by Toby Neal
Lei straightened up from her study of the body. “This could be related to Stevens’s heiau desecration case. He was telling me the petroglyphs were removed with some sort of hand-held jack.”
They continued to process the scene. Lei breathed shallowly through her mouth as she carefully felt in the man’s pockets, looking for ID. Empty. She didn’t see any other obvious wounds on the body besides the bashed-in head. “Do you see the murder weapon?”
“Not so far.” They both searched, looking under the bed, in the man’s possessions.
Dr. Gregory, his assistant Tanaka, and their gurney, appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Lei. Thought you were on bomb squad now.”
“Multitasking, as usual.” She grinned at the doc’s aloha shirt, covered with lurid green sea turtles. “You brighten the place up.”
“Glad I wore booties,” Gregory said, turning his head to take in the spatter patterns. “You got photos of that?”
“Not yet. We were looking for the murder weapon.”
“I can’t imagine it went far. Whatever it was would be dripping with fluids and trace. In fact, did you see anything in the hall?”
“Good idea,” Lei said. “Abe, you do the blood spatter photos and I’ll check for trace outside.”
Torufu nodded. She went outside the room, gratefully breathing fresher air, and thought of the scene Stevens had faced yesterday. No wonder he’d had nightmares. For a moment, an unbidden picture of Stevens stabbing Anchara bloomed in her imagination.
No. There was no way. Stevens wasn’t capable of that, no matter the provocation. He’d never wavered in his support of Lei when she’d come under suspicion last year in the execution-style killing of her childhood molester Charlie Kwon. Now she had a chance to return the favor.
She hoped Dr. Wilson could work some of her psychology magic, help them get through this massive challenge. It was so overwhelming to think about that she was glad to have to totally focus on the job at hand.
Lei turned off the overhead light and shone the blue flashlight into the hall, swinging it back and forth. Proceeding down the hallway in a straight line were three sets of footprints picked out in blood from the victim.
She retrieved the camera and photographed the tracks, laying blotting paper on the most well-defined shoe prints to pick up one that might tell shoe size and type.
Nowhere, besides the footprints, did she see droplets or trace that might have fallen off an object used to beat the victim’s head in.
After Lei recorded the footprints for later analysis, she walked back through the building and out, around into the weedy side yard outside the victim’s window, which had been closed from inside. There, caught in the branches of a hibiscus bush, was a metal crowbar.
“Gotcha,” she muttered. Crowbar—the weapon of thugs.
Lei photographed, then retrieved the tool. Such an ordinary thing, until suddenly it was lethal. Lei knew she’d never see a crowbar in quite the same way.
Blood marked one viciously-hooked end, and she tried not to picture the impact on the back of the fallen man’s skull—and failed. The chunk of skull and scalp she’d stepped on had told the tale too well. She slid the iron into a large plastic bag the landlady fetched for her—none of the evidence bags she’d brought were large enough.
She went back into the victim’s room, where Dr. Gregory and Tanaka, with Torufu’s help, were prepping the body for removal.
“Found the murder weapon. Crowbar.”
“Yikes,” Gregory said. “That explains the skull fragments everywhere.”
“Yes, and there were three sets of prints in the hall.”
Torufu hefted the man’s suitcase and the backpack with the tools. “Let’s get these back to the station and see if they have any trace tying to the heiau desecrations.”
Lei helped carry the victim’s possessions. The landlady followed them. “Who’s going to pay for cleaning the room?” she cried. “So disgusting!”
“The room is a crime scene, and sealed for the time being,” Torufu said.
Gregory overheard the woman’s comment and dug around in his kit for a card, handed it to her. “After they release the scene, you could try this special cleaning service. Unfortunately expensive, but you’re the landlord.”
They left her squawking in fury over the outrage that had been visited on her inn. After stowing the items and locking her truck, Lei tamped down irritation at Claudine Figueroa’s insensitivity and returned to speak to the woman.
“So sorry this happened in your place,” she said. “You seem like you know a lot of people—if you hear any rumors, anything at all about who might have done this, will you call me?”
