The Influencer, page 11
part #10 of Professor Molly Mysteries Series
“Nah, I’m good.”
I went to make a cup for myself and joined her in the living room.
“We tailed ‘im,” Emma said, almost causing me to spray my coffee.
“Ladd?”
“Uh-huh,” she said.
“Emma, if he really is a murderer and he catches you following him, he’s going to kill both of you, and I’ll have to find someone to teach biz law in the middle of the semester. Unless he comes over and murders me afterwards, then it’s not my problem anymore I guess.”
“No worries. We kept outta sight.”
“Is Pat here? He’d probably like to hear about this.”
“I already told him the whole story. He’s been holed up in his room. He says he has to file something before some deadline.”
“He’s not going to write about you spying on Edward Ladd, is he?”
Emma set down her phone on the floor and sat up.
“He better not, I said not to.”
“So how are you so sure your target didn’t see you?”
“Know what? That coffee smells good.”
Emma came back with her own cup and sat on the couch.
“We used Harriet’s da kine. The big headphones and that horn-looking thing you point in the direction you wanna listen. Works good, that thing.”
“Is that legal?” I asked. “Never mind, she’s a law professor. She would know. So what happened?”
“First, we hadda go into the cemetery right behind the rental unit to get a clear shot.”
“So you and Harriet are standing in the cemetery, on a bright Sunday morning, wearing giant headphones and pointing the H.G. Wells ray gun at Ladd’s house. Very low-key.”
“You wanna hear about it or no?”
“Yes. Now I’m hungry though.”
I opened the refrigerator and looked for the leftovers was sure I’d seen in there this morning.
“Hey, are you hungry?” I called from inside the fridge.
“Nah, I already ate your leftovers.”
“Green candy corn it is.” I poured some onto a paper towel and rejoined Emma in the living room.
“Anyway, we was taking turns, one of us with the headphones, the other one holding the umbrella. So when Harriet had the headphones on, she heard the front door opening and closing. So we decided to split up with me following him. I got in my car and caught up to him pretty quick cause he was walking.”
“You followed a pedestrian in your car?”
“Yeah. I had to drive slow.”
“He didn’t notice a car driving next to him at three miles an hour?”
“Come on Molly, I know better than that. I drove behind him. An’ the electric car’s quiet. He didn’t notice me. Anyway I followed him all the way down to Long’s.”
“Okay, and?”
“He bought some allergy medicine, a frozen burrito, and a bottle of Wild Turkey 101.”
“Not exactly a smoking gun, Emma.”
“Okay, get this. The cashier asked him for his birthday. So now I know his birthdate. It’s cause of that law, yeah, they gotta card everyone who buys booze, even they’re super old.”
“Shoot, thanks for bursting my bubble. I always took it as a compliment when they carded me.”
“Anyway Molly, I know what his birthday is now.”
“Emma, I already know what his birthday is. It’s on the rental application. Did he go anywhere else? Did he lead you to a body, or a cache of hidden murder weapons or something?”
“Honestly, I thought he was gonna. After he checked out, he took his paper bag an’ walked all the way down to the hill to the ocean. He just stood there for a long time looking at the water.”
“Oh. Then what happened?”
“After that he just walked back up the hill and went inside his house. So I came back here, and then you came in.”
Pat came into the kitchen.
“Hey, ladies. Emma tell you about her gumshoe adventures?”
“Molly wasn’t too impressed,” Emma said.
“Hey, did you hear about my top-notch detecting?” I said. “Actually, our top-notch detecting. Emma was the one who told me about OutsourceMyHomework dot com. I think that’s where some of my students have been buying their business plans.”
“I don’t know why you bother,” Pat said. “Why do you care more about academic integrity than your administration does?”
“You cared about it when you were teaching here,” I said.
“At first, maybe,” he said. “But I caught on pretty fast. I just started giving everyone A’s as long as they turned something in. It made life easier for everyone.”
“You what?” Emma exclaimed.
