Part 13 (1/2)
28.
Oahu, Hawaii The crowds at the cemetery thronged to the graveside of Governor Geryon. In life, the governor might have been a bl.u.s.tering loudmouthed boor whose questionable s.e.xual antics and endless capacity for graft had tainted his governors.h.i.+p with disgrace, but in death, very many of the people he had held in such high contempt turned out to bear witness to his final interment in the dry volcanic soil of the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. It would have been a spectacular send off for any man. The great and the good from the very highest echelons of society had turned out to pay their respects. There were so many floral tributes, that it seemed as though every florist in the district had been stripped bare. Then there was the marching band of the United States Navy Pacific Fleet Band, in their full dress uniforms, playing somber tribute. They stood immaculate, as though they were paying a final farewell to a great hero of the nation. The governor had seen service, in Indio- China mostly, but his reputation as a parade ground petty officer was well known, and the chest full of medals he had picked up as thanks for his service was a tribute to his skills as a great political manipulator, rather than a mark of his contribution to the world of frontline service.
The eulogies from local dignitaries and family members were in turn both somber and perfunctory. Karyn watched from the periphery of the crowd. She paid close attention, noting every face she saw. All the local bigwigs were in attendance, including Chief of Police Donald Mlama.
The widow Geryon it turned out, looked very far from upset. In fact, judging by her chi-chi funeral outfit, a hot little number that looked like it had been s.h.i.+pped in from Milan or Paris; the former Mrs. Geryon appeared to have been preparing for this, the most somber of occasions for some time. Sure, she dabbed crocodile tears with a Kleenex tissue, and let her voice waver half an octave when she was paying tribute to her husband's stellar record as an all-singing all- dancing man of the people. But Karyn could tell, even from a thousand paces, that this greedy little socialite was lapping up every minute of her new found widowhood. Probably counting the seconds until she could break into the inheritance most likely. And if the numbers in the HPD file Donald Mlama had pa.s.sed on were anything to go by, Widow Geryon would have several fortunes to spend her way through, once the grieving process was over.
Melding into the background, Karyn watched as the very genuine grief of the governor's adult children was directed center stage. No way these poor souls were related to the widow-they were a product of one of the other marriages for sure. Karyn struggled to call up the details from the file. Geryon had been married how many times, three or four? Did that include the current Mrs. Geryon or exclude her? On balance Karyn figured the chi-chi blonde in the low-cut designer number, just had to be number four. She wasn't much older than the kids for Christ's sake. And she looked like she had never done anything more strenuous than swimsuit modeling. But that was a good thing thought Karyn-a real good thing-because it made Priscilla Geryon the weak link in the Tex Johnston murder suicide case. There was no doubt at all in Karyn's mind, that this super-manicured gold-digger would have the inside dirt on her poor dead husband's business dealings. Biographical leverage was stock-in-trade to the trophy wife community. Poor little Priscilla probably had a team of corporate lawyers riding her bench already. Just waiting to leap forward onto the field of play and screw every last dime out of this tragedy, and make sure that the other living relatives were financially sidelined. On the other hand, there was always a chance that young blondie could be a cat-cuddling charity freak, with a taste for magnanimous gestures. Outside chances were always a possibility, thought Karyn, but she wasn't going to throw money against the idea of Priscilla being a big-hearted philanthropist, any time soon.
When it came to making big plays, Karyn was an old hand too. She had the strategy down. So when Priscilla Geryon climbed inside her limousine, expecting to be ferried off for a reviving round of c.o.c.ktails and a sumptuous lunch at Oahu's most fas.h.i.+onable restaurant, there was a surprise waiting for her.
At first Priscilla Geryon was lost for words. When she found them again the words that crawled out of her mouth were as unpleasant as anything a warf-rat sailor could utter after a full night of rum and debauchery.
Karyn looked up at her from the backseat and gave her a pleasant smile. ”Get inside the car.”
”I don't know who you are but you are making a big mistake.”
A mans face peered inside the limousine, ”This is a private vehicle, have you no respect? You d.a.m.n press people are all the same.”
”Take a hike bozo.”
