Banana Split (9 page)

“No one?”

“No,” Officer Wington repeated.

“Um, did anything about her . . . body give any clues as to what happened?”

“You mean the cause of death? I’m afraid that’s still undetermined. The autopsy reports have been sent to forensics, and the toxicology reports will still be a few more weeks, possibly longer.”

“Undetermined? I guess I assumed she’d drowned.” When she had said clues, she’d meant things like a book of matches from a nightclub she’d been at—but then that wouldn’t have lasted in the ocean.

“Or she was already dead before she entered the water,” Officer Wington added. “Again, the autopsy reports are under review right now to determine a conclusive cause of death. Once a body’s been in water a certain period of time, you can’t tell if the water in the lungs actually caused their death.”

“When I was in the hospital, someone told me she was a drug addict.”

“That’s what brought her to Kaua’i—a rehab facility in Waimea.”

“But she was from O’ahu originally, right? Why did she stay here after rehab?”

“She indicated to me that she came to Kaua’i with the intent to stay in order to keep a distance from the places where she’d lived and used. After rehab, she became active in a local church and got a job. She also has a son in state custody and was working toward reunification.”

The obituary had mentioned Noelani’s church, but Sadie’s attention was caught by his first words. “You spoke to her? You knew her?”

“I met her a few months ago in connection to another case, unrelated to this one as far as we can tell.”

What case? There wasn’t anything on public record, meaning Noelani hadn’t been arrested. Something had put her in arm’s reach of the law. But what?

“However,” Officer Wington continued, “when we searched her things, we found marijuana, which was a violation of her parole and leads us to the possibility that she may have discovered the drug scene here on Kaua’i. The fact that no one has come forward to admit having been with her when she died is another indication that she could have been using again. Are you familiar with the terms ‘body dump’ or ‘party drop’?”

“No,” Sadie said. “What is it?”

“Sometimes when a group of people are using drugs and someone ODs, they panic and drop the body somewhere. In a person’s car, on the side of the road, or, if they happen to be on an island, such as this one, they’ll sometimes throw the body in the ocean. Dumping the body is the best way to avoid an investigation because there’s typically very little evidence to tie the body back to anyone else involved. There was no obvious cause of death, which leaves us with that theory until we get the reports back.”

“Oh,” Sadie said. The thought of people just dumping the body of a friend made Sadie slightly sick to her stomach, but she shook herself out of it.

“We typically don’t get much information about the circumstances leading to the death, since coming forward puts the people involved at risk of facing significant charges.”

It made sense, in a really horrendous way. “Do you know
when
she died? Was it the last night anyone saw her?” Sadie asked, realizing she hadn’t been taking notes. She quickly scribbled a few words—
unknown cause of death, former case, Waimea rehab, body dump, party drop.

“We think so. The medical examiner estimates she was in the water several days, but it’s hard to calculate exactly how long.”

“Who was the last person to see her?”

“A coworker Ms. Pouhu called to cover her shift at the motel where she worked. Ms. Pouhu said she’d be back in a couple of hours. No one saw her again, at least no one who’s willing to say so.”

“Where did she work?”

“Sand and Sea Motel in Kalaheo. She had temporary housing there as well but, we understand, was looking for an apartment, which can be difficult to find on the island.”

Sadie wrote furiously.

“And I guess you don’t know why she was so far from Kalaheo that night.”

“She’d borrowed a car from the employee who covered for her at work, but it was found off the Kuhio highway the next morning with an empty gas tank. It was impounded, and the owner recovered it the following day.”

“So, you think she ran out of gas, went to a party, and overdosed?”

“Or someone tried to return the car and ran it dry,” he said. “Most overdose victims die alone in a back room where they’ve been left to sleep it off. When the people she was with realized she was dead, they likely took her to the beach and threw her in, probably thinking she’d be washed out with the tide. We think she got caught under the dock before low tide took her out to sea. Otherwise, she likely would have washed up on the beach.”

Sadie didn’t realize until he stopped speaking that she’d frozen some time during his recitation of the facts. She’d asked for them, but hearing the details put her right back at the dock. It was all she could do to push away the pictures in her mind; she couldn’t even take notes because her hands were shaking. But she knew she couldn’t waste this opportunity to get information, and she forced herself to pay attention.

“We didn’t connect Ms. Pouhu to the car until she was officially reported missing almost a week later.”

Sadie had heard that part before and frowned. “Do you know why it took so long for her disappearance to be reported?”

“From talking to her associates, they assumed she’d relapsed and would either show up eventually or go back to O’ahu.”

“So they weren’t very worried about her,” Sadie summarized. Maybe Noelani had been a loner and no one knew her very well. “And phone records? Did she have a cell phone that showed who she called that night?”

“The last call she made from her cell phone was to the employee who covered her shift and loaned her the car,” Officer Wington said. “And none of the other numbers have opened up a new lead.”

“Who was the employee?”

“That’s beyond the scope of information I can give you, Mrs. Hoffmiller.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” she said, flushing slightly even though his reprimand was mild.

