Motive

by Dustin Stevens

  That part of the puzzle Kimo was content to leave to Kalani and Rip. The aspect that most concerned him was the motivation for it all. There was the outside chance that this entire thing was meant to pull both candidates from the race in favor of a distant third place individual or one of the opponents in the general, but Kimo agreed that that seemed tenuous at best.

  The timing, and the involvement of the two primary candidates, meant this had to be about their upcoming run-off.

  In his limited experience with political campaigns, Kimo had found people sided with whoever’s views most closely aligned with their own. Often, this meant showing up at the polls. More often, it meant writing generous campaign donations.

  Starting there, Kimo signed online under his alias and went straight to the Hawaii State Board of Elections. It took him a few moments of trolling around before finding what he was looking for, itemized lists of all donations coming in to either party. Time stamped three days prior it was the most up-to-date data available, most likely not to be added to for another week or two at best.

  He just had to hope something that had already been documented would jump out at him.

  Exporting the information into Excel worksheets, Kimo sent them to the printer, coming back with two stacks of paper over ten pages each. Pulling a pair of high lighters from his bag he sat aside the ones for the governor, beginning with Harris, starting with just a simple search for donors having given the maximum amount. In Hawaii, the threshold was set at $6,000 for both individuals and corporations, several dozen names falling under the yellow ink, but none jumping out at him in particular.

  Once he was done he pushed the list aside, moving directly into the opposite pile. Swapping out the yellow for an orange marker, he went back through the list, this one even longer than the one before.

  Twice throughout the process he stopped and looked up, checking his surroundings before returning to the task at hand. When he finished he again paused to scan the room, finding the small branch still quiet, an elderly couple having wandered in and headed for the opposite side of the room being the only additions. Feeling his mouth grow dry, he bent back over his work, flipping to the last page of either stack and holding them up side by side, his gaze flicking from one to another.

  His face contorted in confusion as he stared at the printouts for a full minute, even checking again to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake.

  “What the hell?” he said aloud, forgetting for a moment where he was, drawing the stares of everybody inside towards the sound of his voice.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The very same governor that first influenced the construction of the state capitol building also served as the galvanizing force behind the only medical school in Hawaii. By the time the notion became a reality there was precious little space on the actual university campus for such a large undertaking, so he unilaterally carved out a piece of ground along the shorefront in Kaka’ako, bringing with it the ability to finally train medical professionals at home.

  What started as a single brick building pressed tight against the Kaka’ako Beach Park had undergone both space and size upgrades over the years, expanding into a campus unto itself, replete with full primary care training, peer-to-peer research facilities, and a cancer center that became the largest in the Pacific Rim the moment it opened its doors.

  In honor of such foresight by the governor, the school was named in his honor, officially dubbed the John A. Burns School of Medicine, though to locals it was known as the much easier JABSOM.

  When Kalani first called Rip to tell him to meet her at JABSOM, his response was a long moment of pause, followed by a voice of uncertainty. “Jannie found something on the body?”

  “Not at all,” Kalani replied. “But we put our heads together and came up with something else. Tseng’s trying to get us a meeting as we speak.”

  “Trying?” Rip asked, Kalani having to press the phone hard into her ear to hear over the sound of wind rushing in around her. She bit back the sarcastic remark she had in mind, ending the call and resuming her position against the door. With her hand pressed against the side of her head, fingers laced through her hair, she turned off the H-1 and cut through the heart of downtown towards the waterfront.

  Free of the workday crowd, the city center was almost deserted, the sidewalks speckled with nothing more than a few handfuls of tourists. Easily spotted by their slow gait and maps clutched in front of them, Kalani rolled her eyes as she reached Aloha Tower and headed south, the Pacific mere feet away outside the passenger window.

  The sun overhead was just past its peak, beginning a slow amble towards the horizon that would take another six or seven hours to complete. The warmth of it hit her square in the face as she drove, her scalp growing hot to the touch, the jeans she wore becoming a bit uncomfortable.

  The same thoughts seemed to have hit Rip, who was standing in the empty parking lot outside of JABSOM as she pulled up, his bare legs exposed beneath a pair of khaki shorts. He was leaning against the hood of his van with his eyes closed and his face lifted towards the sun, soaking up as much of the warmth as he could. He remained in the position as Kalani parked two stalls away and climbed out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Getting your vitamin D for the day?” she asked, going for something innocuous to start the conversation.

  “Do you realize Panic Point is no more than two hundred yards from where we’re now standing?” Rip asked, ignoring her question. “And I still have an extra board stored away in here for you?”

