Back at his desk, Chan took a look at the files of some other open cases. The one that concerned him most, aside from this bloody, possible Mexico – Hawai‘i heroin connection, was the murder of a young woman whose body had been found on the beach just outside the Moana Hotel. A tourist from California, she had been at the hotel for one night and had died, according to coroner Hank Lee, sometime in the early hours of the following morning. Chan had called to break the news to her parents. That was one part of the job he did hated, but when you’re in homicide, he knew well, it was something you simply had do. Too often.
Stillman asked, “So when are you going to tell Mr. Jones about his son?”
It was a psychic moment. Chan said, “Bobby, I want you to come along with me right now. I’m going to let Mrs. Jones know. I called her, she’s home, and I wanted to do this in-person. You’ll need to learn how to do this too.”
The drive to the Jones’s home took them over the Pali again. They lived on the water in Lanikai, an upscale neighborhood.
When Mrs. Jones opened the door, she was already crying.
Great, Chan thought, adding tragedy like this to whatever had her upset made the situation even worse.
“Mrs. Jones,” he said, “I’m David Chan, and this is Sergeant Stillman.”
“Oh, I remember your father so well,” she said, ushering the two in. “And I’ll never forget how you helped my son. She kept blowing her nose all the way into the living room.
As Chan and Stillman sat, she began to cry again.
“Mrs. Jones, what’s happened?” Chan asked.
After wiping at her eyes and blowing her nose, she said, “The hospital just called. Connie’s taken a turn for the worse. I need to go to Queen’s Hospital to be with him.”
She burst into terrific sobs. Chan looked at Stillman, shaking his head. Was this really a good time to announce her son was dead?
The phone rang. Mrs. Jones picked up, said hello, and then listened. Only listened. She said not one word, but she gasped several times. When she hung up, she cried even harder.
“Mrs. Jones,” asked Chan, “what was that call about?”
“He told me my son is dead. My boy, Lieutenant, they’ve killed him.”
* * * * *
Aloha #WriterTuesday. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece on your site and link back to me, or leave it as a comment below. I would love to read what you wrote : )