“Yes! I still can’t believe it; so shame this!”
Lei walked away from the voluble lady, leaving her describing her shock to a small crowd of neighbors. She took a deep breath, refreshing herself for a few seconds by resting her eyes on the sculptured, cloud-tasseled depth of Iao Valley behind Wailuku’s funky collection of buildings. The cool green of the valley was a balm on eyes burned by what they’d seen.
In Lei’s truck on the way back to the station, her cell rang. She saw Stevens had left a voicemail, but now wasn’t the time to listen to it. Checking the caller ID, she picked up. “Dad! How are you?”
“Not so good. Your aunty, she’s taking a turn for the worse. Her kidneys have failed. She’s having emergency dialysis, but they’re only giving her a week.” Her father’s voice was heavy and molasses-slow.
“Dad, no! I’m so sorry.” Lei’s mind scrambled as she tried to think of how she could get away and go back to California with Stevens under suspicion, custody of a new baby on the horizon, and a fresh murder on her hands. “Oh my God. I don’t know how to get away. This is the worst possible time.”
“Do you think there’s a ‘good time’ for your aunty to die? Call me back when you can say something with even a little bit of love in it!” Her father banged down the phone.
“Dammit, I’m sorry.” Lei bit her lip as she put the phone down, quick tears filling her eyes, but he was gone. Lei didn’t feel like she could handle one more thing—but she had to keep trying. It felt like she was juggling live emotional grenades. She rubbed the rough white gold medallion at her throat.
Lei pulled into the station and told herself to focus on the job. When all else went crazy, there was always the job—even if it was its own kind of insanity.
Chapter Thirteen
Stevens handed his boarding pass to the gate attendant. Dr. Wilson followed him onto the plane. It had been her idea that they travel to Oahu together, since she had more work to do on a case there.
In his pocket, not yet listened to, was the hypnosis tape. New information had come out from the session. Stevens had noticed an extra length of sheet beneath Anchara’s body—a white linen shroud. Not only that, but worse—he’d recognized the knife she’d been stabbed with as his own. She’d taken the folding fishing knife when she moved out of their Wailuku house, and he hadn’t seen it since.
He’d been set up by a pro.
Dr. Wilson turned to Stevens as they sat together for the brief flight. “You sure you didn’t want to bring Lei for this?”
“I know she can’t get away. I heard she pulled a fresh murder this morning. Those first twenty-four hours are critical, and I left her a message.”
“I hope she’s not upset with you.”
“No more than usual, I’m sure.” He tried to smile. “We’ve been doing okay through all this. I know she’s got my back and I’ve got hers, and that’s what we need most right now.”
“Okay. Just imagining myself in her shoes. I’d have wanted to come support you seeing the baby for the first time.” Dr. Wilson turned away, gazed out the oval window at the iconic view of Diamond Head. The jagged outline of Waikiki’s hotel district, stark and white against the lush mountains and bright ocean, was just coming into view. Billowing piles of cottony clouds slid by the window as they began their descent.
&nb
sp; Stevens knew Dr. Wilson was right in what she was saying, but he also knew Lei wouldn’t be available during those first twenty-four hours on a new case. He just couldn’t wait to see the baby—needed to see him. He reclined his seat and closed his eyes, replaying in his mind the conversation he’d had with the social worker in charge of the child.
“I spoke to your captain, and she faxed me the results of your paternity test,” Darlene Fujimoto said. “However, I need to interview you and assess your readiness to care for the baby, the situation you’ll be bringing him home to. Not to mention ruling out the question of your involvement with his mother’s death.”
“I understand,” Stevens said, keeping his voice soft, though he’d felt defensive. “I just want to meet with you and begin the process. Everyone has to be confident ours is the right home for my son and that it’s a healthy environment for him. I get that. As to my ‘involvement,’ it’s an investigation. It will take as long as it takes. I hope that doesn’t keep me from at least showing my support and care for him.”