  Despite the moment, and everything that was going on in it, Kalani couldn’t help but smile. While her mind was sifting through what little they knew, trying to find a way to pull everything together, Rip was also painfully aware that just over the rise behind them was one of the favorite local surfing spots within city limits.

  “Not right now,” Kalani said. “We’ve got to get in here and meet with, well, somebody.”

  For the first time Rip raised his head from the hood of his van and opened his eyes, raising a hand to shield the sun from his face. “Well then, that sounds promising.” He pushed himself up and fell in beside Kalani, the two of them walking towards the front entrance.

  Approaching from the parking lot, the hub of the school was a single oversized building standing four stories tall, extended almost a block in length. Constructed from tan concrete bricks the front façade was almost entirely windows, a green metal roof shining bright beneath the sun. A quartet of stained glass sculptures resembling lady bugs was clustered in the front corner, light of various colors refracting through them, striping the grass below in a myriad of hues.

  The full John A. Burns School of Medicine moniker was stretched across the front on a free standing sign, a line of pigeons resting atop it, watching Kalani and Rip approach with detached boredom.

  “How many buildings you think they’ll name after this governor?” Rip asked, his voice already transitioned back from the carefree sunbather in the parking lot to an investigator on the case.

  Pushing past the jab, Kalani climbed the front steps, giving Rip the two-minute overview of her conversation with Song and the reason for their being at the school. He listened in silence as she went on, giving the distinct impression he had been thinking on the same lines, nodding along as she spoke.

  The front doors of the building gave way to a subdued lobby, the open space stretching upward towards the roof four floors above. Measuring no more than thirty feet in width, the elevators dominated one side of the room, a cafeteria shrouded in darkness the back end. Along the front wall were a large handful of tables, a few stray students spread amongst them, most giving nothing more than a quick gaze at the visitors.

  On the left side of the room was a single desk, a guard in a rent-a-cop uniform sitting behind it. At first glance he appeared to be no more than a twenty, a work-study student that put on the shirt each weekend and collected ten bucks an hour watching overeager med students study. He looked up as th
ey approached, tracking them grow closer, remaining seated until they were just feet away before standing, letting out a puff of air from the effort.

  “Aloha,” the young man said, pushing his shirt back into his slacks, a budding paunch adding a degree of difficulty to the task.

  “Aloha,” Kalani said, snapping her badge from her waist and wagging it at him. “Chief Tseng was supposed to have called over here and set up a meeting for us. Not sure who with, but—“

  “Dr. Watari,” the young man inserted, cutting her off. He lifted a clipboard from the desk and thrust it towards them, his voice relaying the boredom he was under and would soon be returning to. “She’s on the third floor, just take the elevator up and hook a right. Can’t miss her, she’s the only one here.”

  Accepting the clipboard, Kalani scribbled both their names and thanked him, the two of them catching the elevator up to the third floor in silence. When the doors parted they made a right, walking down the oversized hallway littered with bulletin boards covered in a mishmash of papers and announcements, past a handful of offices with their lights off, doors shut tight.

  A single light showed at the end of it, spilling out across the floor, beckoning them near. Ignoring the other offices along the way they walked straight for it, Kalani knocking with the back of her knuckles before sticking her head and shoulders just inside the frame.

  “Dr. Watari?”

  The office was a standard issue academic affair, the kind given to professors that spent far more time outside of it than in. Compared to some of the palatial suites they had passed on the way down it was little more than a hovel, measuring just twelve feet in either direction.

  An L-shaped desk was arranged so that half of it extended straight out from the wall, bisecting the space in two. On the outer side was nothing more than a pair of chairs, their padding covered with a thick blue woven material. Opposite them was a pair of bookcases loaded with volumes, a series of plants resting above them, vines and leaves of various sorts hanging down, obscuring many of the titles.

  Behind the desk, a woman of mixed Chinese and Caucasian features stood, rising no more than a few inches above five feet tall. Her hair was cut short and spiked outward in all directions, a smile on her face.

  “Yes,” she said, leaning forward over her desk and waving Kalani in through the door. “Please, please, come inside.”

  “Thank you,” Kalani said, sliding in, Rip right behind her. “My name is Kalani Lewis, this is my partner Jon Ripowski. Thank you so much for seeing us like this.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Watari replied, waving both her hands at them in unison. “Please, have a seat.”

