material, with a ruby or similar stone set in a circular, braided border. This ring was subsequently identified by decedent’s family as belonging to him, an heirloom gift from his father when decedent joined the Swedish merchant marine.’ ”
“So you think Torkel planted it to fake the identification.”
“Sure, Doc, it’s obvious. What else could it be? He wanted everybody to think he was dead.”
Gideon shook his head. “John, I don’t know anymore...” He lifted one of the pictures and gazed at it for a while. “Maybe it
John had a habit of suddenly flinging out his arms when he was excited, and he did it now. Gideon knew enough to anticipate it and was just able to get his head out of the way of a flailing right hand. “Doc, don’t start with me! Why do you do this? Jesus! First the guy in the plane is Magnus, positively. Then it’s Torkel, absolutely. And now you’re telling me
“All I’m telling you is that I concluded the body on the plane was Torkel’s because of the amputated toes—a reasonable conclusion, you’ll agree—but now, according to Fukida, this guy here was missing the same two toes, which I can’t confirm or refute from these pictures. And when you tell me that Torkel’s ring was found with the body, how am I supposed to know what to think? Maybe somebody wanted everyone to think the body in the
John’s arms, still extended out to the sides, went to his temples. “Please let him tell me he’s joking.”
“I’m joking,” Gideon said. “Well, I think I am.”
“Doc—”
“No, I am, I am,” Gideon said. “Joking. Nobody doctored
“Right, right,” John said, pacified.
“No, the man in the plane was Torkel Torkelsson, period. We can forget about him. But what we don’t know is who the guy in the fire was. There’s no way I can come up with anything solid from these pictures.”
“It’s Magnus,” John said stolidly. “There’s nobody else it could be. You heard Fukida.”
“So what happened to his toes?” Gideon murmured.
“What happened is what Fukida said. Torkel cut them off himself. Or maybe the guy who did the autopsy let his imagination run away with him. Either or both—probably both, would be my guess.”
“I suppose so,” Gideon said.
John had calmed down enough to go back to leafing through the folders while he was speaking. “Hey, here’s Auntie Dagmar’s statement to the detective working the case. Want to hear it?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, ‘Statement of Dagmar Torkelsson, Date November 5, 1994, taken by Detective Paul Webster,’ blah, blah, blah...here we are:
DT: Yes, that’s right. After dinner my brothers went back
to the hay barn to do some work.
PW: The hay barn? That’s the building that burned down?
DT: Yes, in the old days it was our hay barn, but now it’s
just used for storage space and the ranch offices. We
still call it the hay barn. That is, we did.
PW: Did they always do that? Go to the hay barn to go
back to work after dinner?
DT: Not always. Two times, three times a week.
PW: Did you go with them?
DT: No, I never do. I stayed home. I cleaned up the
dishes and turned on the television.
“Yes, that’s right,” Gideon said. “They all lived together, didn’t they?”
“Yup. In the Big House. It’s Inge’s and Keoni’s now, home of Kohala Trails Adventure Ranch. Dagmar moved down to the coast after the fire. She has joint problems, so the weather’s a lot better for her down there.”
“Did they get along?”
“Like you’d expect two brothers and a sister in their seventies, living in one house, to get along.”
“In other words, they didn’t.”
“No, that’s not exactly right. Let’s just say they were really tight, but at the same time they could get pretty crabby with each other. With anybody, for that matter. They were all one-of-a-kinds, Doc. No problem with weak personalities for that bunch.”
Gideon laughed. “I’m starting to think you’re right about that.”
John began reading aloud again.
PW: And the next time you heard from your brother?
DT: I already told the officer—
