Paradise, Passion, Murder

by Terry Ambrose

“Why? Did they see you?”

  “No, worse than that. Dan Hata is the investigator. I just saw him go into my building. He’s probably up in the unit by now.”

  “Anything incriminating sitting around?” he asked. For the first time his tone actually sounded concerned.

  “Bras and undies drying on a line in the bathroom.”

  “Those aren’t incriminating.”

  “They are if you’re built like me. Otherwise, nothing personal that I can remember. Megumi runs a tight ship that way.”

  “But she’s not there right now, just you. Is there anything in the unit with your old name on it?”

  “Nothing. Not even pictures of either one of us. And if I remember correctly, there shouldn’t even be anything with my new name on it. I’m sure Megumi took her wallet and IDs with her.”

  “Can’t count on it though. The best we can hope for is that the police don’t dig too deep into the lives of the people who live there. Once they find out the federal government owns the place, they’ll get even more curious. That’s when the FBI gets involved. Later, you’ll have to get in unobserved, and if you do, check and make sure anything that could identify either one of you is removed.”

  “So what if the Bureau gets involved? Make a pre-emptive strike and put Cyntha Robbins on the case. She’s still on loan from the FBI to your office, right?”

  “Yes, but she’s on assignment and unavailable.”

  Keiko flipped on the television, looking for the local news station to see if anything was being reported yet. “What if you dropped in on Hata, just to let him know who owns the unit and not to get too snoopy? Tell him you had an op going in that unit and you need to finish the investigation.”

  “I was thinking of doing exactly that. Can you tell if he’s come back out?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed, but he could’ve gone out another exit I can’t see from here.” She flipped from one channel to another, looking for news of the dead man. So far, it didn’t look like any news vans had shown up yet, odd for Waikīkī. “If I can’t be involved, what am I supposed to do while the investigation goes on?”

  “Sit tight. One of my techs is on his way to your hotel room for that print. Once I know the guy’s identity, I’ll better know how to proceed. But for the time being, I’ll let the police manage it as a simple break-in and death with suspicious circumstances. If they begin to figure out anything else, I’ll deal with it.”

  An hour of watching daytime TV passed before the tech got to Keiko’s hotel room. He retrieved the thumbprint from her driver’s license and scanned it into the computerized system.

  “How long does it take?” she asked the technician.

  “Anywhere from five to twenty minutes.”

  While they waited, Keiko showed him the pictures of the dead man she had taken.

  “No, we won’t be able to do anything with those, I’m afraid,” the technician said after uploading them to his digital work pad. An icon came up on his screen indicating the print search was complete. “Seven-point match.”

  “Is that good?” she asked.

  “As good as we can get for a transfer of only one digit.”

  “And?”

  “Martin Ash, also known as Metro Marty.”

  Keiko looked over his shoulder at the frontal and profile pictures of his face on the screen. All she could tell was similar to the dead man was the dark skin and black hair. “Metro Marty? Was that some sort of known criminal alias for him?”

  “No, that’s how he was known downtown in the office. Metro Marty.”

  “So, he was being investigated by Homeland?”

  “No, at least not that I’m aware of. He was one of our assets, just like you. He’s been working for the Honolulu office since it first opened,” the tech said, shutting down his device and packing up to leave. “Too bad, too. He was a good one.”

  “Wait. You mean he was an asset that worked for Davison?”

  “For anyone in the office who needed a job done.” The tech looked nervous now, that maybe he’d let on too much information, and edged toward the door. “Hey, I got to get going.”

  Keiko was beside herself and paced a lap in the room. Or more like stomped. The dead man she’d seen on the sidewalk, the one she got the thumbprint from, the one who had Megumi’s lucky charm, was an asset for Homeland Security, someone who worked covert odd jobs for under the table pay. Intelligence gathering, top security arrangements, jobs that were parts of larger federal operations. Just like Keiko and Megumi, Metro Marty got paid for doing work that he could never tell anyone else about. Somehow, someone had a score to settle with him, and in the process, Keiko got involved.

  Punching at her phone with a fingertip, she dialed Davison’s number.

  “Who the heck was Metro Marty, and why was he in my home?” she demanded as soon as Davison answered.

  “First of all, that unit doesn’t belong to you. You and Megumi are only using it, rent-free I might add. Second, how do you know Metro Marty?”

  “So, he really was one of your assets?”

  “He’s an office asset. What was he doing in your condo?” Davison asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to know! It was his thumbprint that I collected off the dead man’s body.”

  “Says who?”

  “Said that technician that was here a few minutes ago. He took it off my license and entered it into his work pad. A few minutes later, the results said it belonged to Martin Ash, AKA Metro Marty. He told me who Marty worked for and what he did.”

  “Impossible, for a number of reasons. Marty’s prints are not in the system. He’s just like you. He doesn’t exist, not in any system anywhere. Everything about him was expunged from all legal and corporate records years ago. Another reason I know it wasn’t Marty is that he’s here in the office. I just saw him ten minutes ago. Hungover, but present in body anyway.”

