Last Lawyer Standing

by Douglas Corleone

  “I suppose that even the Justice Department finds itself on the side of right every once in a while,” I said.

  Audra shook her head but maintained a grin. “Sixteen years since high school and you haven’t changed a bit, Kevin.”

  “Oh, I’ve changed. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

  “Well,” she said, rising out of my client chair, “let’s save them for another time.”

  Abruptly I said, “How about tonight?”

  “No. I have plans tonight. Besides, it is not a good idea for us to see each other socially.”

  “Who said anything about socially? We’re going to have to communicate these next few days, and I already told you I have no intention of using the phones or going anywhere near your office building.”

  “Then let’s discuss phase three of the plan now,” she suggested, sitting herself back down.

  “No can do.” I stared at my watch. “I have a press conference scheduled in twenty minutes. Thanks to a strange twist of fate, I’m representing the governor of Hawaii in a murder investigation.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Seamus slid a bottle of Longboard across the bar to me, then turned to close out Sand Bar’s register.

  “You know,” he said, “since your law partner quit drinking, business is down forty percent.”

  “Jake feels terrible about that, but we’re not partners anymore.”

  Seamus spun around. “No shit, Kevin?”

  I explained the situation as best I could without going into details.

  “So Jake has a general practice going now, is that it?” Seamus asked.

  I took a pull of my Longboard. “That’s what he tells me.”

  “Well, lad, that’s convenient for me. Because without his business I’m going to have to file for Chapter Eleven. At least ol’ Jake can handle my bankruptcy.”

  With that Seamus pushed a set of keys across the bar to me. “Stay as long as you need. Just be sure to lock up when you leave.”

  “Thanks again for this.”

  “No problem. I set it up so that your lass can come in the back. See you tomorrow, then.”

  Once Seamus left, I went around the bar and retrieved the remote control for the television sets. I tuned in to KGMB and muted the volume. Soon as I did, Audra Levy walked in from the rear of the bar carrying a thin briefcase.

  “Did I miss last call?”

  I shook my head, motioned to the long line of top-shelf liquor bottles. “Pick your poison.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “I forgot, government lawyers never mix business with pleasure. Or pleasure with anything for that matter.”

  Audra took a barstool and pointed at the coffee machine. “Know how to work that?”

  “Nope.” I flicked it with my fingers but nothing happened.

  “How about water then?”

  I reached into the cooler and passed her a bottle of FIJI.

  “How did the press conference go this afternoon?” she said.

  I looked up at one of the television sets above the bar. “You’ll get to see for yourself in about ten minutes. I’m sure it’ll kick off the eleven o’clock news.” I lifted the remote and turned up the volume a bit. “So, did you find yourself another real estate lawyer?”

  “I did.” She opened the briefcase on the neighboring barstool and removed a brochure. “This is where I’m buying.”

  I took the brochure from her. The front of the brochure read, Welcome to Water Landings—Luxury Oceanfront Condominiums, with an illustration of the proposed tower and a photograph of a beautiful Caucasian couple sitting hand-in-hand watching whitecaps roll over the Pacific at sunset.

  “Ah, Exhibit A of the American Dream,” I said, opening the brochure.

  Inside I found a photograph of a stunning, nude Asian woman lying on her stomach, being massaged by a pair of clean, strong, masculine hands. Below the woman, whose buttocks were barely covered by a crisp white towel, the text read, Contemporary. Vibrant. Urban. This is Water Landings—the calm, peaceful, contented life—a hideaway from the hustle and bustle, yet mere steps to downtown Honolulu. Your private oasis in the center of it all. No more early-morning commutes or late-night journeys home. You’ll be close enough to walk to work. And while everyone else is sitting in traffic, you’ll be relaxing in the Jacuzzi. Water Landings offers four hundred luxurious one- to four-bedroom, fee-simple residences with spectacular views.

  I set the brochure facedown on the bar. On the rear of the brochure was a thumbnail-size photo of the developer, Thomas S. Duran.

