supposed to do? You know what she’s like when she gets something into her head. There’s not a nurse in the place who cares more about the patients … that’s ‘residents, for God’s sake, make sure you call them ‘residents.”

Higa smiled archly. “And you put a loaded gun in your wife’s hands?” Higa stopped walking and looked at his friend.

“Honestly, though, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. You’re a good detective. You don’t really need me for this.”

“C’mon, Jake,” Kanahele replied, “what are partners for? Besides, Maile really respects you and I figured she’d be more inclined to listen to an ‘objective’ opinion.”

“’Misery loves company’, more likely,” Higa said quietly as the two men continued down the walkway. Off to their left a crew of men were in the process of trimming coconuts from a grove of nearby trees. They wielded their machetes with a dexterity and a fearlessness that was nothing short of amazing.

The two detectives were met at the front entrance by a petite woman with olive skin, a pretty face and shiny black, shoulder-length hair parted neatly in the middle. Higa always marveled when he saw Maile Kanahele. The contrast between husband and wife could not have been more striking. And the differences went beyond mere body type.

Ray was short and heavyset almost to the point of lumbering. When roused he was a force with which to be reckoned but, by nature, he was the most laid back, ‘hang loose’ kind of guy Higa had ever met. And that was saying a lot in a place where “hanging loose” had been elevated to an art form.

Maile, on the other hand, was lithe and very attractive. Her features, a typical island blend of Japanese, Filipino and Polynesian with some Northern European thrown in for good measure, worked together in a harmonious and aesthetically pleasing way. But she was passionate, fiery even, and Higa knew well who really ran the show in the Kanahele household.

“Hello, Jake,” Maile Kanahele said as she bowed toward the diminutive detective. The two embraced warmly.

“Good to see you. It’s been a while. We need to get you back over for dinner. Ray can show off all the work he’s done on the lanai. He’s really taking his time.” Maile paused meaningfully. “He’s only been at it now for, what, two or three years!”

Chuckling playfully, Maile turned and kissed her husband. Before pulling away, she pointed to his shirt.

“That spot’s fresh. You guys ate breakfast before coming over, didn’t you? Looks like gravy and hot sauce.  Ray, you know what the doctor said about laying off the eggs … and the sodium! I’m pretty sure Jake had something healthier.”

Jake Higa smiled inwardly. He also fought down a twinge of envy. It was years since anyone – let alone a woman – paid any attention to his appearance or was concerned about his health.

“I know you guys start your shift in a little while, so I’ll take you right in to see Mrs. Apana. I’m sure it’s nothing, but she’s been very upset for the past week or so. It all began back when Adelaide Martin died.”

Maile led them across the carpeted foyer and into a large commons area that was landscaped to look like a lush tropical rainforest. There were large ferns, exotic plants and the usual local mélange of ginger, plumeria, hibiscus and bird-of-paradise. Threading its way throughout was a stream dotted with miniature waterfalls and deeper pools stocked with multi-colored koi. Here and there were tables and chairs where numerous residents sat chatting animatedly, reading or just quietly enjoying the restful atmosphere. Apart from the age of the occupants, the whole scene was more akin to a “five-star” resort than it was to an old folks’ home.

Higa and Kanahele exchanged glances. Jake could read his longtime partner’s expression – it’s all you, brah.

“Before you do that, Maile, it might be helpful,” Higa suggested, “If you start at the beginning. Ray’s told me a little but I’d like you to run through it for me so I have as complete a picture as possible.”

“OK, sure,” Maile responded with just fleeting trace of irritation.

“Our population here is predominantly female. Even in Hawaii, women outlive men nearly two to one. About a month ago, a man named Leonard Verni arrived. It caused quite a stir. All the women were vying for his attention. He’s a handsome gentleman, and quite spry for someone his age. The buzz seemed to be that he looked like Cary Grant.”

Higa smiled inwardly. He was a Hitchcock buff and North by Northwest was one of his favorites.

“Anyhow, Mr. Verni began spending most of his time with Adelaide Martin. The two were nearly inseparable. I probably don’t have to tell you that more than a few of the other female residents became jealous. Then one morning last week, Mrs. Martin didn’t show up for breakfast. We found her in bed. She had passed quietly during the night. Everyone was upset, but Mr. Verni was disconsolate.”

Maile paused for a moment and gestured at the residents who were quietly, surreptitiously studying the newcomers.

“This is a small, tight-knit community. Besides, in a place where just putting on their shoes or trying get into and out of bed reminds the residents of their mortality, a death – though not unexpected – is still unsettling.”

“What does this have to do with, ah, Mrs. Apana?” Higa asked looking down at his notebook.

“Well, since Mrs. Martin’s death, Mr. Verni has become withdrawn and hardly ever comes out of his room. The only person he seems interested in seeing is Adelaide Martin’s best friend, Mary Hinau. At the same time, Mrs. Apana has been very agitated. It seems she was really carrying a torch for Mr. Verni. She sobs, talks to herself and keeps asking to speak with a policeman.”

Maile paused and swept a stray lock of hair from her face before continuing.

