Page 20 of Mai Tais and Murder

“No blood anywhere,” Robbins noted, examining the desk area with his flashlight. “No signs of struggle.”

Mel scanned the room, taking in every detail. The bed was still made. No desk drawers were open. Nothing seemed disturbed. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “There should be something out of place.”

“Ma’am,” Hale said. “Are you certain what you saw?”

Mel felt Helen touch her arm. “Yes, we saw it happen,” Helen said, her voice tight but with a hint of confusion. “He was right there. The person hit him, and he fell from his chair.”

The officers exchanged a look that Mel recognized all too well. It was the one that said they were dealing with unreliable witnesses. “We’ll take a full report,” the shorter one said diplomatically. “And check the security cameras.”

“There aren’t any in the hallways,” the manager said. “Just the lobby and parking areas.”

Mel felt a familiar frustration building in her chest. She knew what they had seen. But she also knew how it looked. Two elderly women claiming to witness an attack in an empty apartment with no evidence to support their story. “Look,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “I understand how this appears. But we’re not confused or mistaken. Something happened here, and James Abramson could be in serious danger.”

Robbins holstered his weapon. “We’ll document everything and file a report. If Mr. Abramson turns up or anyone reports him missing, we’ll investigate further.”

But Mel could hear what he wasn’t saying. The officer thought she and Helen were just overexcited tourists, maybe having had too much wine on their balcony. She wanted to argue, to make them understand the significance of everything they’d observed over the past few days. But her years on the force had taught her when pushing would do more harm than good. “Thank you, officers,” she said instead, seeing the surprise on Helen’s face out of the corner of her eye. “We appreciate your quick response.”

Mel ushered Helen toward the door, leaving the officers behind. As they passed by the small kitchen, Mel noticed a wallet on the counter among the trash. If it was Abramson’s, it would be unlikely that he would have left it behind if he had gone under his own power. She thought about bringing it to the police officer’s attention, but at the last second, she slipped it into her pocket and followed Helen out the door.

* * *

As Helenand Mel walked out of the apartment and started down the hallway, the sound of hurried footsteps approaching made Helen pause. Brigitte Abramson was rushing toward them. “Where’s my father?” she demanded, looking between Mel and Helen before focusing on the police officers emerging from the apartment. “He’s not answering his phone. What’s going on?”

“Ma’am,” Robbins said, his tone professionally neutral. “Your father appears to have left his apartment.”

“And gone where? It’s getting late,” Brigitte asked, her tone almost accusatory, but Helen caught the flicker of something else in her expression. “I just spoke to him a few hours ago. He was working on his story and didn’t say anything about leaving.”

Helen watched as Brigitte started to push past the officers into the apartment. “I can assure you,” Hale explained. “He is not here.”

“Then why are you here?” Brigitte asked as if finally registering the police were in her father’s apartment.

The two officers looked at each other, then Hale shrugged and pointed at Mel. “She called in an attack at this location.”

Brigitte’s face paled. “An attack?”

Holding his hand palm out as if to calm Brigitte, Robbins shook his head. “There’s no sign anything happened here.”

Helen couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “No sign? We saw someone attack him.”

Brigitte’s head snapped toward Helen. “You saw what?”

“A person in black, wearing a ski mask,” Helen said, drawing strength from Mel’s steady presence beside her. “They hit your father from behind.” Her voice faltered as she remembered the horrible moment.

Blinking as if not registering what Helen said, Brigitte hesitated. “That’s impossible,” she whispered, but her voice wavered slightly and she rushed into the apartment. For a moment, Brigitte was gone from sight but then returned. She was frowning. “If someone attacked him, where’s the blood? Where’s the evidence?”

Robbins cleared his throat. “As we said, there is none.”

Helen felt a chill despite the warm Hawaiian night. She knew what they had seen. The image of Abramson slumping forward was burned into her memory. But standing there near the seemingly undisturbed apartment, even she had to admit how improbable their story sounded.

“Officers,” Brigitte said. “I appreciate your response, but clearly there’s been some misunderstanding.” She gestured toward Helen and Mel. “Perhaps they saw shadows, or maybe my father was just resting. He’s been working very hard lately.”

The dismissive tone in Brigitte’s voice made Helen’s chest tighten with anger. “We know what we saw,” she insisted. “Your father was attacked, and now someone’s trying to cover it up.”

“Ms. Hardy,” Hale interrupted gently. “Without any evidence of a crime, there is nothing more we can do.”

Helen felt tears of frustration threatening. “Then why isn’t he answering his phone when Brigitte calls him?”

A brief silence fell over the group. Helen saw Brigitte’s hand twitch slightly at the mention that Abramson wasn’t accounted for. Helen couldn’t help but believe the young woman knew something she wasn’t sharing. “I’m sure he is fine,” Brigitte said. “Sometimes he just needs to stretch his legs on the beach and doesn’t hear his phone.”

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