  “Kakaako,” I said. “I drove by this ‘quiet oasis’ last time I hit Restaurant Row. If memory serves, there were a couple hundred protesters marching around the construction site and sales office chanting slogans about preserving the waterfront and the need for affordable housing.”

  Even in the bleak light of the bar I could tell Audra’s cheeks were burning. “There has been some controversy,” she conceded.

  Kakaako (pronounced cock-a-a-co), a commercial and retail district in Honolulu, stretched along the southern shore from Ala Moana to Honolulu Harbor. The controversy wasn’t restricted to the area around the proposed site for Water Landings; it had filled the pages of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser for the past several months. It was a bare-knuckle fight—and Governor Omphrey had been caught in the middle of it.

  Kakaako remained public land, and the question was whether Hawaii’s government should be selling it off. Particularly to T. S. Duran Properties.

  A number of developers had vied for state-owned land in Kakaako, but T. S. Duran Properties came away with a contract, sparking accusations of kickbacks and dirty, backroom deals. Meanwhile, community activists—including the first lady of Hawaii—stated clearly that it didn’t matter so much how the deal was done, but that the deal was done at all. A forty-two-story residential tower with units priced in the area of high six figures, they argued, was the last thing needed in Kakaako given the tragic shortage of affordable housing and an ever-shrinking southern waterfront.

  Similar battles were being waged up North Shore, where longtime residents fought tooth and nail against urban sprawl, intent on keeping the rural areas of Oahu rural.

  “There you are,” Audra said, no small measure of relief in her voice as she pointed up at the television set.

  And, yes, there I was. Standing in front of a bevy of microphones with Governor Omphrey and the first lady standing solemnly at my side.

  I used the remote to turn up the volume.

  “As you all know,” I said at the podium, “Special Agent Neil Slauson of the Federal Bureau of Investigation issued a statement earlier today with respect to the FBI’s investigation into the recent death of a young woman named Oksana Sutin at her Honolulu home in Diamond Head. As you also know, Special Agent Slauson offered very few details concerning that investigation, as the FBI is wont to do. As a result, there has been rabid speculation—beginning on local Hawaiian television stations and spilling over into the national cable news networks—as to why the FBI is involved in this case. Some have suggested, based on utter conjecture, that the FBI became involved in this investigation because a local public official has been deemed a prime suspect.

  “I spoke earlier today with Detective John Tatupu, a veteran homicide detective with the Honolulu Police Department. Detective Tatupu, who is also assigned to this case to work in conjunction with the FBI, informed me in no uncertain terms that no one has yet been named a suspect in this case, let alone a public official. I am advised by Detective Tatupu that police and FBI are indeed seeking a ‘person of interest’—obviously not the governor or any other public official—though that is all I am at liberty to say at this time.

  “Now if there are any questions…”

  A female reporter with the Star-Advertiser raised her hand. “Is it true that your client, Governor Omphrey, knew the victim?”

  “Of course, I cannot divulge conversations with my client—with any client—sin
ce they are protected by the attorney-client privilege. However, I will say that I’ve spoken at length with the governor’s chief aide, Jason Yi, and Mr. Yi informed me that Ms. Sutin and the governor may have been introduced briefly at a fundraiser held at the Blaisdell Center earlier this year.”

  Rolando Dias from the Herald was next. “Mr. Corvelli, a source close to this investigation says that fingerprints matching those of the governor were discovered at the victim’s apartment. Can you confirm or deny?”

  “A source close to the investigation?” I said incredulously. “Care to give me a name?”

  Dias shook his head. “My source wishes to remain anonymous.”

  “Well, that’s convenient. Do you happen to know which candidate this source is voting for this November?”

  Light laughter from the crowd.

  “I do not,” Dias said. “Though I will add that he has proved a reliable source in the past and that he is in the employ of the Honolulu PD.”

