= DEATH ON WATCH
  A Kay Yoshinobu mystery by John A. Broussard


"I didn't kill him.  I never killed no one.  I don't even own a gun.  Never shot one in my whole life."

In his short sleeved orange jump suit, scrawny Mark Watkins didn't look like a murderer and most certainly was not typical of his generation - at least not on the surface.  There was no spiky hair, no nose ring, not even a tattoo showing.

But, then, Kay Yoshinobu had been practicing criminal defense for enough years to know it was a mistake to trust to appearances or to believe clients without independent confirmation.   Flipping through Mark's file, she quickly ascertained that he had been born in Hawaii - not here on Elima, but on Oahu.  He was definitely a haole, probably of northern European ancestry, and the lack of pidgin in his speech indicated he had probably gone to one of the large urban schools in Honolulu.  

The school record was about what could be expected.  Mostly failure, several suspensions and finally his dropping out in his third year of high school.  His criminal record was even more predictable - with disorderly conduct and contempt of court charges, break-ins, brief incarcerations, and a current DUI and suspended license.  No indication of violence, however, no sign that he had ever been armed with so much as a pocketknife.

"But you did confess to the burglary," Kay said, looking up from the records.

Mark shrugged.  "Sure.  I walked in and picked up one or two things.  But I didn't kill the guard.  No way.  He wasn't even there when I checked out the security station.  I do lawn work and trimming for a couple of people in Paradise Ranch, including Lofton.  That's how I knew I could make out at his house.  And I knew the night guard goes on a drive-through check at two in the morning and the route he takes.  So I figured I'd slip through with the card I use for work while he was gone - maybe around two-fifteen to be sure he was out on patrol - then pick up what I could from Lofton's and be out of there long before he came back on watch."

Kay was familiar with the gated community of Paradise Ranch, a hundred or so expensive homes on acre-size lots scattered through a large development still stagnating from the local recession.  A hotel administrator going off to work had found the guard dead at four in the morning.  The burglary was detected four hours later.  An anonymous phone call to the police led to the discovery of some of the loot in his parent's house and Mark's consequent arrest on a burglary charge.  The murder charge quickly followed when it became obvious that Mark had entered the development at about the time of the killing.  The clincher had been when the police found the murder weapon under his car seat.

Later, talking to Sid Chu, her law partner, Kay wondered aloud as to other possible suspects.  Having settled down comfortably in Kay's office, Sid ventured the opinion that Mark was guilty as all hell.  In spite of his skepticism he added, "You're not likely to get anywhere with her, but it won't hurt to check out the guard's wife." 

"Thanks for the suggestion, but Benjamin Franco wasn't married.  He did have a live-in girlfriend, though.  The police questioned her, of course, but who has an alibi for two o'clock in the morning?"

"Did the police check anyone else?"

"The only close relative Franco had was a brother."  Kay searched through the file on her desk.  "Aaron Franco.  Owns an auto repair business.  Married.  Two young kids.  No police record.  His wife vouches for him being home in bed all night.  I guess that's some kind of an alibi, but hardly airtight.

"They spoke to the security manager, too."  Kay pulled a sheet of paper from the file.  "Philip Solage.  He's also married.   But his wife's visiting on the mainland.  He's the one who gave the police a pretty good fix on the earliest time death could have occurred."

Sid raised an eyebrow.

"He got a call from Franco around two-ten to report that his truck wouldn't start and he wouldn't be able to make the rounds."

"You mean that's what Solange says."

Kay shook her head.  "It's more than that.  He was asleep when the phone rang.  He says guards at company sites have to call in, in case of emergencies.  He doesn't bother to answer the phone most of the time - just listens to the message - because what may seem like an emergency to the guard usually isn't one at all.  

"Anyway, Franco said on the machine that he was about to do the security check and found his truck wouldn't start, so he wanted to know what to do.  Solage says he finally decided to call him back and tell him to forget the patrol for that night.  The police have the tape with Franco's message, and it checks out."

"I guess that pretty well does tell us that Franco was alive at two."

"Fits pretty close with the preliminary autopsy report, too.   The body was found at four, examined at four-thirty, and the estimate is that he was dead between one and three hours.     

"Solage's kids are all grown and gone, so we have only his word for it that he was home at the time, asleep.  The police didn't consider him as much of a suspect, though.  Employers don't usually get rid of employees by shooting them.   He also vouched for Franco.  Says he passed their security clearance test with flying colors.  No police record, and he'd lived here all his life.

"Oh, yes.  Something else. You'll love this.  The police of course questioned Leonard Lofton, the guy whose house was burglarized.  His story's a bit different from Mark's."