Pat ambled to the refrigerator and opened it. “I wasn’t getting paid nearly enough to deal with all that B.S. with the Student Retention Office. You want me to work miracles? You’re gonna have to pay more than minimum wage. You ladies hungry?”
I stood up.
“I am. I can heat up a tray of chicken katsu and teriyaki beef if I know I’m not the only one eating. Shoot, now what?”
I went to answer the door. Howdy Howell stood in the doorway, looking glum. I invited him in.
Howell plumped down on one end the couch and stared at his knees.
“I can’t believe it. Jandie’s gone. She’s really gone.”
Pat joined him on the couch. Emma and I quietly sat down at the dining table to give Pat and Howdy some space.
“Why do you think it’s Jandie?” Pat asked.
“Who else could it be?”
A hearty pounding on the door made Howdy jump.
“I’ll get it.” Pat made his way to the front door in two long strides. “Oh, hey, Harriet.”
Harriet Holmes swept into the room.
“Flanagan, brilliant to see you up and about. I say Howell, you look absolutely shattered. Yoo hoo, Nakamura, Barda, no, don’t get up.” She plopped down on the couch where Pat had been sitting. “You’ve all seen the news, I expect.”
Pat took his displacement in stride and sat in a nearby chair.
“I can’t believe Jandie’s gone,” Howdy repeated.
“Buck up, the body’s not been identified yet.” Harriet said encouragingly.
Howdy wiped the corner of his eye with his wrist.
“I hope you’re right, Professor Holmes. But it sure is a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“It’s a wonder the body turned up at all.” Harriet said. “It’s rough seas down there. If it weren’t for a daring 'opihi-picker, they’d never have found her.”
“'Opihi-pickers are hard core,” Emma said. “We lose one or two of ‘em a year, just on this island.”
“Really?” I said. “That’s surprising. They’re pretty experienced with the ocean, aren’t they?”
“Even so. They fall off cliffs, or get trapped in rough surf,” Emma said. “Just going by the numbers, 'opihi kill more people than sharks do.”
“All that for limpets? Hardly seems worth all the fuss,” Harriet said, “Manky little buggers. Taste like fishy rubbers to me.”
“She means erasers,” Pat said to Howdy. “Probably.”
“What do we think?” Harriet said. “Misadventure, or murder?”
“It could have been an accident,” I said. “Isn’t it possible Jandie, assuming it is Jandie, was trying to get a photo and got too close to the edge of the cliff?”
Emma snorted.
“What are you thinking, Professor Nakamura?” Howdy asked.
“I think the husband did it.”
“Wow. I sure don’t like to think Mr. Ladd could have done something like this,” Howdy said.
“You gotta think about it, Howdy,” Emma said. “Even if you don’t wanna admit it’s possible. Reporters are supposed to be objective.”
“I know.” Howell looked dejected. “It’s really hard. When I was interviewing them, I got to know them both pretty well. Jandie was a great girl. Down to earth, kind.”
“Yeah, and the husband?” Emma said. “Egotistical pompous schmuck who probably killed his wife.”
Howie shook his head.
“I never had any trouble with him, Professor Nakamura. Mr. Ladd could be real charming when he wanted.”
“Just out of curiosity, Howdy.” I said, “why do you call the husband Mr. Ladd but the wife Jandie?”
“I was raised never to call older people by their first names, Professor Barda. It’s disrespectful.”
Emma elbowed me. “Glad you asked?”
CHAPTER 28
AND JUST LIKE THAT, it was Monday again. Spring break was supposed to have been a time to recharge, but now it was over, I felt more frazzled than ever.
Maybe walking to work would burn off some stress. I left my car in the garage and walked down Uakoko Street. It was a good decision, I thought. The storm had blown over, and the sky was shiny blue. I arrived at the old Territorial Inebriates’ Asylum building (where the College of Commerce is now located) at seven-twenty and had the satisfaction of being the first member of my department to arrive.
