Read Online Diagnosis Murder: The Death Merchant by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Lee Goldberg
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cooking smells wonderful," Mark said, glancing at the menu on the wall. "What do you recommend?"
"The extra large special bowl," Kealoha said. "They empty the fridge into it. It's onolicious."
"Sounds good to me," Mark said.
Kealoha motioned to a waitress and held up three fingers.
A few minutes later, the three men were eagerly devouring their huge bowls of steaming saimin, a hearty combination of salty broth, fresh noodles, vegetables, thin slices of pork, cubes of Spam, and hard-boiled egg made by a sour-faced old Japanese woman they could see sitting on a stool in the kitchen.
After the first delicious mouthful of the wonderful soup, Mark flashed the cook his most winning smile, the one that had reassured countless patients and had been getting him out of all kinds trouble for more than sixty years. The old lady was unimpressed.
He shrugged and went back to enjoying his saimin, surely one of the best dishes he'd ever had. Mark could see why Ben Kealoha was addicted to it.
The three men didn't speak again until they'd consumed their bowls of saimin and each ordered thick slices of home made liliko'i pie, an impossibly light passionfruit chiffon with a whipped cream topping. Between forkfuls of pie, Steve and Kealoha told Mark what they found, or rather didn't find, at Danny Royal's house. If it wasn't for the puzzle magazines, the house looked as though no one actually lived there.
"What you saw in his house fits with what we discovered in the autopsy," Mark said. "Danny Royal was an illusion. He had extensive plastic surgery, a chiseled nose and chin, implants in his cheeks, major orthodonture—the works. The shape and features of his face were radically altered."
"Maybe he had a bad accident," Kealoha said, "and they had to put his face back together."
Mark shook his head. "There was no evidence of that kind of trauma. This was definitely elective surgery. He gave himself an entirely new face. Based on what you saw at the house, I think he created a new identity to go with it. I seriously doubt anything about Danny Royal is what it seems."
"You don't go to those extremes unless you're running from something," Steve said. "Or someone."
"I'll have his wallet and his place dusted for prints," Kealoha said. "Maybe we'll get a hit."
"I have a feeling it's not going to be that easy," Steve said. "At least it never is for me."
"You're in paradise, brah," Kealoha smiled. "Everything is easy here."
"There's another way to go at this," Mark said. "Dr. Aki and I took detailed notes and photos of Danny's face. With your permission, Ben, I'd like to send them to a forensic anthropologist I know in L.A. It will take some time, but I believe she can use the photos and our data to create a three-D computer model of what Danny Royal's face looked like before his plastic surgery."
"Fo' real? Cool!" Kealoha grinned like a child opening Christmas presents. "Go for it, bruddah!"
Wyatt didn't bother following the two detectives when they left Danny Royal's house. He stayed behind in his parked car at the Kiahuna Poipu Shores because he knew all they'd found was what he'd intentionally left behind.
The wallet and house keys.
He'd copied the hard drive on Royal's computer and emptied the floor safe last night, keeping the $50,000 in cash and burning the two false passports he found inside. He sent the money this morning by Priority Mail to one of the many P0 boxes he kept under false names throughout the country. If he ever needed money, there were substantial amounts of cash available within a few hours' reach of most major American cities, and he didn't have to go into a bank or use an ATM to get it.
Wyatt didn't erase Danny Royal's hard drive because he didn't want to raise any questions when somebody eventually showed up to settle Danny's affairs in the wake of his tragic, accidental death. He'd cleaned the safe out because he doubted Danny had told anyone the secrets it contained.
But now things had changed. Wyatt
"The extra large special bowl," Kealoha said. "They empty the fridge into it. It's onolicious."
"Sounds good to me," Mark said.
Kealoha motioned to a waitress and held up three fingers.
A few minutes later, the three men were eagerly devouring their huge bowls of steaming saimin, a hearty combination of salty broth, fresh noodles, vegetables, thin slices of pork, cubes of Spam, and hard-boiled egg made by a sour-faced old Japanese woman they could see sitting on a stool in the kitchen.
After the first delicious mouthful of the wonderful soup, Mark flashed the cook his most winning smile, the one that had reassured countless patients and had been getting him out of all kinds trouble for more than sixty years. The old lady was unimpressed.
He shrugged and went back to enjoying his saimin, surely one of the best dishes he'd ever had. Mark could see why Ben Kealoha was addicted to it.
The three men didn't speak again until they'd consumed their bowls of saimin and each ordered thick slices of home made liliko'i pie, an impossibly light passionfruit chiffon with a whipped cream topping. Between forkfuls of pie, Steve and Kealoha told Mark what they found, or rather didn't find, at Danny Royal's house. If it wasn't for the puzzle magazines, the house looked as though no one actually lived there.
"What you saw in his house fits with what we discovered in the autopsy," Mark said. "Danny Royal was an illusion. He had extensive plastic surgery, a chiseled nose and chin, implants in his cheeks, major orthodonture—the works. The shape and features of his face were radically altered."
"Maybe he had a bad accident," Kealoha said, "and they had to put his face back together."
Mark shook his head. "There was no evidence of that kind of trauma. This was definitely elective surgery. He gave himself an entirely new face. Based on what you saw at the house, I think he created a new identity to go with it. I seriously doubt anything about Danny Royal is what it seems."
"You don't go to those extremes unless you're running from something," Steve said. "Or someone."
"I'll have his wallet and his place dusted for prints," Kealoha said. "Maybe we'll get a hit."
"I have a feeling it's not going to be that easy," Steve said. "At least it never is for me."
"You're in paradise, brah," Kealoha smiled. "Everything is easy here."
"There's another way to go at this," Mark said. "Dr. Aki and I took detailed notes and photos of Danny's face. With your permission, Ben, I'd like to send them to a forensic anthropologist I know in L.A. It will take some time, but I believe she can use the photos and our data to create a three-D computer model of what Danny Royal's face looked like before his plastic surgery."
"Fo' real? Cool!" Kealoha grinned like a child opening Christmas presents. "Go for it, bruddah!"
Wyatt didn't bother following the two detectives when they left Danny Royal's house. He stayed behind in his parked car at the Kiahuna Poipu Shores because he knew all they'd found was what he'd intentionally left behind.
The wallet and house keys.
He'd copied the hard drive on Royal's computer and emptied the floor safe last night, keeping the $50,000 in cash and burning the two false passports he found inside. He sent the money this morning by Priority Mail to one of the many P0 boxes he kept under false names throughout the country. If he ever needed money, there were substantial amounts of cash available within a few hours' reach of most major American cities, and he didn't have to go into a bank or use an ATM to get it.
Wyatt didn't erase Danny Royal's hard drive because he didn't want to raise any questions when somebody eventually showed up to settle Danny's affairs in the wake of his tragic, accidental death. He'd cleaned the safe out because he doubted Danny had told anyone the secrets it contained.
But now things had changed. Wyatt
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