"Don't tell me.  Let me guess.  He claims a hundred thousand dollars in jewelry were stolen - all heavily insured of course."

Kay laughed.  "You surprise me every so often, Sid. Actually, he says it's a hundred twenty thousand.  And Mark swears he never found any jewelry.  Never went into the bedroom where the Loftons were sleeping because he was afraid to wake them up.  Lofton claims the jewels were in the guest bedroom, if you can believe that.  Anyhow, that's something for him to fight out with the insurance company - especially since the police recovered all the stolen items except for the jewels."

"So where to next?

"Back to Mark."

"And you'll have him tell his story ten times over to check for discrepancies."

"Something like that. The problem is that he's not the brightest person I've ever dealt with.  Frankly, the fact that he made it as far through school as he did doesn't speak too well for our public school system.   But I really want to see if he noticed anything, either when he drove in or when he left.  If he tells the story enough times, maybe it will trigger an important memory."

"Assuming of course that he wasn't the one who shot the guard."

* * *

Mark was genuinely pleased to see his attorney again so soon.  He had heard from his cellmates that court-appointed lawyers were worse than public defenders, and seldom spoke to their unwanted clients except for a few moments prior to court appearances. 

His pleasure made him voluble, so Kay had little difficulty getting the details of the murder night.

"I did some garden work for Lofton about a month or so ago.  He's a tight S.O.B.  Kept his eye on me all the time I was working like he was scared I'd cheat him on my hours.  And he wouldn't never think of tipping.  Well, I got enough looks into his house to see some items I could move pretty easy.  And what with the way a lot of the people there leave doors unlocked, I figured I could come in some night and clean him out."

Smiling at his own cleverness, Mark continued, "I checked out the guard station to make sure I could get in and out without the guard seeing me.  I thought I had his schedule down pat; that's why I was so surprised when I seen his pickup there. He should have been out on patrol."

"His pickup?"

"Yeah.  I figured he was probably slow in taking off, but he should have started out fifteen or twenty minutes before I got there.  So I drove down the street a ways and watched the guardhouse.  After about ten minutes I decided to take a chance.  There didn't seem to be anyone in there, so I figured maybe he took another car on the tour, or something like that."

"Wait a minute.  You say the guardhouse was empty?"

"I didn't see no one.  I didn't stop to ask questions.  Best part was that the gate was wide open.  I didn't even have to use the card.  Everything went smoother than I expected.  I drove up to Lofton's.  Parked outside his driveway.  I figured no one would notice the car 'cause it's dark all through the subdivision, and there ain't many people around that time of night.  Took me less than ten minutes to sneak in, fill a coffee sack, get out and drive back out past the guard station to the highway." 

"And there was still no one at the guard station when you drove out?"

"Not that I could tell.  And the pickup was still sitting right where it was when I drove in."

"Any idea what time you passed back through the gate?"

Mark grinned proudly.  "You bet.  I timed myself.  Went in at two thirty-five, and was out on the highway by five after three.  That was good time."

If everyone was reporting correctly, Kay decided, the killing had occurred sometime between ten after and thirty-five minutes after two - before Mark embarked on his ill-fated burglary.

* * *

Philip Solage was next on Kay's list.   A tall, dark-haired man probably in his late forties, he obviously took his position as security manager seriously.   His belt sported a pager, a radiotelephone, a cell phone, a handgun and some other gadget Kay couldn't quite make out.

"Could you fill me in on the nature of the guard's duties at Paradise Ranch?" Kay asked after introductions and an explanation of her interest in the case.

"Sure.  As it happens, I was by there around ten, the evening before Ben was killed.  Damn shame that, but security is always a risky business.  Well, I make random checks, and I got there as one shift was ending and Ben's was beginning.  There isn't much to do on his shift.  Not much traffic.   Only thing he was supposed to do that was different was that two o'clock patrol."

"How long does that usually take?"

"Shouldn't take more than an hour or so.  But that's a pretty boring shift, and I know the guards stretch out the drive.  So it might take an hour-and-a-half, maybe more if there are any problems. Junk on the road they'd have to clear away - that sort of stuff."

"Are you sure he didn't make that patrol - maybe in someone else's car?"

Solage shook his head emphatically.  "No other car there.  He'd a told me if there was one.  Nope.  He just must have surprised that burglar and argued with him about getting into the development.  They're not supposed to do that.  Ben wasn't armed.  He was just supposed to tell him no, and if there were any problems get on the blower to 911.  Of course, the crook may just have shot him once he saw he was there.  Keep from being identified that way.  It's a shame.  Ben was a good worker."

"I guess it was just plain bad luck the truck didn't work."

"Nah.  It was an old clunker.  I'm surprised Ben didn't have more trouble with it than he did."