  “But that tech’s work pad came up with his ID.”

  “Keiko, the tech I sent has been stuck in downtown traffic. By the time he got through, he couldn’t park anywhere near your hotel because of the police presence. He just called a few minutes ago, asking me to let you know he was running late. I was just about to call when you called me first.”

  “But who was the guy that was here?” Keiko asked.

  “You tell me. Sounds like his work pad had been loaded with that information and all he had to do was hit enter and it spit it out for you to see. Sounds like you got conned.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you check his picture ID? Did it look genuine? Did he leave a business card with you at the end?” Davison asked.

  “He had a Homeland Security Data Technician ID badge clipped to his lapel.” She shrugged as if he could see her. “He acted like he knew what he was doing. He got here a short while after you told me to expect someone. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Did he scan the print, or dust and tape it?”

  “Dust and tape, which he took with him. At least I still have the pics of the dead man’s face and head, along with those of the crowd and the cops.” There was a knock at her door. When she answered, there was a technician standing there with boxes of gear, not unlike the first one she’d met an hour before. He was sweating profusely. “Do you know a Samuel Silberstein?”

  “Yes, he’s the tech I sent.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Freckles. Not your type.”

  She waved the tech in and gave him her driver’s license, along with a quick explanation of what had happened, asking him to do his best at getting any remnant of a print from it. “Well, who sent that other tech, and why was he so interested in telling me it was Martin Ash’s thumbprint?”

  “Again, you tell me. Whoever it was, shoved the dead man off your lānai, that’s who.”

  “Okay, I’m re
ally confused,” Keiko said. “Why was someone pushed off my lānai, and who went to the trouble of trying to mislead us with an incorrect identification, trying to tell us the dead guy was another asset in the department?”

  “I don’t know, but I want you looking into it.”

  “Me?” she asked. “You’ve been telling me to leave it alone. Now you want me involved?”

  “As much as possible. Is there still a crowd? Any cops still there?”

  “Yeah, not as many. Most of them seemed to wander off once the body was taken away.”

  “By an actual county coroner van?” he asked.

  “No, in an ambulance.”

  Davison let loose with a string of profanities, not so uncommon when he’d been out-smarted by someone. “Okay, that means they got the guy. He’s probably been dumped in a shallow grave by now. Did you get pics of the squad cars that arrived?”

  “Yes, the first three anyway, along with the cops that got out of them.”

  “They all looked legit?”

  “The usual cars, the usual lights, the usual uniforms on them, yeah.”

  The technician handed the driver’s license back to her, shaking his head. Once again, she copied the images of the dead man, police cars, and the crowd from her phone memory into his laptop. Once that was done, he gave her a business card with a case number written on it and left, letting Keiko go back to her call with Davison.

  “And you said you saw Dan Hata there at the scene, right? Any doubt it was him?” Davison asked.

  “No doubt at all. Why?”

  “At least that lends some legitimacy to the investigation. There was at least some presence of authentic police activity there. Unfortunately, it had to be him.”

  Keiko went back to the balcony and looked down. All of the crowd had dispersed and most of the police were gone. Only one squad car remained and a dark sedan which looked suspiciously like the one Dan Hata used to drive. “It looks like Hata is still at the condo. What do you want me to do?”

  “Whatever you do, do not make contact with him or any other officer. Once you think everyone is gone, I want you to go over and get inside your unit. The police will have tossed the place in their own investigation, but try and determine if anything was taken.”

  “You mean other than Megumi’s frog?”

  “Exactly. What’s the story on that thing anyway?”

  “She never told you? You’ve been in her bedroom often enough, Davison.”

  “Been in yours more recently. But no, she never gave me a guided tour of her knick knacks.”

  “Maybe if you would’ve asked for a tour, she’d still be inviting you back for more,” Keiko snapped.

  “Can you please tell me the significance of the frog?”

  “The very basics are that the word for frog in Japanese—kaeru—is the same for the verb ‘to return’.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  “You know how frogs return in the spring after sleeping in the mud and ice all winter? It’s almost as if they magically return from suspended animation, right? When the frogs return, they bring with them the rains of spring, marking the end of winter. Well, with those rains come fertility of the land, and eventually, prosperity for people. Lots of frogs in the spring mean a good harvest and lots of prosperity in the fall. Plus, certain magical abilities have been attributed to the frog over the centuries, and in this day and age, the frog is thought to be a good luck charm, especially for children. Think of all the transformations that kids and teenagers go through. Just like the frog, right? So, they’ve come to represent transition, change, renewal, and their dreams for the future. Having a frog in your life means dreams can come true.”

  “Frogs are old time legends then?” he asked. “It’s not just more Waikīkī kitsch?”

  “Not kitschy at all. Stories and legends of frogs are something powerful enough to survive in the Twenty-First Century. Having the image of a frog like Megumi’s is much like having a Saint Christopher’s medal or a four-leaf clover. Try taking something like that away from someone that has had it for a long time. They’ve put a lot of belief in that object over the years, right? Well, for many Japanese, all Asians in fact, there are tons of things like that. The figures from the Chinese zodiac, dragons and phoenixes, certain written characters, jewelry that’s been carved from jade. Surely you’ve noticed her phoenix tattoo?”

