Surfing Detective 04 - Hanging Ten in Paris

moistened.
    “Why did you cheat? Aren’t you on scholarship?”
    “That’s just it. I have to maintain an A-minus average to keep my scholarship. I wanted to have fun in Paris and I thought—
stupidly
—that the answers would give me a little more time. I had no idea any harm would come to Ryan. Honest!”
    “How did harm come to him?”
    “When he found out Scooter and Brad had the exam answers and wouldn’t stop cheating, Ryan told the rest of us. Then Heather went straight to Brad.”
    “Brad wasn’t sharing the exams with her already?”
    “I don’t think so,” Meighan said. “But he gave them to her then. And to Kim and to everyone else.”
    “To Ryan?”
    “He tried, but Ryan wouldn’t take them.”
    “Who hanged him?”
    “I never asked. It was too horrible. And too stupid. Ryan was hanging there naked. So unlike him. That’s why I slipped the board shorts on him—before I knew what really happened. Later Heather put the photo of Marie under him. And Kim typed the suicide note on Ryan’s laptop. She didn’t know much French, but she did know
au
revoir.”
    “Was Marie involved?”
    “No. She still thinks Ryan hanged himself. And she still feels guilty. Like it was her fault—because she moved in with Pierre.”
    “Then why did Marie cheat?”
    Meighan looked surprised. “How’d you find out?”
    “We detectives have our ways,” I said. “Anyhow, wasn’t Marie a brilliant student?”
    “Yes, but when she moved in with Pierre she sort of flipped. She’d never been off the island before and she’d never had a lover. Suddenly she’s living in Paris with a French guy. All she wanted was to spend time with him. She let her coursework slip. Being with Pierre was more important to her than anything.”

sixteen

    The next day I called Professor Van and told him I knew Ryan Song had complained to him about cheating in his history course. And I knew that Van had concealed this information from the Paris Police, from Paradise College, and from me. I asked him why.
    “Are you going public with this?” he asked.
    “Depends,” I said.
    “Ryan is dead,” he replied. “That can’t be changed.”
    “But you might have saved his life. I guess you were more concerned about your reputation—about how it might look if so many of your students got caught cheating.”
    “Ryan brought me accusations, not proof.”
    “I saw your grade record, Professor,” I said. Van was quiet.
    “A scandal like this,” I said, “and you could kiss the Hilo Hattie Chair goodbye.”
    “Are you going public?” he asked again.

seventeen

    I called Scooter’s cell phone after talking to Van and asked if I could see him one last time to wrap up my investigation. I could barely hear him over the blare of hip-hop music, but he said, “Didn’t find anything, eh?”
    “How’d you guess?” I replied.
    “Too bad, man!” He sounded pleased, rather than sorry. “I’m at the Z Lounge. Brad’s with me.”
    “Hang on,” I said. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
    “Uh, we’ll hang on. We’re not going anywhere.”
    I hopped in my car and was there in less than ten. The Z Lounge was a hostess bar and strip joint on a seedy block of Kona Street. The odor of stale beer and cigarettes hit me as I stepped into the darkness. Hip-hop blared. You can’t smoke there anymore, but before the law was changed the dark paneled walls got saturated. The proprietor, a former Madame named Michi, knew how to keep customers coming with exotic dancers and happy hour specials. It was too early for either, so there weren’t any customers except Brad and Scooter who sat alone at the bar with their beers. Take that back—a young woman from the establishment had her arm around Brad and a drink in front of her.
    I took the stool next to Scooter and ordered a beer. He turned to me.
    “So you’re wrapping up, huh?” he asked.
    “You bet,” I replied.
    “Don’t tell Heather.” Brad gestured to the woman with her arm around him and winked.
    “My lips are sealed,” I said.
    “We feel really sorry for Ryan’s parents,” Brad continued, “but they should have saved their money. Oh well, at least you got a gig.”
    “That I did,” I said.
    “So what’s left to wrap up?” Scooter asked.
    “Oh, I just wondered who put the rope around his neck.” I sipped my beer. “Was it you or Brad?”
    “Huh?” Scooter clinked his bottled on the bar. “What are you talking about?”
    “Ryan,” I said, “which one of