A long, slow sigh rolled out of Tseng as he rubbed his eyes. “No, it’s not. Lord knows we’ve got enough on our plates right now.” He dropped his hands from his face, slapping them against the arms of his chair. “Two pregnant women in the last few days. You remember that thing I mentioned about children having their teeth yanked out?”
Again, Kalani nodded, choosing to remain silent, the story vague in the back of her mind, though at the moment she couldn’t recall the exact details, or even if she’d been given any.
“One of our CI’s called in this morning,” Tseng said. “I guess some guy rolled up to that homeless commune under the highway there by the Nimitz on-ramp, started offering $10 a tooth to anybody who wanted to donate.”
Kalani felt her eyes bulge. “You’re kidding me? Tell me nobody took him up on it.”
“Hmph,” Tseng said, his face curling up in a sneer. “Have you seen the people out there? They would cut off their hands or feet for some quick cash. Guy said the place looked like Costco, selling teeth in bulk.”
“Did he get a good look at the guy? A license plate? Anything?”
“Naw,” Tseng said, a look of disgust passing over his face. “I guess he was asleep when the guy showed up, didn’t hear the commotion until it was too late.”
“Damn,” Kalani said. As awful as the news was, all she could muster was relief that it wasn’t her case to solve.
“So how should we proceed with this?” Kalani asked, steering the conversation back. “I assume Mata’s not going to go away. And there is the little problem of whoever is feeding him information.”
“Right,” Tseng agreed, nodding. “For the time being, just keep doing what you’re doing, only faster.”
The implication was quite clear, even if it wasn’t well earned. The pressure was coming from on high and was being passed down.
“I’ll ask a few questions around here,” Tseng said, “but aside from Sturgis and Li, there’s nobody else who knows a thing. I’ve stuck them on the teeth cases to keep them occupied, but I’ll circle back, tell them to keep their mouths shut just the same.”
“What if it’s not from this side?” Rip asked, injecting himself for the first time, drawing the attention of Kalani and Tseng. He didn’t finish the thought, though both could tell where he was going with it.
“Yeah, about that,” Tseng said, a sour look on his face. “Tonight the governor is hosting a fundraiser at the Beachcomber at 7:00. He asked me to come by and brief him on where this thing stands.”
“Really?” Kalani asked in surprise. “He wants this far off the books, but wants to discuss it at a campaign function?”
Tseng answered with a grim nod. “If I show up tonight, it can be written off as a security check. If I show up at his office in the middle of the day, a staff member or constituent stopping by might see us and wonder what’s going on.”
The surprise receded from Kalani’s face, though she still didn’t like it. The first call had come in just a couple of days ago, for the governor to be exerting pressure already showed a fundamental misunderstanding of the investigative process.
Potentially, even worse, it displayed the audacity of a man who knew full well how such procedures were conducted, and just didn’t care.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The first job Danilo Cruz ever performed for Thomas Zall was as a landscaper. He was 19 years old at the time, lean and wiry, skin dark from the sun. Unlike most young men in the greater New York City area, he wasn’t afraid of long hours or getting dirty, two facts that compensated for his limited grasp of English.
His initial week on the job was something of a vetting process, an unending stretch of the same mundane tasks over and over again. The first was laying sod, performed by making a thousand trips back and forth between the pallets stacked in the driveway and the yard behind the house. Rolled up in strips, the sod weighed over 50 pounds each, their bulk awkward in his hands.
For hours on end he would tramp across the sun baked ground, his forearms burning, sweat stinging his eyes. Four feet at a time the world around him shifted from brown to green, every muscle in his body aching for relief.
When the task was completed, more pallets were brought onto the driveway. Stacked high with sacks of black mulch, Danilo was given the unenviable chore of hauling them all over the yard. Once there, he tore into them, spreading the wood chips around plants, before heading back to the pile for more.
All told, he made over 500 trips across the rear of the Zall property. Every one of them was done in silence, sweat streaming down his body, bits of dirt and wood clinging to his skin.
What the combined effort of that week had taught him, though, was there was a right way and a wrong way to carry a load, and it took persistence to get the job done.
Never had he tried to carry something as awkward, though, as a woman in the waning months of a pregnancy though.
Parked alongside the house in Hawaii Kai, Danilo pulled open the side door on his van and looked at the woman draped across the backseat. The smell of the homeless children from the night before wafted out, the pungent odor of sweat and fecal matter. Behind it was just the slightest hint of something sweeter, the coconut scent of the girl’s body wash, fighting a losing battle against its surroundings.
Finding her was almost as easy as the children, preying on human nature and the unique circumstances that plagued Hawaii every day.
Instead of targeting the homeless camped out beneath the highway, he took the H-1 a few miles further from town, pulling in to the Honolulu International Airport just after 7:00 a.m. A quick check of the HNL website had confirmed what he was looking for, a direct flight from Seoul on Korean Air, scheduled to land at half past the hour. Leaving his van on the first level of the parking garage, he had found his way to the baggage claim and waited for his target.