  I stared Dias down in front of the cameras. “Well, perhaps your source is also in the employ of someone else, someone who is firmly in the corner of the governor’s opponent. Have you checked your source’s bank statements recently?”

  Silence. Dias didn’t respond.

  “Might I remind you and everyone else, Mr. Dias, that Governor Omphrey was some seven thousand miles away from Honolulu on the evening this murder occurred, meeting with White House officials in Washington, D.C.”

  “Some might suggest that being in D.C. when the murder occurred is a very clever alibi,” Dias stated.

  “And some might suggest that you are a very clever reporter,” I retorted. “But that doesn’t necessarily make it so.”

  More light laughter, and I thought I also detected a few boos and hisses.

  But Dias wasn’t deterred by my comeback. “If there is no evidence whatsoever to suggest that Governor Omphrey was involved in the murder of Ms. Sutin, then why has the governor hired a high-profile criminal defense attorney such as yourself to speak for him?”

  “Because if he hired a high-profile plumber, you guys in the media would suggest to the electorate that he was pretty stupid, wouldn’t you?”

  I ended the press conference on that note, and I also powered down the television in the bar, so as not to catch the post-press-conference analysis.

  “Wow,” Audra said, her brows lifting in surprise. “That was something. Did the governor have anything to say to you after you left the podium?”

  “He asked me just what the hell I thought I was doing.”

  “How did you respond?”

  “Truthfully. I told him, ‘The more the story is about me, Governor, the less it is about you.’”

  CHAPTER 16

  A few minutes later Audra and I moved from the bar to a booth. Something about being in a bar after closing made me feel criminal. Still, I realized, I’d rather deal with a bad case of guilt than a bad case of death.

  “So,” Audra said once we were settled, “you handle many federal cases?”

  “Jake and I took on a few CJA appointments. But there aren’t many federal cases here in Hawaii to handle.” I watched for her reaction. “That is, until recently.”

  Audra looked away, but in an empty bar there was little to look away at. “I suppose it’s no secret, but Honolulu PD’s Internal Affairs unit has had their hands full recently.”

  “So that’s why the feds are getting their hands dirty looking for Orlando Masonet.”

  She shook her head. “Masonet has been on the DEA’s radar for a long time. But it’s just recently they realized he and his organization may be getting a good deal of cover from the HPD, and very possibly authorities on the Big Island and Maui as well.”

  This hardly came as a shock, but I wanted to hear more, so I raised my brows and motioned with my hand for her to expand.

  “In addition to meth,” she said, “it’s believed Masonet controls Hawaii’s four G’s—girls, gambling, guns, and ganja.”

  “Well, we both know how you feel about that last one.”

  She smiled. “I’m sorry about that, Kevin. I really am. It’s been sixteen years; can we forget about it?”

  I stared at her with my best poker face.

  “And, no,” she added, “I couldn’t give a shit about weed. Personally, I think it should be legalized. I’m pretty sure most young AUSAs secretly do.”

  “But not Billy F. Boyd.”

  “No, not William. He’s a complete asshole with absolutely no sense of reality.”

  “Some friendly fire,” I said.

  “Sure, I’ll give you this. I can’t stomach working with Boyd but I have no choice. I was transferred here from the Southern District of New York because of the upswing in federal cases in Hawaii. Not that I fought the transfer. I’d just gone through my divorce and I’d wanted to put as much distance between me and Marty as I could.”

  “But you kept the name.”

  “Just for the time being. In fact, I was going to ask Jake Harper if he could handle the name change along with my closing. I want to go back to being Audra Karras as quickly as possible. At the time, I just didn’t want to deal with the extra hassle and explaining things away at the office.”

  “It’s just a few forms. I’ll prepare them for you and you can sign and file them yourself.” I’d already looked into legally changing your name three years ago when I fled New York following the Brandon Glenn fiasco.