  There was a short pause before he finally replied. “Yes, rising out of the volcano. Hard to miss.”

  “I should say so, considering its location. Getting back to Megumi’s other charms, jade is especially important to the Chinese, with special health and healing properties. Wearing jade around the wrist or as a pendant has protective characteristics. Even the colors of jade have different meanings. Combine that with the image of the frog, and you have a powerful amulet to a Japanese. Who knows, maybe it was a gift from someone special, making it a prized possession?”

  “Okay, some unknown guy who’s dressed weird gets into your unit, steals Megumi’s frog amulet, and jumps off the balcony. Does that mean anything to you at all?” he asked.

  “Just that Waikīkī is getting nuttier and nuttier all the time.”

  The Disguise

  It felt good for Keiko to share a laugh with Davison, something he rarely did. Sharing her bed with him would be even better, something that was happening far too infrequently of late. But a new job had fallen into her lap, something that directly involved her home, so it would be a while yet before the two of them could hook up. That was going to be one of the best parts of her roommate being away for three weeks, that she would have the unit to herself. It wasn’t the privacy so much as having the opportunity for an overnight guest. Now that opportunity was fleeting.

  “While I play chess with assets and agents, I want you to focus on the unit,” he told her. “As soon as the local cops are gone, get in over there, get some pics, and copy everything from your computer memory into a thumb drive. The most important thing is to delete everything that might even remotely be associated with Homeland Security. They’ll have already collected prints and whatever else they think is worth carrying away, but they’ll be back in the morning once they come up with nothing from the fingerprints they’ve collected. It’s critical that they don’t identify the place with Homeland Security or any part of the federal government.”

  “Or we have to start all over with a new place to live?” she asked.

  “Exactly, along with new identities. And for you and Megumi, that might mean Arizona or Minnesota, and not necessarily together.”

  “I see. Where does Homeland have hot agents? Ones with long lunch breaks?”

  “TSA at the airport. By lunch time tomorrow, I want to know who that guy was and why he was so interested in that frog,” he said. “And why he had a pocket full of cigarette butts.”

  “And whether he was pushed or jumped,” Keiko added.

  “Once we learn who he was and his interest in that frog, we’ll know the rest of the story.”

  Looking down from the lānai again, she saw only the dark sedan parked in the loading zone at the curb. It had to be Hata’s car. There was nothing she could do until he was gone, except get a change of clothes, something cleaner than her jogging outfit. That required only a quick trip to the convenience store across the street.

  A T-shirt for three dollars was a steal. Along with a pair of boy’s board shorts, a pair of girlish rubber slippers, and a bottle of green tea, it was going to cost almost nothing. Grabbing a straw fedora completed her disguise as a Japanese tourist.

  Just as she was turning for the door, a man came in and stopped at the checkout counter. Fine time for Detective Dan Hata to show up. Keiko would have to walk right past him to leave.

  It took several sly moves in hurried succession for her to hide in plain sight. Turning away, she raised her hand t
o scratch her nose and got the fedora on her head. Trying on a pair of sunglasses from a rack covered even more of her face. With her back turned toward him, she hoped Hata wouldn’t recognize her.

  It had been over a year since he’d last seen her, and for all he might’ve known, she no longer even lived in Hawai‘i. She’d transformed her body through exercise, putting on ten pounds of muscle and taking off five pounds of fat during that time, and her hairstyle was entirely different. It would take a close look at her face for him to recognize her. That’s what she told herself anyway, while she waited for him to go to the back of the store. He didn’t, though.

  “Howzit,” the clerk said to Hata. Only a step or two away, Keiko was close enough to eavesdrop. Being that close, she was able to smell Dan’s masculine scent, something she still missed late at night while unable to sleep.

  “What was going on down the street earlier?” the detective asked. “Looked like a pretty big deal.”

  “Yeah, some dude took a flyin’ leap off the roof. Totally landed on someone that was walking on the sidewalk. Royal mess. Blood everywhere.”

  Keiko couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dan was obviously out canvassing the neighborhood for eyewitnesses, and somehow she had got caught up in it. As far as she could remember, the clerk wasn’t even at the scene. More important than that, however, was getting out of the store anonymously. Making contact with Dan so close to a crime scene would be disastrous. Two seemingly unrelated things that happen together are a random coincidence. Right now, she potentially had three: her long absence, Dan spotting her at a bizarre crime scene, and a man and his curious death. Beyond coincidence, it was conspiratorial.

  To look inconspicuously busy, she tried on a different pair of sunglasses. Looking in the mirror attached to the sunglass rack, she watched the two men.

  The clerk leaned forward like he was going to share a secret with Dan. “The rescue squad was there and the cops were everywhere looking for parts of the guy’s brains.”

  “And you saw it?” Dan asked.

  “Heck yeah! I mean, like, I didn’t see him jump, but I saw the splat on the ground.”