One of the more common practices in Honolulu was for expecting mothers from Polynesian and Asian countries to hop a plane in the days before giving birth. Often the women were from families too poor to come along, placing her and the impending baby on an airliner that would carry her to American soil. Once there, she could deliver the child at any emergency room or free health clinic, effectively making the newborn a United States citizen. Passport babies, as they were known, were then entitled to full social service benefits, as well as expediting the process of green cards for their parents.
Running low on leads for a third young woman who would fit his needs, Danilo waited for an opportunity to present itself. Dressed in a tie and slacks, he carried a clipboard with his own name on it, hiding in plain sight.
The first two women he encountered were traveling with partners. Both were men he could easily subdue if the need arose, but each presented the unnecessary strain of having a second body to dispose of and doubled the likelihood of being missed. Taking a chance, he elected to let them pass, waiting for what he knew would show up at some point.
His patience paid off.
One of the last women to make her way to the baggage claim was a Korean girl who looked to be in her teens. Every step she took was a fight to keep her frail body upright, the bulk of her protruding abdomen throwing her balance from side to side. The pale white skin of her face was painted red with exertion as she walked, the combined effects of the trip and her condition obvious.
Still holding the clipboard out in front of him, Danilo walked toward her. He kept a smile on his face and his shoulders slumped as he approached, his posture as non-imposing as possible. “Do you need a lift?”
The sound of his voice startled the girl for a moment, her body jerking to the side. The effort almost sent her sprawling to the ground, the duffel bag in her hand slapping against the tile beneath her.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” Danilo said, holding his hands out in front of him. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wondered if you need a ride.”
Bit by bit the fear pulled back from her features, the girl’s eyes still wide as she stared from Danilo t
o the clipboard in his hand. She pointed to the name on it, then back to herself, shaking her head. “Not me,” she managed in broken English.
His smile growing, Danilo looked down at the board and shook his head. “I know. He called and cancelled on me at the last minute. I thought since I was already here, I might see if I can help you.”
A moment passed as the girl stared up at him, confusion on her face. Realizing she probably had not understood a word he said, Danilo kept the smile in place and pointed at his name scrawled out in black marker.
“Not coming,” he said in a loud tone, shaking his head. He then pointed at the girl and asked, “You need ride?”
This time his overwrought pantomime worked, a smile tracing the girl’s face that was equal parts glad and relieved. Danilo took her bag up from the floor and gestured toward the last few bags coming down onto the carousel. An emphatic shake of her head confirmed that what he already carried was all she had.
Twenty minutes after arriving she was strapped into the back of his van, a rag soaked in chloroform giving him what he figured to be his last necessary pickup.
Staring at her laid out on the rear seat, she weighed no more than 110 pounds, her arms and legs the width of his wrist, her head and feet failing to reach the sides of the van.
A scowl came to Danilo’s face as he cast a glance about his surroundings, knowing there were at least two guards watching everything he did, plus Saiki in the basement, but not one of them attempting to help him. He found the nearest camera and stared into it, letting his displeasure show, before hooking his hands under the girl’s arms and wrenching her from the back seat. Her head lulled from side to side and her frail limbs splayed about as she went, her body coming free after a few moments of tugging.
Danilo wasn’t thrilled with bringing the girl to the house, but the unique timing of the night’s activities made it necessary. He would stow the girl here until evening, careful to keep Saiki away from her, before taking her off to perform what must be done.
If there were anywhere else to hold her, he would have, but no other place would allow him to maneuver an unconscious woman without raising suspicion. Instead, he would keep her in one of the untouched rooms, sedated until ready to move again.
Once the time was right, the package she carried would be extracted, her body placed in a way that would demand to be seen.
He just had to somehow get her into the house first.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Day or night, there was no busier spot in Honolulu than Maunakea Street. Wedged in the center of Chinatown, it was surrounded by four bustling blocks of activity.
By day, Maunakea was lined with open-air markets. Rented to local growers by the 10’ parcel, the sidewalks on either side of the street were lined with sellers, all standing along the curb, aggressively hawking their wares. Some specialized in local produce with every vegetable found in the state, ranging from bok choy and elephant garlic to purple asparagus and Thai chiles. Others had fruits, running the gamut from pineapple, mango, and papaya to the more exotic lychee and star fruit.
The corner units were dominated by meat and fish vendors, the extra space affording them the ability to bring in glass cases filled with ice, even the occasional standing rotisserie with fragrant meats slowly turning, drawing customers in.
The markets opened each morning at 7:00, seven days a week, always met by a mob of locals looking for the best buys. Vendors began to break down some time mid-afternoon, boxing up their unsold product and sweeping their debris into the streets. By 6:00 each afternoon all that remained was the thick aroma of the food that had been in the sun for hours, the unmistakable scent of onions hanging over everything.
A brief window of calm settled in before sundown, followed by a second very distinct group of vendors taking to the streets. Armed not with cases of beef or cucumbers, they descended on Maunakea dressed in spandex and lace, their height unnaturally elevated by the platform heels of their shoes. Garish makeup concealed their true features, their state of mind often altered by some form of illegal substance.
