Smith frowned, considering the point. “Maybe,” he said. “But two doctors conferring doesn’t violate patient confidentiality, I think.”
“But you weren’t conferring about a patient,” Kawika responded. “His patient was dead. He was giving you information about a corpse.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
Kawika circled back, probing a weak spot. “Doctor, a moment ago you said you’d tell me what Melanie told you, if I found her dead.”
“Right. And I would.”
“Well, I did find Joan dead.”
Smith looked at Kawika steadily. “Very clever, Detective,” he said. “Let me think about it for a minute.” Smith walked out into the hallway and paced slowly, a hand to his chin. Then he strode back and sat down.
“Okay,” he said. “You asked for it. I warn you: it won’t help, and it isn’t pretty.”
“It wasn’t pretty seeing her die,” Kawika responded.
“No,” Smith conceded. “I don’t suppose it was.” Then he explained. When Joan had confided in her doctor about the affair, he’d urged her to take precautions at least—practice safe sex, but she’d said Fortunato wouldn’t agree to it. “She told her doctor, ‘It’ll be safe anyway because I’m not sleeping with anyone else except my husband. And Ralph’s not sleeping with anyone else except his wife.’ Her doctor said, ‘If he cheats on her, he could cheat on you. And his wife could cheat on him. The point is, you don’t know.’”
“Joan wasn’t persuaded?” asked Kawika.
“No, it wasn’t that,” Smith replied. “According to her doctor, she just felt helpless. Helpless to end the affair, helpless to insist on safe sex. Still, she worried for her husband. She didn’t want to infect him with anything.”
“But she couldn’t go home and tell her husband to start using condoms,” Kawika ventured. “Not if she wanted to keep the affair secret.”
“Right,” replied Smith. “Condoms cause questions. That’s one reason they aren’t used when they should be.” He looked at Kawika pointedly, as if accusing him. But how could he be? Kawika thought.
“A few months ago,” Smith resumed, “Joan and Fortunato traveled to Japan. Afterward, she came to see her doctor. She was worried because on the trip she’d had sex with others, not just Fortunato.”
“Others?”
“Some men.”
“Some? Not one, not two, but some?”
“Yes. Some men. An indeterminate number.”
“All Japanese?”
“With respect, Detective, I believe you’re thinking like a man, not like a woman.”
Kawika, chastened, nodded glumly to concede the point and gestured for Smith to contiue.
“Fortunato’s Japanese boss provided entertainment to his guests,” Smith went on. “On this occasion the entertainment was Joan. Some of it didn’t pose a disease risk—bondage, and so on. But some did. So now she was even more worried about infecting her husband. Her doctor took tests, reassured her as much as he could. Not that it mattered in the end.”
Kawika felt queasy. Joan had been vague in describing her weekend with Shimazu. She’d said just enough, no more. Nothing like this.
“That’s why I blamed Fortunato,” Smith said. “He pimped her out, broke her spirit. She must’ve confessed something to her husband—you didn’t tell me what—and her husband killed her. When I saw you that day I’d just heard all this, just opened her up and taken her apart. I was angry. But I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“When she talked to me, it didn’t sound like rape,” said Kawika. “It seemed she’d just made a bad mistake.”
“It didn’t start out as rape,” Smith replied. “Basically, she consented to be wrecked. A thousand kisses deep.”
“What?”
“Sorry. That Leonard Cohen song again. Runs in my head. I only meant, she agreed at the start. Then things, well …” Smith’s words trailed off.
Something else troubled Kawika. “You didn’t know any of this when you performed Fortunato’s autopsy,” Kawika said.
“The stuff about Joan? No, I didn’t. She was still alive.”
“And yet you were in a pretty good mood that day. Joking around with me. Not like when you autopsied the Malos—grim business, remember?”
“Well, I already knew Fortunato was a bad guy,” Smith explained. “Don’t forget, I’d seen him beating Melanie.”
“Was that all?” Kawika asked. “Nothing else?”
“Yeah, that was all.”
“So was it just happy coincidence, you driving right behind Fortunato’s car when he pulled over and started beating her?”
“Yup. Just a coincidence. Wouldn’t call it happy.”
As they walked to the hospital entrance together, the former FBI agent Frank Kimaio came around the corner. He smiled and raised a hand.
“Hello, Doctor,” said Kimaio. “Aloha, Detective.” Kimaio shook hands with them both.
“You know each other?” Smith asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” Kawika replied.
“Frank’s a patient,” Smith said. Kimaio confirmed this with a nod.
“Well, he’s helping me with my investigation,” said Kawika.
“Trying anyway,” responded Kimaio. “You still going to call me, Detective?”
“Or I just could wait here if your appointment won’t take long.”
“Sorry,” Smith said, motioning Kimaio toward the entrance. “He’ll be a while. Go on in, Frank. Things are all set up and they’re ready for you. I’ll be right there.”
“Sure enough,” said Kimaio, smiling. “Talk later, Detective.”
When Kimaio had left them, Kawika said, “He looks tired.”
“It’s the chemo,” said Smith.
“Chemotherapy? For cancer? What kind of cancer?”
“The kind you get from Agent Orange. Not looking good, I’m afraid.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning the prognosis isn’t good,” Smith explained. “You win awhile, and then it’s done, your little winning streak. As Leonard Cohen would say.”
“So …?”
Smith nodded. “So, soon we’ll bid aloha ‘oe to Frank, I’m afraid.” He smiled sadly, waved the shaka sign, then followed Kimaio inside.
Seems you just bid aloha‘oe to patient confidentiality, Kawika thought. Why? This patient’s still alive.
36Waimea
Once burned, twice shy: Kawika checked his messages as soon as he left Dr. Smith. Tanaka’s came first, reassuring Kawika that he’d had Sammy take charge of the search for Peter Pukui and Melanie Munu. Patience was next, reporting her discoveries: the roadside graffiti, Jason Hare on the highway, the links between Hare and Thomas Gray, the man who’d sold KKL its land.
Kawika listened, then braked hard, pulled over, and called her, his hands shaking.
“Hello?”
“Patience? P?” He was practically shouting.
“Kawika. Did you get my—?”
“Yes, I got it;
