"Broussard, John A - Kay Yoshinobu - Murder, Cut And Dried" - читать интересную книгу автора (Broussard John A)

= Murder, Cut and Dried
A Kay Yoshinobu Mystery
by John A. Broussard


"You won't have to do any investigating on this one, Sherlock." Sid flipped the police report across Kay's desk. She pushed her glasses up into her hair and grinned at the flamboyant gesture.

Sid Chu and Kay Yoshinobu were partners in a small Hawaii legal firm specializing in criminal law. Sid had long ago realized that Kay's notion of providing adequate defense for a client invariably entailed lengthy investigation. Therefore, he felt a certain satisfaction with the present case.

"It's cut and dried."

"How so? Brief me." Kay waved a hand at the report. "I'm not in any mood to wade through this at the moment."

"Ralph Kamaka walked into his partner's office. They argued about money. Ralph got mad, picked up a golf trophy from Jack Monahan's desk and slammed it into his head. Jack's dead and Ralph has confessed. There's even a witness. Case closed."

Kay's curiosity had gotten the better of her. Flipping her glasses back down, she started skimming through the report even before Sid finished talking.

"Where's your witness, Sid? The only thing I see here is the secretary saying she heard the quarrel. She didn't see the actual killing. In fact, she left before it happened."

Sid wasn't to be deterred. "So what? She agrees with Ralph. He walked in and fought with Jack. Read on! The security guard insists there was no one else in the building, and no one came in after the secretary left until the cops arrived. You know, I don't think you'd believe it if you actually saw a crime happen right before your own eyes."

"Well, you know as well as I do that every day people confess to crimes they've never committed."

Sid was beginning to be annoyed. "C'mon Kay, what better proof do you want? Do you think Jack hit himself on the head?"

Kay's amusement showed. "My in-basket's empty and you aren't due in court until next week. We've got time to do a little interviewing. Let's see. You should be questioning the security guard. After all, we're going to have to set up a defense for Ralph--temporary insanity maybe--state of mind at the time of the murder? I'll talk to the secretary. And what about the usual suspects?"

Sid snorted. "The wife? That's a dead end. Jack just got a divorce."

Kay smiled. "Don't you think divorce might possibly mean they weren't getting along?" Before he could answer, she went on. "I'll check her out. And while you're getting a complete story from Ralph and working out his defense, I'll check out Ralph's wife too. Maybe we can work up a good description of her husband's distraught state of mind."

"I can't believe it. We're going to end up inspecting the crime site, aren't we?"

"You better believe it. Since it's almost lunchtime, we can make a quick stop at Smitty's on the way."

"Well, all I've got to say is if you can get my client off on this one, I'll treat you to a fancy dinner at the Malalani."

Kay grinned, stood, picked up her combination purse and brief case, and headed for the door. "You're on, Chu. I can taste the steak and lobster tails, already."

* * *

Among the many advantages of being attorneys on a small island was the ease with which Sid and Kay could get access to a crime scene. There were no papers to sign, no bureaucrat's permission to obtain. All that was needed was a quick call to the prosecutor's office. A bored police patrolman accompanied them, broke the seal on the office door, opened it and waved them in.

The anteroom of Quick Mortgage, Inc. was hardly sumptuous. A chair and desk with the usual contents, including a computer and printer, sat in the middle of the room. Two large file cabinets and a trio of Naugahyde office chairs completed the picture and pretty much filled up the space. Behind the secretary's chair, two doors led to inner offices, one marked Jack Monahan and the other Ralph Kamaka, with no titles attached to either. Sid pointed out that someone sitting at the desk could easily have heard a quarrel in either office. Kay nodded but seemed lost in thought.

The patrolman shrugged and waved them on when Sid indicated they wanted to enter the victim's office. It was evident money had not been lavished on the furnishings in Jack Monahan's office, any more than it had been on the reception area. Two visitors' chairs, a small, two-drawer file cabinet, a swivel chair and an almost completely bare desk were about the sum of the small room's contents.

The photographs Sid had brought from police headquarters filled in the details of a scene where chalk marks would have made little sense. The victim, slumped over in his chair, had been sitting with his back toward the desk, facing the window and a view of the Pacific. The cause of death, a vicious blow to the head, was evident from the photo showing the hair matted with fresh blood.

Another photo was of a large golf trophy lying on the floor. It wasn't difficult to deduce what had happened. With his back turned to his assailant, Jack Monahan had probably not realized the blow was coming, and certainly had felt no pain.