1 Murder on Moloka'i Read Online Free PDF Page B

cause?”
    “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you go to Kalaupapa?”
    “I don’t mind at all.” Dr. Goto smiled with Buddha-like serenity. “I am a specialist in infectious diseases. Kalaupapa offers a rare opportunity to study Hansen’s disease patients. They could come to my Honolulu office, of course. But I wanted to see them first in their own habitat.”
    “Had you been to Kalaupapa before?”
    “Actually, no.” He gazed at me placidly. “But I had always desired to go.”
    “Why didn’t you before?”
    “One thing leads to another. Time goes by.” He managed two clichés in one breath.
    “Did you study any patients at Kalaupapa?” I asked.
    “This first time I merely toured the colony. When I return again I will make arrangements to meet with several patients.”
    “When will that be?” I couldn’t help wondering, given his vague excuse for putting off a first trip.
    “Next month, if I can manage,” Goto said.
    “One final question.” I studied his dark eyes. “Was there anything to suggest to you that Sara’s death was not an accident?”
    “Not an accident?” Dr. Goto shook his head slowly in apparent disbelief. “How could it be anything else?”
    “I’m not sure, doctor. That’s why I’m asking you.”
    “Highly unlikely, unless someone stepped up behind her and …”
    “Yes, go on.”
    “But if that were so, how would one account for the mule’s broken leg?”
    “Good question.” I handed him the photo of Parke. “Have you ever seen this man?”
    He glanced at the snapshot. “I do not believe so.”
    “You didn’t see him on Moloka‘i the day of Sara’s death?”
    Dr. Goto peered at the photograph again. He turned it so the fluorescent lights would illuminate the snapshot from different angles. Finally he shrugged his sloping shoulders. “No, I did not see him on Moloka‘i.” He returned the photo.
    “Here’s my card.” I handed it to him. “If you remember anything more about the incident, would you please call me?”
    “I will be delighted to help in any way.”
    I rose and thanked him. “You go much to Las Vegas?” I gestured again to the Caesar’s Palace photo on his wall.
    “Las Vegas is a fool’s paradise,” he pontificated. “I avoid it like the plague.”
    “You’ll hang onto more of your money that way.” I winked, noting two more clichés.
    He smiled his amiable smile as I walked out.

eight
     
    Later that afternoon I called Adrienne to report on the interview with Dr. Goto. I told her that if I had read the doctor right, he honestly didn’t know Parke. I was still skeptical, though, about his reasons for taking so long to visit a place so important to his work.
    Why would a well-paid physician delay for a dozen years an inexpensive neighbor-island trip? Also suspect was his means of transportation. If Goto were initiating a new research project, wouldn’t he have flown to the tiny airstrip that serves Kalaupapa’s medical staff, rather than squander time riding a mule like a leisurely tourist?
    These things might have nothing to do with the case, but they struck me as odd. Nonetheless, Goto lacked plausible means of murdering Sara and, to all appearances, he lacked a motive as well.
    I then called the next two witnesses: Heather Linborg, a masseuse employed by the Wailea Princess Resort on Maui, and Milton Yu, who grew orchids on the Hāmākua Coast of the Big Island. Fortunately, both agreed to see me on short notice. Unfortunately, the two appointments could be arranged only on the same day, Saturday, and just a few hours apart.
    By the time I returned to my apartment, I was ready to surf. My answering machine was blinking, but could wait. I changed quickly into my board shorts.
    Surfing relieves the stresses of my detective work and even helps me solve cases. Sherlock Holmes had his pipe–I have my surfboard. Floating on the glassy sea, scanning the blue horizon for the perfect wave, sometimes I drift into a kind of trance.