Retrofitting the old Territorial Inebriates’ Asylum had been no simple task. After several false starts, a black mold scare, and an excavator malfunction that somehow shut down the plumbing for several days, Konishi Construction had finally gotten the climate control working. The only problem now was that the air conditioning seemed to be permanently stuck in the open position. I stepped into my freezing office and opened the window a crack to let some warm air in. Wasteful, I know, but my only other option was to sit there getting blasted by frigid air until my sweat formed an ice shell over my entire body.
Still feeling in a sunny mood from my walk, I settled down to deal with my in-box. My cheeriness ebbed as I went through the messages, starting from the most recent: A past-deadline assignment from Intro to Business Management. Then a few more. The campus newsletter. An announcement for a destination conference associated with an academic society I’d never heard of. A letter from one of my students complaining how unfair it was that she had worked so hard to get her assignment in on time only to have me postpone the due date at the last minute.
I stared at the email, baffled. I’d been so consumed with the issues in my Business Planning class over the break, I hadn’t given much thought to the intro class. But I was certain I hadn’t changed any deadlines on them. I used to hate it when my professors would change the syllabus around on a whim, and I was careful never to do the same to my own students. What was going on?
I found the solution to the mystery in the very next email, in the form of a campuswide announcement from the Student Retention Office, sent late Sunday night. The Student Retention Office welcomed everyone back from spring break with the announcement that “teachers” (by which the Student Retention Office meant the faculty) would accept late work without penalty because of the storm. And in case the “teachers” were uncooperative, the SRO helpfully provided a hotline for students to call and report them.
My phone rang. Harriet had come in to work and was calling from her office across the landing. She told me she had just seen the announcement from the Student Retention Office. It was utter bollocks, she informed me, and she had no intention of accepting any late assignments. But that wasn’t what she was calling about, and could I drop by as soon as I possibly could? I got up, crossed the landing, and knocked on Harriet’s door frame.
“Ah, there you are. Brilliant.” She stood up. “The SRO gets right on my wick. I’ve just changed my email settings. They’re going straight into the spam folder from now on. Come along, we haven’t much time. Nakamura’s coming too.”
“Coming where?”
“No time to waste, Barda. Off we go.”
I locked up my office and followed Harriet down to the parking lot, where Emma was standing by her little electric car.
“Wanna drive, or walk up?” Emma asked us. “It’s not that far.”
“Not that far to where?” I asked.
“No time to walk.” Harriet pulled open the passenger door and climbed into the back seat. I sat up front next to Emma. Emma drove uphill for two minutes and pulled into the parking lot of the Mahina Medical Center.
“There he is.” Harriet pointed out Edward Ladd, who was walking into the side entrance. “Let’s hang back a bit. We don’t want to get too close.”
“Why are we at the hospital?” I asked. No one answered me.
As soon as Ladd had gone inside, we got out of the car and went into the building through the same side entrance. Harriet pushed open an emergency exit door and led us down echo-y concrete fire escape stairs to the basement level. We emerged into a long, dimly-lit hallway, at the end of which was a grimy set of double doors. An ancient metal sign, black stamped lettering on pale yellow background, hung over the doors: MORGUE.
“Ladd’s identifying his wife’s body,” Harriet whispered. She led us into a recessed doorway perpendicular to the morgue entrance and produced the listening gizmo from the folds of her field coat. “Can’t be a fly on the wall, but this is the next best thing.”
“Where were you hiding that?” I exclaimed. “And why am I here? I shouldn’t be here. None of us should be he—”
“Shh!” Emma glared at me.
Harriet fiddled with some controls on the contraption and aimed it at the morgue doors. She produced a pair of headphones and set them on her head.
“Just the one pair, sorry,” she said to us. “We can all listen after.”
I could hear murmuring voices behind the doors, punctuated by the occasional scrape of metal. Judging by Harriet’s shifting expressions, she was hearing a lot more than we were.