A long pause. “I look forward to meeting you. Let’s rendezvous at the hospital in the lobby,” Fujimoto had said.
Stevens said goodbye to Dr. Wilson at the airport and got into a taxi for the hospital, wrinkling his nose at the cab smell of old cigarettes—the pine tree dangling from the rearview wasn’t cutting it. He tried Lei’s cell again, and this time she picked up.
“Just going into the evidence room.” Lei sounded a little breathless. “I saw you left me a message?”
“Yeah. I’m on Oahu. Trying to see the baby, maybe bring him home.”
A pause.
“Oh. Okay.” Her voice was downcast.
“I’m sorry I’m here without you. I heard you pulled a fresh one, and I know you won’t be able to get home, so after Dr. Wilson and I talked, I thought I’d get over to Oahu and see if I can get the wheels moving.”
“So inconvenient, all this happening at once.” He could tell Lei was struggling to stay light.
He switched gears. “Can you ask Pono, or McGregor—somebody—if we can get access to Anchara’s living space? I really want to find out what she wanted to name the baby. It’s so weird calling him Baby Boy Mookjai, which is what’s on his birth certificate now.”
“I’ll try.” Her voice sounded hesitant. “But I don’t know if they’ll let me in there, or tell me anything. You know that.”
“Of course I do.” The taxi took a turn a little fast, bumping him against the window, and Stevens glimpsed the ocean from the elevated freeway, a gleam of peaceful blue. “I just want to find out more about him. The social worker is meeting me at the hospital for an initial interview, but said she needs to ‘rule out my involvement’ with his mother’s death, and God knows how long that will take. He’ll go into foster care, probably.” Stevens ran a hand through his hair. “I just want to see him. Maybe hold him.”
“We have to get you cleared as soon as possible, then. Speaking of your involvement, Pono told me they found one of those shrouds under Anchara’s body. I thought that was going to clear you, but he says no.”
“I know. I remembered it after Dr. Wilson hypnotized me. I was too distracted at the time. I also recognized the murder weapon.”
A long beat. Stevens raised his eyes to check on the taxi driver. The man had his eyes on the road, but he decided not to say more. “Can’t discuss it now. But Dr. Wilson was really helpful. Thanks for bringing her in.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. How to help you.”
“I love you. Don’t believe I said it yet today.”
“I love you, too. We’ll get through this. I don’t quite know how, though.” Lei told him about her aunt dying. “I have to find a way to get back there. They only gave her a week.”
“Holy God.” Stevens ran his hand through his hair again. “And I mean that as a prayer. I’m so sorry. I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s happening with the baby.”
“Sounds good. Come home soon.”
She hung up, and when he pressed Off on the phone, in spite of all the challenges, his chest was lighter, his breathing easier, and he noticed the color and buzz of Honolulu’s downtown swirling around him for the first time. He shut his eyes and prayed for strength for both of them.
Stevens waited in the lobby after a quick trip to the bathroom to make sure he’d combed his disordered hair and brushed down the blue shirt Lei had bought him. He looked respectable, if a little stressed out. Acceptable under the circumstances.
Darlene Fujimoto approached him, a round middle-aged woman with a name badge clipped to her large Lycra-wrapped bosom. She eyed him over thick glasses and shook his hand. “Nice that you could come, Lieutenant Stevens.”
“I’m eager to see my son.”
“Yes. Well. Let’s talk first.” She led him to a couch and sat him down. “I checked with my supervisors, and what we’ll do here today is begin the process of screening you for guardianship. We will also have to interview your wife and check your home and make sure it’s safe and prepared for a newborn. Then there’s the situation with his mother’s death.”
Stevens kept his face blank. “I am happy to go through whatever screening we need to do. My wife as well. If you check us out, you will see we’re both dedicated civil servants.”
“Be that as it may. We are not comfortable releasing the baby into your custody until you have been ruled out in his mother’s murder. I’m sure you understand.” She pushed her glasses farther up her nose and fiddled with her clipboard, clearly uncomfortable.
