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THE YOUNG WOMAN SMOOTHED her beige blazer over her imposing bosom and stood up to greet us as we entered the station. On high heels she was even taller than Detective Medeiros. Her long black hair was streaked with gold highlights and pulled back into a sleek knot. It took a few moments before I realized why she looked familiar.
“Honey!”
I’m not in the habit of greeting my former students with casual endearments; the young woman Donnie had sent to serve as my legal counsel was actually named Honey Akiona. At one time Honey had been enrolled in my Intro to Business Management course, where she had frequently crossed swords (figuratively speaking) with the confident and profoundly uninformed Davison Gonsalves. My future stepson, I reflected gloomily. Why couldn’t I be stepmom to someone like Honey Akiona?
“Oh sure, she could be making a lot more managing patent portfolios,” I would tell people. “She graduated at the top of her class. But she’s always had such a keen sense of social justice. In fact, she’s thinking of going into environmental law.”
Instead, I’d probably be having conversations along the lines of, “Oh, Davison? His new neck tattoo went septic, so he’s taking the semester off. Good thing he’s still on our health insurance. No, he hasn’t picked a major yet.”
“Eh, Professor,” Honey executed a perfect, firm handshake, then turned to Detective Medeiros: “She get O.R., yeah?”
“Just a minute.”
He went over and conferred with a woman behind the counter. She picked up the phone and talked to someone, hung up, and said something to Medeiros. He nodded and headed back in our direction.
“Yeah, she get own recognizance,” he said to Honey. “Established relationship with Donnie Gonsalves, low flight risk.”
Of course I was a low flight risk. I had a tenure-track position at the university, I owned my house, and I had no criminal record. But as long as they were going to release me without my having to pay bail, I was going to keep my mouth shut and not say anything that might make anyone change their mind. If Donnie Gonsalves was my get out of jail (for now) free card, so be it.
Honey Akiona led me over to the counter, where someone plopped a stack of paperwork down in front of me. Detective Medeiros disappeared into the back, his work apparently done for now.
“Honey, I wasn’t expecting you to be my attorney. I mean, that’s great. How did you get through law school so fast? It seems like you just graduated.”
“I did an accelerated program. Same coursework, just less time to do it. Did Medeiros read you your rights?”
“Yes.” I signed one form and flipped over to the next.
“And did you say anything to him?”
“Nothing substantial. I’m sure I didn’t say anything incriminating. I mean, how could I? I’m not guilty.”
Honey snorted. She must hear that from every one of her clients, I realized. But the difference was, I really wasn’t guilty. Why couldn’t she see it? Why couldn’t any of these people see how absurd it was, the idea that I had somehow telepathically thrown Melanie Polewski out of the bedroom window at the exact same time I was sitting out in the garden, in full view of half a dozen witnesses?
It hit me then. I really was in trouble.
I finished signing and Honey brought the stack of completed forms over to what I assume was the correct window. Not knowing what else to do, I followed her over. It was the right thing to do, it turned out. I still needed to be fingerprinted.
“Need a ride?” Honey asked when I was done.
“Yes, thank you. My car’s still on campus.”
I followed Honey out to the parking lot. The rain escalated from sprinkles to a downpour, so we walked a little faster. I had given up on carrying an umbrella in Mahina. It rained so often I’d be stuck hauling around a wet umbrella all day.
I buckled myself into the passenger seat. Honey shifted into reverse and glided noiselessly out of the parking spot. The car was spotless and deodorized with something that smelled of birthday cake and volatile organic compounds.
“Is this a hybrid?” I asked. “It’s so quiet.”
“Electric. Never have to stop at the gas station. Never needs the oil changed. Saves my time and saves the environment.”
“Thank you for coming down to get me.”
“Thank your fiancé. He’s paying. So why don’t you tell me your side of this story?”
I recounted the events of that horrible afternoon in the shadow of the Brewster House.
“And it looked like she died instantly from the fall,” I concluded.
“Melanie didn’t die from the fall.”
“She didn’t?”
“EMTs found pronounced angioedema.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Melanie Palooskey—”
“Pole-ess-key.”
“What?”
“It’s pronounced Pole-ess-key.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“It’s spelled Palooskey.”
“She always pronounced it Pole-ess-key.”
“If you say so, Professor. Anyway, she died from anaphylaxis. An allergic reaction. She was already dead by the time she landed.”
“Melanie did seem like she was allergic to everything. So the police think I deliberately triggered her allergies or something? You know, I did everything I could to accommodate her. In fact, I don’t have anything to eat at home right now except gluten-free muffin mix and some mushy papayas. I really need to throw those out. They’re starting to attract fruit flies.”
“It wasn’t your food. The problem was your shoes.”
I looked down at my feet.
“Not the ones you’re wearing. The green plastic ones.”
“Green plastic shoes?”
Honey nodded.
“I don’t have green plastic ...oh wait. I didn’t have any gardening shoes, so I bought those at the last minute for the Garden Society meeting.”
“Police found ‘em outside your house.” Honey said. “Took ‘em as evidence.”
“My shoes? How were those shoes supposed to have killed her? With a massive blow to her fashion sensibilities?”
“Melanie Polewski had a severe latex allergy.”
“The shoes had latex in them?”
“Yeah. I know it sounds kinda iffy,” Honey said, “but they’re under a lot of pressure to do something. Shiroma’s coming up for re-election, remember.”
“I see. After the cockfight murders, and then the karaoke murders—”
“Exactly. Not that our prosecuting attorney would ever do anything for political reasons.”
“But how do they explain Melanie being on the top floor of the house?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Melanie even made me throw away the roll of tape from my first aid kit. Can you ask them to check Mrs. Masterman’s house for allergens? Maybe there was something inside there that triggered a reaction.”
“They claim they checked the house already. Top to bottom. First thing they did when they saw the cause of death.”
“So what happens now?”
“Normally, you can expect an arraignment hearing within a week, but I requested a delay. Gives us a little more time. At the arraignment, you can plead guilty, not guilty, no contest, or you can enter an Alford plea, which means you don’t admit guilt, but you do admit they could prove you’re guilty. At this point I would advise you to plead not guilty.”
“Of course. I’m not guilty.”
Honey pulled into the parking space next to my T-Bird. The car’s windshield wipers were on the slow setting, not quite keeping up with the rain.
“You know, Professor, criminal defense is interesting. Ninety percent of your clients are guilty of the charges, and the other ten percent did something even worse but never got caught yet. And they all say they’re innocent.”
“But I am innocent.”
“Of course you are, Professor.”