The doors swung open suddenly. The three of us backed up and ducked out of sight as Ladd walked out, with the much taller and wider Detective Medeiros right after him. We waited a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear, then retraced our steps back to the parking lot.
“Good to be back in the land of the living,” Emma said when we stepped outside into the sunshine.
“I’ve never actually been down to the morgue,” I said. “It is creepy. Even more than the College of Commerce building, and I’m pretty sure the College of Commerce building is actually haunted.”
“Thought you’d like it,” Harriet said.
We got back into Emma’s car. Harriet took the front passenger seat this time, so I squeezed into the cramped back seat. As Emma started back down the road, Harriet took out her listening gizmo, twiddled some dials, flipped some switches, and plugged a cable in to the dashboard of Emma’s car.
“Showtime,” Harriet said.
We heard a squeaking sound at first, like metal wheels. Then a quiet conversation. Men talking. At first it was hard to make out what they were saying. But I did recognize the voices of Edward Ladd and Detective Brian Medeiros.
Suddenly Ladd cried out. His voice was cut off, as if he’d clapped his hand over his mouth.
“Is this your wife?” Detective Medeiros asked gently.
“Yes, that’s Jandie,” Ladd said. “It’s such a shame. She was so beautiful.”
“Hard to look one’s best in the circumstances,” Harriet remarked.
“Weird,” Emma said. “He doesn’t sound too upset.”
“Maybe it’s closure,” I said, “like it’s better to know than to keep wondering what happened?”
“Ssh!” Emma waved her free hand at me.
“No water in the lungs,” Medeiros was saying. “So she didn’t drown. It’s not official yet. Autopsy results haven’t come in. But I thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh dear,” Harriet said cheerily. “She was found in the ocean, but she didn’t drown. Murder with a body dump then.”
CHAPTER 29
EMMA AND I WERE SITTING at the dining table having our morning coffee when we saw a police cruiser driving up the street.
We hopped up and ran through the kitchen, out to the lanai where we could get a good view of the rental unit. We watched two uniformed officers cross the lawn and approach the front door.
Ladd seemed to be expecting them. He followed the two officers right back out without any argument, carrying what looked like an overnight bag.
“Arrested, released, sees his dead wife at the morgue, arrested again,” I said.
“Can they do that?” Emma asked. “Arrest him, let him go, arrest him again?”
“I guess they can,” I said. “They just did.”
Emma and I watched the police car make its way up the narrow street, do an 18-point turn at the dead end, and drive away.
“Wow, the guy can’t catch a break,” I said.
“He doesn’t deserve a break, Molly.”
“You’re right, he doesn’t. Come on, let’s go back inside. I need another coffee. I bet you do, too.”
“Eh Molly, you know what’s weird?”
“He seemed completely unsurprised to be arrested again?”
“Exactly,” Emma said. “I bet he doesn’t mind getting arrested cause it’s making him as famous as his wife.”
When we got back inside, I headed to the kitchen to make coffee. Emma sat down at her laptop, which was already open on the dining table. She typed while I brewed.
“A-ha!” she cried.
“What is it?” I fixed up two coffees, brought them over, and sat in the chair next to her.
“Look at this,” she turned the computer toward me. “Ladd’s cartoon books are so old they’re outta print. There’s only secondhand copies available. Look what they’re going for now.”
“Wow, those are some premium prices. People are really paying that much? But Emma, these are all private sellers. Ladd doesn’t get any of that money.”
“It’s not just the money, Molly. It’s the fame. He killed her cause he wanted her fame for himself and now he’s getting it.”
“What, really? Okay, granted, he only cares about himself. Still, think about it. Would you kill your spouse to boost your used-book sales, if it meant there was a good chance you’d spend the rest of your life in prison? Come on, who would sign up for that deal?”
Emma snapped her laptop shut.
“Molly, you and me, we can’t see into the soul of someone like that. Assuming he has a soul. Maybe it’s worth it to him. You know what Pat always says, about pride and spite being the main things that motivate people?”
