“Fourteen kids died, Christina. They deserve justice.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but I’ll deny it if anyone ever asks. Na‘auao’s got some hold over the governor. Maybe it’s some campaign finance irregularity. Maybe it’s something else. I don’t know the details.”
“How do you know about this?”
“One Saturday I was entering her office when I heard her talking to the governor on the phone. She threatened him. I quietly backed away and left the building. I never want her to find out I overheard part of that conversation.”
“That’s it? That’s all you heard?”
“More than I wanted to hear.”
Koa left first to make sure no one would discover their meeting. On the way back to the Big Island, he reviewed the bidding. Na‘auao had lied. She’d known about and approved the change order. What other lies had she told? About an investment in the KonaWili development? About visiting the school site? About knowing of the volcanic vent? The KonaWili conspiracy was expanding like an ‘o‘opu hue, pufferfish, and, like the puffer, it held deadly poisons.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KOA WAS CONVINCED that Witherspoon’s office had been ransacked in an unsuccessful effort to find something the man had hidden. He called Mrs. Witherspoon, hoping she might shed light on the secret. She agreed to meet but warned she’d have only a few minutes. She greeted him dressed in a frilly pink blouse and sleek red silk skirt. A gold chain with a diamond pendant around her neck completed the picture of a woman far from mourning. She invited him in, but he sensed no warmth.
“Tell me what you need. I have a luncheon engagement.”
Koa pressed her for any clue as to where Arthur might have hidden a treasured secret.
“There’s nothing,” she responded all too easily with a bored tone, giving Koa the impression she hadn’t tried. Yes, she searched their bank safe deposit box—“it’s just jewelry and some old papers.” Yes, she reviewed everything in Arthur’s home office, but—“he didn’t spend much time there, and I didn’t find anything.” They’d stored some old things in the attic, but layers of dust confirmed no one had been up there in years.
He tried to question her about Arthur’s friends, but she displayed little interest in her deceased husband. Koa concluded Arthur had been a man with many clients, few friends, and none who mattered to his wife. “We had no social life,” she said with obvious regret. “Arthur worked from dawn to dusk. I urged him to hire assistants, but he resisted. He didn’t trust assistants.”
“But he had an assistant for big jobs,” Koa responded.
“Well, yes, some kid,” she said, “more of a step-and-fetch-it clerk than an assistant. She made copies, delivered plans to the printers and to clients, made coffee, things like that.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sally something … I don’t know.”
Koa recalled seeing Sally Medea’s name on papers in Arthur’s office. Medea, he’d thought at the time, like the name of the Euripides play Medea he’d seen during his days at UH.
“Sally Medea?”
Mrs. Witherspoon shook her head. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Do you know where I might find her?”
That elicited another shake of the head. “Are we done? I really do have an engagement.”
In failing to find what he sought, Koa gained a troubling insight. The Witherspoons’ relationship had been sterile, a marriage long since dried up, like an unwatered garden. That cast Arthur’s death in a new light and made him think Sarah Witherspoon should be a suspect.
At Koa’s request, Sergeant Basa located Sally Medea, Arthur Witherspoon’s “step-and-fetch-it” assistant. Koa called her. A single mother with a young son, she suggested he come to her apartment.
He found the complex quite upscale—not at all what he expected. Sally, dressed in a long skirt and matching blue silk blouse, looked to be in her late-thirties. With luxurious long brunette hair and a full figure, she exuded subtle sexuality along with a cheerful open face and an easy smile. Her large green eyes sparkled with a captivating intensity. She led him through a lavishly furnished apartment to her kitchen. Someone with a decorator’s eye had selected a stylish combination of modern leather and steel furnishings, painted the walls in lively contrasting colors, and picked out attractive artwork. He knew without asking that Arthur Witherspoon had selected the framed pictures and architectural drawings of cathedrals on the walls.
In her kitchen, appointed with the latest premium appliances from Wolf, LG, and Miele, Sally pointed him toward a seat at a glass-top table and offered him coffee. A skilled glass artist had etched intricate architectural drawings of the circular windows of Gothic cathedrals into the glass tabletop. Much time and effort, he realized, had gone into the details of this apartment.
He watched Sally set out cups and pour coffee. When she brought the coffee to him, tears pooled in her huge green eyes. “Such a beautiful man. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
This woman was more than a part-time clerk. Although Koa pegged her as Witherspoon’s mistress, he started with the information he’d been given. “You worked part-time for Arthur Witherspoon?”
The tears seemed to evaporate, and the beginnings of a smile at the corners of Sally’s full lips suggested he already knew better. “You’ve been talking to Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“And I take it, I’ve been incorrectly informed?”
With unapologetic directness, she said, “Arthur and I were partners.”
“Professionally?”
“Professionally and personally. Arthur’s marriage died a long time ago. He wouldn’t divorce her, but their relationship became as empty as an abandoned warehouse.”
The personal relationship didn’t surprise him, not after seeing her apartment, and her view of Arthur’s marriage shed light on Mrs. Witherspoon’s reactions. She too knew her marriage had died on the vine. Yet, Sally’s reference to a professional relationship surprised him. “Are you an architect?”
“I have the training, but not the license. I prepared drawings for Arthur’s projects. He always signed off on them, but we worked as a team.”
“Tell me about Arthur.”
“A brilliant architect with a passion for detail but born into the wrong century.”
“Really?”
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“No, not really.”
Sally talked with her hands and her eyes in addition to her voice, giving authenticity to her animated manner. “I didn’t—until I met Arthur. Once upon a time, like maybe the fifteenth century, he died before completing the cathedral of his dreams. He wanted nothing more than to go back and finish that church.”
“Strange.”
“A bit, but a wonderful man.” She tilted her head. “I loved Arthur deeply.”
He took a swig of coffee. It was strong, the way he liked it. “You worked together on the KonaWili school?”
“He drew plans for the school, but he didn’t talk about it. And …” She stopped to gather her thoughts. “While I usually helped on public buildings, he wouldn’t let me close to the KonaWili project.”