* * *

Lofton proved to be a very different breed from Solage.  Medium height, broad shouldered, with a heavy shock of gray hair, he looked like a distinguished United States Senator from the days when senators were expected to look - and act - distinguished.  

"My wife and I were asleep in the master bedroom when it happened. Right after breakfast, she noticed that some things were missing.  Fortunately, I long ago inventoried all of our valuables.  It's a precaution my insurance agent urged on me, and now I'm happy I took his advice.  I can give you a copy."

Kay wasn't especially interested in the list, but accepting it seemed a good start at getting the information she was really seeking.

"Do you have any idea what time the burglary took place?"

"Sometime between eleven and seven-thirty.  I can't narrow it down any more than that."

"So you heard nothing?"

"That's right.  Not a sound.  That Watkins has the makings of a first-class cat burglar.  Of course, what he took was in the other wing of the house."

"Did you know him at all?"

"I hired him to do some tree pruning and hedge trimming.  He wasn't much of a worker.  I can see why he was trying his hand at burglary."   

"Did you know the guard who was killed?"

Lofton shook his head.  "Not by name.  I think I know which one, though.  He was usually on the night shift.  Would wave me through if I came in late."

* * *

Sid was no help to Kay's morale, but he did set her off on a different tack.   "You're going to run out of people to interview.  Not that it makes much difference.  The gun in his car is all the prosecution's going to need.  They'll just argue that the guard stopped him, and Mark killed him to keep from being identified.  And, as far as I'm concerned, that's what happened."

"That's exactly what the security manager said.  And you're right: that's what the prosecution is going to argue."  She paused.  "Maybe that's the key.  If Mark didn't kill Franco, then someone planted the gun in his car.  He claims the police did, but I didn't give that much credence.  They all say that."

Sid shrugged.  "It's obvious enough.  If you're going to insist on believing Mark, then the murderer planted it there."

"Right.  And that's what I should be trying to find out.  Who knew that Mark was in the subdivision at the time of the killing?  Mark might just possibly be able to tell me who."

** * *

Mark's pleasure at having yet another visit from his attorney was severely diluted by the first question she asked. "Did anyone know you were going to burglarize the Lofton home?"

"I'm not sure."  He squirmed uneasily.

Kay tried to curb her annoyance, but it crept into her voice.  "What do you mean you're not sure?"

"Well, a couple a nights before, I went out drinking with a couple a guys."

"Oh, God!  You told them what you were going to do?"

"That was kinda dumb, wasn't it?"

Kay decided there was no point in voicing her hearty agreement, settling instead for the names and addresses of his drinking partners. 

With her pen poised over her notepad, she found it difficult to believe her ears.  "It's going to be tough to talk to them.  We were celebrating their joining the Marines.  They both left the next day for the Mainland.  Besides, about a half-dozen other guys got in on the celebration, and by then I couldn't even tell what they looked like."

Kay closed her eyes at the thought that half of Elima had probably known about the date, time and place of the planned burglary, to say nothing of the clear identity of the burglar.  In addition, the notion she had harbored that the murderer had also been the one to tip the police off to the burglary now went by the board.  The caller could simply have been someone bearing a grudge against Mark.  Or even the mythical concerned citizen.  There was some small consolation in knowing now that the murderer could easily have had the needed information for planting the gun, but that knowledge wouldn't help much in court.

* * *

If Sid's latest contribution had led nowhere, his first suggestion - that Franco's wife could be a likely candidate - seemed more productive, though Laks and Franco had not actually married.

Louanne Laks was probably in her early thirties.  Tall, thin, with lank brown hair, she appeared to be a congenitally unhappy person.  At first, Kay wrote off the sadness as a reaction to Franco's death, but as the interview proceeded it became evident her appearance was a reflection of more than that.  

"I warned Ben," she said.  "I was hooked on booze for years, and if it weren't for God and AA I'd still be a drunk - maybe dead by now.  I told Ben he was doing the same thing to people just like me.  I told him."

Kay wasn't following, but she knew that interrupting the flow of words might cut off communication entirely.  Instead of saying anything, she merely nodded.

"He'd been dealing, you know.  Ice."

The fog was clearing.  Franco had been selling methamphetamine.  Kay saw the scene forming out of the haze.

"While he was on watch?" she asked, softly.

Louanne's expression became even sadder.  She nodded.  "It was a good job.  Decent pay.  Easy.  He didn't need to deal.  I finally got him to promise to quit.  But he was in so deep, I wasn't sure he could, even though he insisted that he was going to break clean."

"Do you know who his supplier was?"

Louanne seemed to be only half listening, but her head moved barely perceptibly from side to side.