“It’s all a bit complicated, but Mrs. Apana knows I’m married to a detective. She’s been pleading with me to send Ray to see her. I thought, well, you know, that you guys might be able to pacify her somehow. Ray tells me all the time that I shouldn’t worry about him … that three-quarters of your job is public relations.”

Maile looked directly at her husband and winked.

This time, Higa chuckled audibly. “’Hoist by your own petard’, Ray!”

Kanahele had no clue what his friend was talking about. Nevertheless, he sensed that a joke had been made and that it had been at his expense.

They stopped at a small, shaded alcove occupied by a prim woman wearing a tropical print blouse. Predictably she had gray hair. Her eyes, however, were a clear and lively blue. Higa estimated her age to be in the late 70’s or early 80’s. After brief introductions, Maile Kanahele left to attend to her duties. The two detectives sat on comfortable chairs arrayed around a glass and wrought-iron table where Helen Apana was working the Star-Advertiser crossword puzzle.

“Thank God you’re here,” she said. And then, with lowered voice, “I want to report a crime.”

Higa powered up his most disarming smile. He set his notebook on the table. Might as well make this look good, he thought. “You want to report a crime?”

“Yes,” Apana answered. “It was a week or so ago, I don’t remember exactly. My memory isn’t what it used to be young man. Age is the great thief, you know?”

“I’m sure,” Higa replied and then was quiet.

“It was late, probably around 2:00 or 3:00 A.M. I took the elevator up two floors to Adelaide’s room. If you check, I’m sure you’ll see me on the security tape. All the elevators have cameras now. At least they do on C.S.I.”

Helen Apana smiled. Higa got the impression the old woman was somehow enjoying herself.

“Anyhow, “Apana continued her narrative. “I opened the door to her room … we never lock our doors here, there’s no need. I took a beautifully embroidered pillow off her couch. I think her daughter gave it to her last year for Mother’s Day. The rest was easy.”

“Are you confessing to killing Adelaide Martin? Higa asked with, what for him, might qualify as shock. “Is that the crime you want to report?”

“’Yes’, to the former, detective,” Helen Apana said with no change in inflection, “and ‘no’ to the latter. There was no ‘crime’ involved in Helen’s death. The woman had emphysema, after all. Breathing was often a struggle. I just relieved her of the burden. It was only a matter of time, after all.”

The gentle tinkling of an ornamental waterfall punctuated Helen Apana’s words. Somewhere a zebra dove cooed. It had probably gained entry to the atrium through an open door or window.

Higa gestured to Kanahele.

“I’m on it,” the large Hawaiian mouthed. He moved off, cell phone in hand. He had no idea what had become of Adelaide Martin’s body. An old lady like that, they probably hadn’t even done a post-mortem. If her remains were still available, death by suffocation would be easy to determine.

Higa was not entirely certain he understood what the little old woman in front of him was saying. One thing was for sure, she now had his full attention.

“Ms. Apana, you need to clarify something for me. If it’s not your, um, role in the death of Adelaide Martin, what exactly is the nature of the ‘crime’ you want to report?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Detective Higa? Didn’t that pretty Maile tell you? The crime was committed by Leonard Verni. He’s responsible for everything that has happened. The man’s a total cad. Back in my grandfather’s day, such a creature would have been horse-whipped … leading me on like that!”

Apana was clearly indignant. She spoke now with added emotion.

“Once dear Adelaide was gone, mine was the shoulder he was supposed to cry on. Instead, he’s taken up with Mary Hinau. Can you believe it? The man simply must be punished. I’d do it myself, but he’s far too strong. I’m not even sure he has extra pillows in his room. Besides, he lives on the tenth floor, way at the end of the hallway. Much too much distance for me to cover. That’s why I needed to talk to the police. My next call will be to an attorney. I’m going to sue Leonard for ‘loss of affection’.”

& & &

Two hours or so later, Higa and Kanahele left the grounds of the Royal Palms. They had no idea what would be done with Helen Apana. The state health authorities as well as an officious young woman psychologist had been called in. Scene of the Crime techs were still in Adelaide Martin’s old room. Helen Apana’s daughter and son-in-law had arrived from Hawaii Kai. Messages had been left for the deceased woman’s next-of kin. So far, the chief administrator of the facility was having trouble discovering precisely what had happened to Ms. Martin’s body. It was shaping up to be a real mess.

“I know one thing, Ray,” Jake Higa remarked as the two men got into their car. “Helen Apana is going to need an attorney after all; just not for the reason she originally intended.”

Higa, in the driver’s seat as usual, waited at the corner of Kahala Avenue and Pueo for the No. 14 bus to turn left in front of him on its way toward the mall and, eventually, up the hill into Kaimuki.

“Well, I know something too,” Kanahele began as he turned toward his partner. Higa waited patiently for his friend’s revelation.

“Teaching Maile to shoot might actually be for the best. Unless she goes out and buys a gun, at least I’ll have some control.”

Taking a page from his Higa’s playbook, the big man paused for dramatic effect. “I’m thinking that what I really need to do is go home and trash all the pillows before she gets an even better idea.”

* * * * The End * * * *
Copyright James C. Clar 2024