”How dare you, talk to me like that, I am Mrs. Geryron's Lawyer. Either you get out now, or I will have you dragged out and thrown in jail.”
Karyn nodded. ”Impressive speech Poindexter. Now bug off and find another corpse to feed on. I got things I want to say to the lady.”
”You aren't the press?”
Karyn looked over the top of her designer sungla.s.ses, ”Let me ask you something Sparky. Do I look like the press?”
Priscilla Geryon threw an uncertain glance at her lawyer.
”Whoever you are, you are not welcome. Now, I will ask you to leave one more time. If you refuse, I will have an injunction for hara.s.sment slapped on you.”
”An Injunction? You must really know people huh? Unfortunately you are speaking to the living embodiment of the United States Government, so put those cute little guns of yours into reverse, or I will have a whole team of Federal investigators tramping all over your personal s.p.a.ce, before you can say billable hours.”
The lawyer turned to Priscilla Geryon. ”This is bulls.h.i.+t hara.s.sment. You don't have to speak to her, you know that don't you?”
Priscilla Geryon looked doubtful. ”I don't want any trouble Thurston.”
Karyn sniffed. ”You hear that Thurston? The lady doesn't want any trouble. Now back up and close the door would you? There's a good boy.”
”Any statements will be inadmissible, you know that don't you?” choked Thurston, his face red with anger.”
”If that's the case, you have got nothing to get all twisted up about do you?” said Karyn.
As the door finally closed, and the Limousine inched forwards Priscilla Geryon said, ”You are from the Government?”
Karyn nodded, made a brief introduction, then said, ”But that is the least of your problems isn't it?”
My husband was murdered, what would you know of my problems?”
”I know plenty. Take your husband for example, he got just a little too greedy for his own good didn't he?”
”I don't know what you mean.”
”Come, come. Let's not get defensive. I know everything about your husband's sordid little business dealings-the exact nature of his relations.h.i.+p with Tex Johnston for example, all I need is for you to fill in a few details.”
”I'm not telling you a d.a.m.n thing. I'm used to people making insinuations about my marriage and I am not going to take it anymore, not from anyone.”
”Uh-huh. The only reason you are talking to me at all Priscilla is you are scared witless that if you fail to cooperate with the Federal Government they will take a magnifying gla.s.s to your financial affairs. Well, guess what honey. The magnifying gla.s.s is all ready out and a whole bunch of bug- eyed men in suits are poised to rifle through every private part of your life. And trust me when I say, they are going to want receipts for everything. You do have receipts, don't you Priscilla?”
The widow Geryon pouted. Up close her face was troweled heavy with make up, like she was getting ready to attend a cosmetics counter convention. She gave Karyn a recalcitrant look.
”Yeah? I am taking that as a no,” said Karyn. ”Screw you. I haven't done anything wrong.”
”You don't have to do anything to hook yourself up with a murder rap Priscilla. You ever hear of a little word called conspiracy?”
Priscilla Geryon pulled an unpleasant face. ”You think you are pretty smart don't you Kane. But Tex Johnston didn't kill my husband, or that nasty little hooker either.”
”How do you know?”
”That spineless little creep didn't have the b.a.l.l.s.”
”You don't need b.a.l.l.s to kill people. All you need is a gun and a motive-some folks don't even need that. Something you would do well to remember.”
”Tex Johnston was a degenerate, he deserved everything he got.”
”If you got some kind of const.i.tuency on seeing political degenerates get what they got coming, you got your work cut out. There are a hundred more like that in Was.h.i.+ngton, every one of them dirtier than the last. But it isn't the boys in Was.h.i.+ngton you are really worried about is it Priscilla?”
”I don't know what you mean.”
”That money your precious husband was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g out of Johnston wasn't political money, at least not in the conventional sense of the word. Tex Johnston was in the pay of the Tao Corporation, but you knew that didn't you Priscilla?”
”You got no evidence.”
”You got the evidence written all over you face. But that isn't your real problem, not by a long way. Your husband was on the take too, wasn't he? Filling his pockets with the Tao Corporation's money, then rubberstamping every rotten little planning application and permit they needed for that power-station project they are working on. Am I right?”