Louanne may not have known, but Kay now thought she knew.  And, for the
first time, she could envision a premeditated murder and not what the police were convinced happened - a shooting incidental to a burglary.  The key was a pickup that somehow, seemingly by chance, didn't work on that fateful night. There was one more interview to go, and that one might very well exonerate Mark.

* * *

Aaron Franco's repair shop was immaculate.  Kay was struck by the contrast with most such shops she'd been in.  Aaron, himself, had on a clean pair of coveralls.  He apologized for dirty hands that were actually clean and waved Kay over to the small glass cubicle serving as an office.

Aaron denied any knowledge of Ben's drug activities - but then Kay had hardly expected him to admit it if he had known.  Her main interest was in Ben's truck, which the police had turned over to Aaron.

"I kept that baby running like a top," he said.  "It was always in perfect condition.  That's why I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get it started.  Well, I found out why."

Kay waited for him to continue.

"Someone poured sugar into the tank."

* * *

Several hours later in Kay's office, Sid expressed his doubts, but he finally had to admit that her explanation made good sense.

"I think the scenario went something like this," Kay explained.  "For one thing, the security shack was an ideal distribution center for the dope.  Solage had a steady supply of crystal methamphetamine, and Ben was his distributor.  The retailers would drive up to the shack.  Ben would go out with his clipboard with the packet underneath.  The driver would take it and pretend to sign his name while slipping Ben the money.  It was a neat trick that could even be carried out in broad daylight.  But Ben became the weak link in the chain.

"Two or three days before he was killed, Ben told Solage he was quitting.  That's not easy to do.  He was the only dealer who knew that Solage was supplying the dope.  As long as he worked for Solage, he was reliable.  After all, he was doing well in the business.   But once he quit, there was no way he could be trusted.  If he suddenly had qualms about dealing, he might have decided to inform on Solage."

"Sure, but why did Solage go to all the trouble of killing him on duty?  Why not just drive him out to some back road on some excuse and kill him there?  It would have been easier to do it that way, and there would have been a lot less risk."

"And what would the police think if they found the body of a thirty year old male with a bullet through the head abandoned in some cane field?"

"I see what you mean.  The police would have immediately assumed drugs."

"Exactly.  And the investigation would have been in that direction.  So when Solage heard that there was going to be a burglary at the Loftons' while Franco was on shift and when he was due to be out on patrol, he decided that would be an ideal opportunity to kill Ben and have someone else immediately blamed for it.  

"Aaron Franco's description of the condition of the truck was what pretty much convinced me that that's what happened.  Someone wasn't telling the truth, and I couldn't see what Aaron had to gain by claiming it was in perfect shape if it wasn't.  So that told me Solange was the one who was lying when he said it was a clunker.  The clincher, of course, was when I found out the pickup had actually been purposely disabled.

"Solange admitted he was there around the shift change at ten.  That gave him the opportunity to put the sugar into the tank of the pickup then, when he was parked right next to it.  After that he went home, waited till about one-thirty, then drove back out to Paradise Ranch and hid close by. From there he could check the calls on his answering machine with his cell phone.

"Shortly after two, he got Ben's message.  In a matter of minutes, he'd walked into the guard shack, shot Ben, opened and locked back the gates, closed up the shack and took off to where he could watch the Lofton house without being observed."

Sid looked thoughtful, then exclaimed, "And when Mark went in to burgle, Solage slipped the gun under the driver's seat!"

"You've got it.  There's no hint of drugs. No one's going to look too hard for any other killer when they've got a burglar with the murder weapon in his possession.  And Solage is free to look around for another dealer - maybe even Ben Franco's replacement at the guard station."

"Now all you have to do is convince a jury."

Kay laughed.  "Nope.  The prosecutor has agreed to go into court this afternoon with me and ask that the murder charge be dismissed."

"How did you work that?"

"I didn't.  The police did.  They now have a list of all of Solage's calls, in and out, on his home phone and cell phone.  He did get a call from Ben a few minutes after two, but he didn't answer it on his home phone.  Didn't answer it at all, in fact.  Instead, he checked his answering phone just a few hundred yards away from the gate.  It's all a matter of record.  And the police even found traces of ice in Ben's car and in Solage's apartment.  

"Mark won't need a lawyer on that murder charge any more, but Solage sure will."


JOHN A. BROUSSARD was born in Cambridge, Mass in 1924 and graduated from Harvard and the University of Washington.  He taught on the college level for twenty years and wrote non-fiction and reviews before turning to fiction;  he's sold about sixty short stories recently. His first novel, a fantasy called MANA, will be published in November by Pulsar Books (ISBN 1-58697-206-5).  You can find more information at www.fictionwritings.com. 

Copyright (c) 2000 John A. Broussard