It was in the second group that Kalani felt sure Cherry Lee fit, a belief based on the victim’s name, manner of dress, and the autopsy report handed over by Dr. Song. Standing on the corner looking up at the address Tseng had given them just an hour before, she was even more certain of it.
The unit was a second-floor walkup above a pair of vegetable vendors, both well down from the traditional flow of foot traffic, an elderly man sitting silent and alone between them. His aging Chinese features had receded into a maze of wrinkles and excess skin as he sat staring straight ahead, his hands hanging down between his knees.
The scent of roasted chicken and ribs floated down from the shop on the corner as Kalani and Rip both stared upward, noticing the torn drapes hanging across a cracked pane of glass. Large strips of paint were peeling away from the wall, and bits of graffiti could be seen dotting the building.
“The way it works is, you go up to the apartment, it doesn’t come down to you,” a harsh voice said, turning both of them around. Before even looking, Kalani knew who it belonged to, a feeling of dread rising in the pit of her stomach.
A single glance confirmed it.
Across from them, Sturgis leaned against a parking meter, his stomach protruding in front of him. In his hand was a pastry obscured by wax paper, powdered sugar falling from it, dotting the pavement.
“Or do you guys only specialize in showing up and stealing crime scenes, not actually investigating them?”
He phrased the question with just a hint of mirth, as if making a joke, but his insinuation was clear. He stared at them with a hardened gaze before lifting his breakfast to his mouth and tearing off a bite.
“Hey, shouldn’t you be off somewhere trying to catch the Tooth Fairy right now?” Rip replied, taking a step off the curb.
Without even realizing it, Kalani reached out and hooked a hand through his arm, not quite pulling him back, but keeping him from going any further. “Not right now,” she muttered, her jaw set, sliding the words out just loud enough for him to hear. “We have orders.”
“You have orders,” Rip hissed back, his voice just as low. “I told you, I stopped taking them months ago.”
The tips of Kalani’s fingers dug into the flesh on the inside of Rip’s arm as he remained in place, both men staring at one another. Sturgis stuffed the remainder of the pastry into his mouth and wadded the wrapper into a ball, tossing it at them and turning in the other direction. He shook his head and muttered to himself as he went, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to be indecipherable.
They both stood and watched as he ambled off, not once looking back before being swallowed up by the crowd.
“Asshole,” Rip muttered, turning back to face Kalani. “You know as well as I do, he was the one who called Mata.”
“About the second murder,” Kalani said. “We still don’t know who leaked the first one.”
Without waiting for a response, she slid past the old man’s vegetable stand and through the front doorway of the building. The floor underfoot changed from concrete to brick as she stepped inside, a pair of matching wooden doors on either side of the foyer standing shut. She waited just a moment for Rip to follow her in before moving up the aging stairwell, creaking beneath her weight with each step.
The chief had had no further information on the victim than her address, one she had furnished on her last arrest six weeks before. It was unknown if she lived alone, most information on the booking papers left blank.
Such a short time frame meant that if the address was in fact legit, there was a good chance she was still living here. On the downside, if she shared the space with anybody at all, the unfortunate task of delivering the bad news now fell on them.
Given that Kalani could hear Rip’s angry breathing behind her, the odds were he might not be as subtle as the situation called for. She had already noticed that his particular brand of military justice was a littl
e different from what she was used to in the civilian world. That wasn’t to say it was right or wrong, just not the best for delivering the information of a lost loved one.
Recalling the address from memory, Kalani climbed to the top of the stairs and turned to the door on the left, 2C stenciled on it in black paint. Pausing a moment, she allowed Rip to reach the landing behind her before reaching out and knocking, the sound echoing through the thin wood paneling.
Somewhere on the other side, the sound of springs squeaking could be heard, followed by feet moving across the floor. Kalani inched a step back, her hip bumping into Rip, as a pair of shadows passed beneath the door jamb.
“Who is it?” a voice called out. It was young and female, sounding apprehensive.
Reaching for her hip, Kalani extracted her badge and said, “Police. Is this the home of Cherry Lee?”
There was no sound of the lock being disengaged or the knob turning, the shadows beneath the door remaining in place. “Cherry isn’t here. Come back later.”
Dread welled within Kalani as she turned and glanced at Rip. Most of the anger he had from their encounter with Sturgis seemed to have faded, replaced now by concern.
The young girl had no idea Cherry wasn’t coming home.
“Can you open up for us?” Kalani asked, putting on her best soothing tone. “We need to speak to you a moment.”
The question was met with silence for almost a minute before the door slid open just a few inches, a brass chain drawn taut between it and the wall. Beneath it peered out a pair of large brown eyes, a girl even younger than originally suspected staring up at them.
Kalani held her badge out for the girl to see, sure to keep her voice even and mellow. “Honey, are your parents home?”
The girl turned her head from side to side, her gaze never shifting from Kalani’s face. “Our parents are gone. It’s just me and Cherry.”
Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral Page 14