“I’ve given you more detail than I normally would,” he said, “but Detective Cunningham indicated that being open with you would be helpful for your situation.”

“It is helpful,” Sadie said, liking that Pete thought she was strong enough to handle it, even if she was still unsure. “I appreciate it very much.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes, just a few more things. How’s her son doing?”

“I’m sure it’s been difficult for him,” Officer Wington said. “All of my communication goes through the caseworker.”

Sadie felt her chin quiver slightly as she wrote “Charlie” on the paper, with a frowny face next to it. She hurried to the next topic.

“I guess they can’t do a funeral if they’re still doing tests and things.”

“The testing is merely done on tissue samples. The actual body was released earlier this week. Her ashes were scattered as part of the memorial service yesterday morning.”

“Oh,” Sadie said, both surprised and disappointed. “I didn’t realize she’d been cremated.” Wasn’t that unwise in an open case? What if something was discovered in the autopsy reports and the body needed to be exhumed for verification? Wait . . . the memorial service was
yesterday?
That meant Charlie had come to see her just hours afterward. He’d been at the service, listening to people say farewell to his mother, and remained unconvinced that she was gone.

“Common practice on the islands and far less expensive. Is there anything else?”

He was clearly ready to get on with the rest of his day, and she couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “No, thank you,” she finally said.
Mahalo
was the Hawaiian word for thank you, but she always felt out of place when she said it. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

“Of course,” the officer said. “I hope things go well for you, Mrs. Hoffmiller. I’m sure it’s hard to think that what happened to you that day was a good thing, but at least it allowed Ms. Pouhu to be found.”

It
was
hard to think that Sadie’s trauma was a positive thing, but what if Noelani had never been found? What if she’d just disappeared? That’s what Charlie thought had happened—that his mom had left—and he thought he might be able to find her again.

Sadie caught herself before she voiced her fears that Charlie didn’t believe his mother was dead. Mentioning Charlie would open up everything that had happened with him—everything she didn’t want to talk to the police about. Heat washed through her at the near slip. “Thank you so much,” she said instead. She was suddenly eager to get off the phone in case she didn’t catch herself the next time she was tempted to talk about Charlie.

“You’re welcome.”

After hanging up the phone, Sadie stared at her notes, fighting the resurgence of frightening memories. She circled the note she’d made about Noelani having met with Officer Wington about a different case. She also circled “tide” and “party drop,” then she leaned back and looked at the visual of those details that stood out to her the most. Once she’d done that, she was left with the question that kept coming back to her over and over again.

What are you going to do about it?

Chapter 10

The discussion with Officer Wington convinced Sadie that talking with the social worker was the best choice for her to make. But she couldn’t do anything until she heard back from Pete. She tried not to think about the fact that if things ever got back to Officer Wington, he would know she’d hidden information from him. Maybe she
should
have told him what had happened with Charlie . . . but what if that meant Charlie lost the only home and hope he had right now? It felt like too big a risk to take, but she still reviewed what she’d learned and what she could have done differently a hundred times.

She showered and changed into long khaki shorts and a light cotton T-shirt instead of a fresh muumuu because she was trying to prepare herself mentally in case she needed to meet with the social worker overseeing Charlie’s case face to face. When she looked at herself in the mirror, though, she wanted to cry. Was that really her? Sarah Diane Wright Hoffmiller? The shorts were too big and the T-shirt hung limp on her shoulders. She really needed a new bra, and her legs were downright pasty. Her hair had grown out past her shoulders, but was gray at the roots with half-a-dozen shades of grayish-yellow between that and the ends which were split and frizzy. The humidity played havoc with her natural curl, making her head one big hair ball. Nothing about the reflection staring back at her said to the world “I’ve got something to offer!”

Not only did her clothes look bad, but they were uncomfortable too. She had worn muumuus almost exclusively since her first few weeks in the islands, and the stiff fabric of the shorts felt constricting. She’d thought of dressing differently as dressing up, but she looked and felt awful, so she changed into a short blue-and-white muumuu—the one she wore when she went out with the Blue Muumuus—with a little ruffle just below the knee.

Before coming to Hawai’i, she’d thought muumuus the unattractive equivalent of a housedress someone would wear on the mainland—i.e., frumpsville. But here, it was different. They were bright and comfortable, and it was socially acceptable to wear them nearly everywhere. The muumuu was an improvement the moment she put it on, and she felt like her old self again . . . or was it her new self? Then she wet her hair and pulled it into a bun at the top of her head. It didn’t hide the mess of color, but it helped camouflage it somewhat and would keep the hair off her neck. Makeup wasn’t even worth considering—the heat and humidity would make it an oily mess within an hour—but she did put on some SPF 15 moisturizer and a pale pink lip gloss with sparkles in it that caught the light.

She was staring at the woman in the mirror, still not sure she knew who she was, when her cell phone rang from the bedroom. For an instant, she was tempted to let it go to voice mail—she’d done that many times over the last several weeks—but then she remembered Pete was going to call with the social worker’s number. She hurried to the phone, then paused when she saw that it wasn’t Pete. It was Gayle.