  “Thanks,” she said. “So back to the fabulous Hawaii Five-O. Word is, John Tatupu is one of the few cops on Oahu we can trust. That’s why he’s still on the Oksana Sutin case. Not everyone at HPD is dirty, of course, but there are enough bad apples that you wouldn’t want to take a chance by sticking your head in the barrel and taking a bite.”

  “What exactly are we talking about? Protection bribes?”

  “Protection bribes, sure. But it doesn’t stop there. Dirty HPD cops are said to have alerted targets to raids by joint task forces, getting at least one federal agent killed and allowing countless gun- and drug-runners to get away. A few officers have been pegged as couriers, bringing meth in from Mexico and the mainland. Evidence—tens of thousands of dollars and more than that in drugs—has allegedly gone missing after it was recovered in successful raids. A number of officers have been accused of soliciting sex from female meth dealers and even a number of women who were simply pulled over on the freeway. And from what we understand, any time any gang offers any sort of competition to the Masonet Organization, members of that gang either go missing or are found dead off the shores of Wai‘anae.”

  “And you think it’s cops doing the wet work?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows?”

  I frowned. “But there haven’t been any reports, any arrests involving police corruption, on Oahu in the past six years. Not since Ken Kamakana sued the department, prompting the last federal probe. Trust me, I’ve looked. I’ve searched every time I had to face an HPD officer on the witness stand over the past few years.”

  Audra nodded. “Since that probe a new set of rules apply. The dirty cops who weren’t exposed in that probe laid down the law, constructed a new blue wall of silence that no one’s been able to penetrate.”

  Blue wall of silence referred to a code among police officers that was similar to the Italian Mafia’s omertà: the categorical prohibition of cooperation with authorities. The code was adopted by Sicilians long before the emergence of Cosa Nostra. Violation of the code was punishable by death.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I said.

  But I thought I knew. Audra Levy—soon to be Audra Karras again—was lonely. Recently divorced. Recently transferred thousands of miles away from her closest friends. She didn’t like Boyd, and me, well, she knew me at least casually from way back when.

  But that’s not what she said. “I admire you, Kevin. I know what happened three years ago following the Shannon Douglas murder. I know you were the one to discover the real killer and that it must have been diff
icult to turn her in. And I know why you’re doing what you’re doing for Turi Ahina, and I admire that, too. You’re putting your life on the line for your client and friend. I don’t know many lawyers who would do that.”

  I didn’t describe for her the elaborate measures I’d taken so that I didn’t get myself killed aiding Turi. This bar, for instance, was presently being watched from the outside by no fewer than four private security agents.

  “And I read Paradise on Fire,” she continued. “I know that you loved and lost Erin Simms. And that you saved that boy Josh’s life not once but twice. And that you killed in order to protect him.” Audra’s eyes were moist. “What I said to you today, about having not changed in sixteen years, I couldn’t have said something less true.”

  The horribly awkward moment was mercifully interrupted by the buzz of my cell phone. I reached into my pocket and pulled it free. Opened it without bothering to check the caller ID.

  “Kevin, it’s Scott,” Damiano said urgently.

  Quickly I rose to my feet, my stomach filling with dread. “What is it?”

  “It’s Turi.”

  Instantly I froze. Scott was watching Turi. He’d only call me if he lost his subject or if Turi was dead.

  “He’s been arrested. By the Honolulu PD.”

  “Arrested?” I immediately experienced a sensation of relief that would prove to be short-lived. “Arrested for what?”

  “Murder. They’re charging him with gunning down a cop in Pearl City.”

  ‘AUKAKE

  (AUGUST)

  CHAPTER 17

  Scott Damiano and I sat on opposite ends of the tattered blue sofa in his twenty-third-floor apartment in Waikiki, watching a twenty-four-inch screen. He lived in the same building I’d vacated a few years ago, a renovated tower on Tusitala a couple blocks from the beach. Sitting there, I experienced a bit of nostalgia laced with envy. It was the first time I realized I missed living in the heart of Waikiki.