Diagnosis Murder: The Death Merchant by Lee Goldberg Read Free Book Online Page B

than anything else.
    He expected them to grab their camcorders and take him on a guidebook tour of the island, to all the usual prepackaged, preheated, predigested attractions, restaurants, beaches, and stores, to have the usual prepackaged, preheated, predigested experiences. He didn't see the point of it all. Every airport gift shop sold "vacation videos" that had the same shots of the same places from the same angles as every home movie every tourist made. Didn't that tell anyone anything?
    Guidebooks were a waste of time. They sent you on a well-traveled path with nothing left to learn or explore. Visiting landmarks, historical spots, and so-called natural wonders wouldn't tell you squat about a place or its people. You might as well go to Disneyland.
    Wyatt believed if you wanted to really know a place, you had to seduce someone who lived there. Get inside them and then into their world. Sleep in their bed. Stay in their home. Go where they go. Eat what they eat. Shop where they shop. See what they see. Until you have their smell on your body, their taste on your lips, their clothes on your back, and it feels comfortable. Then leave.
    That's how you visit a new place. That's how you get to know it, if you really care. Try finding that for sale in an airport gift shop on your way out of town.
    But the two strangers didn't do what Wyatt expected. They didn't go to a luau. They didn't go look at Waimea Canyon. They didn't cruise the Na Pali coast. They didn't see the Spouting Horn.
    They went to visit the police.
    Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps they'd had their wallets picked or their rooms burgled.
    But Wyatt didn't believe in coincidences. It was one reason he was still alive.
    Something wasn't right about this. And if he hadn't stayed an extra day or two after the fact, he never would have known.
    Thoroughness. That's what being successful in his work was all about.
    A few minutes after the two men entered the station, Wyatt got out of his car and strode up the sidewalk to break into their rental car. It wouldn't be difficult. The crappy fleet cars rarely had alarms, and even if they did, they were ridiculously easy to disable within seconds. That wasn't an issue with their car. Wyatt picked the lock and was sitting in the passenger's seat in eight seconds.
    He opened the glove box, took out their rental agreement, and photographed it with a miniature digital camera. Then he put the brochure back, locked the doors, and returned to his own vehicle.
    The task took less than two minutes to accomplish and reaped enormous benefits.
    Now he had a name, a home address, and a credit card number to go on.
    That was all he needed. In a few hours, he'd know every thing worth knowing about Mark Sloan.

    CHAPTER SIX
     
    "I'm not a medical examiner, but I know sharks," Veronica Klein said, motioning with a nod to Danny Royal's savaged torso. "All this was definitely caused by a shark. Not by a knife, a gun, or some boat propeller."
    "I agree, and I'm sure the medical examiner would as well," Mark said. "But the fact remains: Danny Royal was already dead when the shark attacked him."
    Mark pointed at a wound with his scalpel. "I don't see any evidence of bleeding into the surrounding tissues. That means his heart had already stopped pumping and blood was no longer circulating through his body when these catastrophic wounds were inflicted."
    "Wait a minute," Kealoha said. "You saw him swimming—everybody did." He turned to Steve. "Didn't you?"
    Steve nodded. "Yeah, I did."
    "Are you certain it was Danny Royal you saw in the water?" Kealoha asked him.
    "Yes, I'm sure." Steve said.
    "There you go." Kealoha turned back to Mark. "You trust your own son, don't you?"
    "I do," Mark said. "And so did the killer."
    "Are you saying your son was an accomplice?" Kealoha asked incredulously, an amused smile on his face. He really seemed to be enjoying himself. Steve couldn't blame him; there probably wasn't much excitement for a homicide cop