Stevens squelched his dismay. Who knew how long this thing could drag on? But he saw it from their point of view, too—for all they knew, he’d killed Anchara to get the baby for himself.
“I understand. I hope, in the meantime, we can at least visit the baby. Supervised, of course,” he said, hoping to diffuse her tension. He needed this woman on his side.
“Of course!” She smiled, clearly relieved he wasn’t going to fight her on the terms of custody. “He is stable and doing well since he got into the neonatal unit, and actually, he’s due to leave the hospital tomorrow if his vitals stay good. We’ve set up a very nice placement for him, and you can arrange visits with the foster family when you and your wife are able to come.”
His son was definitely going into foster care.
Stevens fought to keep his voice even. “Thank you. Please do the very best you can for him.”
“Oh, I did.” Fujimoto handed him the clipboard. “Some background information, here, while I tell you about the placement.” She proceeded to natter on about the foster family, how many babies they’d cared for with the state, how wonderful they were. Stevens kept his attention focused on filling in the little boxes on the form. He was done with it all by the time she’d begun to wind down, and he handed it back to her.
“Any chance we can go look at him in the nursery?”
“Of course.” Fujimoto stood up and led the way to the elevators. “Tell me a little about your home situation. I understand you were recently married?”
“Yes.” He didn’t know how to address the thorny issue of Anchara’s pregnancy so close to his own wedding, so he left it at that.
They got on the elevator. “And according to your captain, you weren’t aware the baby’s mother was pregnant?”
Stevens felt a flash of heat on the back of his neck at her insinuating tone. He reached out and punched the Stop button. Fujimoto’s eyes got big behind her glasses, and he held his hands up in a “surrender” gesture. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
“Let me just tell you the situation as best I can, now that we have a little privacy. Anchara was my wife. We probably shouldn’t have married—we had issues from before day one—but I was trying to make it work. It wasn’t enough for her. As soon as she knew she was getting her green card, she left me. She slept with me on her way out the door, literally, and must have gotten pregnant. I never saw her in person again, and even though we were in contact thr
ough email, she never said a word about the baby. I paid her support every month and wished her well—there was regret between us, but nothing more. She even came to my wedding to Lei, but I didn’t see her there.” He drew a breath, pushed a hand through his hair. “Then, out of the blue, she called me, asking for help. Claimed to be ‘injured’ and unable to meet me at a restaurant I asked for. She insisted on meeting at that motel.”
“That was when you found her, already dying?” Fujimoto frowned.
“Yes. She was bleeding out from stab wounds. I did first aid and CPR. The paramedics took her away, and the baby was delivered by emergency cesarean. That’s why he was deprived of oxygen.” He forcefully suppressed the memory of Anchara’s pale face and thready voice, begging him to take the baby sooner.
While she was alive.
Stevens found himself trembling at the memory of the scene and steadied himself by putting a hand on the wall. “So, I understand why I’m being looked at as a suspect, but I swear to you, on a stack of Bibles, I had nothing to do with her death.”
“So what makes you think you should be the person to raise her son?”
“Because, however things started, he’s my son, too.”
“Well, he could have brain damage. Disabilities. Because of the oxygen deprivation. Are you prepared to deal with that?”
“He’s my son. It doesn’t matter what needs he has. I’ll stand by him.”
“And your new wife? How does she feel about raising your ex’s child? One who might even be disabled?”
“She’s just as committed as I am.” He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that was true.
Fujimoto turned to the control panel and pressed the floor number. They started moving again. “I appreciate hearing your version of events.”
They rode up to the neonatal floor in silence.
As he stood in front of the glass viewing window into the nursery, Stevens’s heart raced. He could see Fujimoto inside, talking to the nurse in front of one of the square, glass incubators. Around the open room, he could see babies in various levels of care, from tiny preemies in isolation units with spaces where hands could be inserted into gloves inside, to ones like the one his son was in, a rounded Plexiglas orb. He couldn’t see much, but his eyes fastened, as if magnetized, on the tuft of dark hair not hidden by Fujimoto’s bulk.
