Right from the Gecko by Cynthia Baxter Read Free Book Online Page B

the sound. I was certain we were about to hear something that would incriminate Marnie Burton’s murderer—or at least put the cops one giant step closer to knowing who had killed her and why.
    I listened, motionless, to the sound of static. Then more static. Then even more.
    â€œThere’s nothing on this tape,” Detective Paleka announced, looking more puzzled than annoyed.
    â€œMaybe later on? Or on the other side?” I tried hopefully. “We didn’t listen to all of it.”
    A deep crease had appeared in his forehead. “I’ll have someone play the whole tape, but so far, the only thing I can conclude is that you’ve been wasting my time.”
    Aha. So he
was
annoyed. He was just better than some people at hiding it—probably the secret behind aloha spirit.
    In a voice that came out sounding much meeker than I’d intended, I said, “Marnie mentioned she’d been having problems with her tape recorder, so maybe—”
    â€œLet me make sure I understand all this correctly,” the detective interrupted, his voice suddenly loud and obviously strained. “You’ve come all the way into the station to tell me that you may have been one of the last people who saw Marnie Burton alive. But you literally meant
see
her. You didn’t have any meaningful conversations, you didn’t notice that she expressed any fear or apprehension, and she didn’t give you any indication of who she was going to meet, aside from her boyfriend and some unnamed person she referred to as a ‘secret source.’ In fact, you barely knew her. And then, shortly after she was murdered, you discovered that you’d misplaced the registration packet from the conference you’re attending. Is that pretty much it, Dr. Popper?”
    I glowered at him, wondering what the odds were that a Hawaiian police detective on the Maui police force could manage to look and sound so much like the Italian-American Chief of Homicide I was used to dealing with at home. Was it possible that Anthony Falcone and Peter Paleka were twins who had somehow been separated at birth?
    â€œLook,” the Hawaiian half of the duo continued tersely, “I suggest that you go back to your hotel, find a comfortable spot on the beach, and enjoy the rest of your vacation. The most sensible thing you can do is leave this investigation to the professionals.”
    I could feel my blood starting to boil. “But don’t you see?” I protested. “I’m already involved in this! I left that message about the tape’s whereabouts on Marnie’s cell phone right before she was killed. Don’t you think it’s more than coincidence that her phone is now missing—and that hours after she was murdered, somebody came to the exact spot I described, looking for the tape? And don’t you think it’s likely that whoever stole the envelope out of my hotel room thinks I heard what was on it? That he thinks I know whatever it is they’re so anxious to keep quiet?”
    â€œThere’s nothing on the tape,” he pointed out.
    â€œBut they don’t know that!” I insisted, trying not to sound as frustrated as I felt. “There was
supposed
to be something on it. Even Marnie thought there was. Don’t you see? I could be in danger!”
    The expression on the detective’s face told me he didn’t see at all. That, like Nick, he thought the business about the stolen envelope with the audiocassette inside was all in my head.
    â€œI’ll tell you what, Dr. Popper,” he said, his voice once again calm and unflappable. “I’ll call you if we need you. Or if we come up with anything new on the case.
    â€œAs for your alleged hotel-room theft,” he continued, “I don’t know that there’s much we can do. According to what you told me, the only thing that was taken from your room was an envelope full of conference booklets. I