  She waited until they were in the chairs across from her before lowering herself down and lacing her hands across her stomach. The large smile remained in place as she stared a long moment, almost beaming at their presence in her office.

  “You’ll have to pardon my enthusiasm,” she said, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table, her fingers still laced. As she did so a myriad of gold bangles rattled along her wrist and a pair of oversized diamond rings sparkled. “It’s not every day I get the opportunity to assist law enforcement through my work.”

  While that assessment wasn’t quite how Kalani would phrase what they were doing there, she couldn’t help but smile at the infectious energy of the doctor. Despite her age looking to be somewhere in her mid-forties, she seemed to have the unbridled joy of a teenager on their first date.

  “I take it that Chief Tseng filled you in on why we are here?” Kalani asked.

  Watari gave a non-committal squint and twisted her head a bit. “Sort of. He said something to the effect of I might be able to aid in an investigation and my assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

  “We certainly do appreciate you coming in like this on a Saturday,” Rip said. “Judging by the rest of the building, you’re one of the few folks brave enough to do so.”

  The smile on Watari’s face grew a bit wider as she rocked her head backwards in a silent laugh. “That’s only because this is a teaching building. I assure you, next door at the library there isn’t an empty seat in the house.”

  Had the purpose of the meeting been social in even the slightest of terms, Kalani might have posed any of a series of follow up questions. She would have inquired about exam schedules, med school life, any of the other numerous things normally employed in such situations to establish rapport. There was a likable vibe about the woman that made interacting with her easy.

  As it were though, they just didn’t have the time for it.

  “Besides,” Watari added, “I was downstairs in the lab anyway. Getting that call was a blessing, brought me up here to actually see some sunshine for a few minutes.”

  Again Kalani could think of a large handful of things to ask about, some to feign interest, some out of genuine curiosity, but let them pass. She had just been given an opening, one she would snatch at for the sake of both parties.

  “Well, in that case, we won’t keep you any longer than necessary,” Kalani said. Before Watari could brush aside the comment she plunged forward, adding, “The reason we’re here today is to ask you about stem cells.”

  The smile remained affixed to Watari’s face as she looked back at Kalani, as if waiting for more of an explanation. When no more came, she asked, “Okay, what would you like to know?”

  Casting a quick glance to Rip, Kalani felt warmth creep up the small of her back. The sum total of her experience with stem cells was having read a few articles in the news about various procedures that were either going to be the medical breakthrough of the century or were the spawn of Satan, depending on one’s personal view of the matter and their political affiliation.

  It was obvious from the utter joy etched across the doctor’s face that Tseng had given her no details about the case at hand. Already she had told Kimo more than she wanted, spreading the number of people who knew to a ring that was larger than necessary. In no way did she want to widen the circle any further, but there seemed to be little way to obtain the information needed without zeroing in on exactly what they were asking for.

  Besides, if all the secrecy was meant to do was protect the governor, she didn’t feel too bad about sharing it.

  “Obviously,” Kalani began, again flicking her gaze over to Rip and back, “everything I’m about to tell you is very, very confidential.”

  The smile receded a bit around the edges as Watari stared back. “I understand.”

  “Okay,” Kalani said, drawing in a deep breath. “This week alone, the remains of three different women have been found in Honolulu. All three were in the late stages of pregnancy, all three had the entire fetus and umbilical cords removed entirely from them.”

  A hand flew to Watari’s mouth as it dropped into a perfect circle, shock, sadness flooding her features. She drew in a sharp breath of air and said, “That’s awful.”

  “We’ve been working the case in terms of the victims, checking out their back stories, any connections they might have, but after this third one showed up, it became apparent to us that the only thing any of them have in common is that they were pregnant.”

  The hand slowly lowered from Watari’s face, coming to rest in her lap. She looked aghast as she glanced from Kalani to Rip and back again.

  “So you’re thinking whoever is doing this is after the fetuses for their stem cells?”

  Kalani felt her eyebrows rise on her forehead, a gesture meant to relay uncertainty. “Well, that’s our first impulse, which is why we’re here. We’re hoping you can tell us if we’re right, or if we need to recalibrate our investigation again.”

  The look of sorrow remained on Watari’s face as her gaze lowered, focusing in on the desk, staring at nothing. She remained that way a long moment, sitting in silence, before finally saying, “You know, I knew it upset some people, but I never would have thought...”

  A bolt of adrenaline passed through Kalani as she leaned forward in her seat, looking
across to Rip, whose posture was much the same. She ran her hands down the front of her jeans and rested them on her knees, her body poised, staring at the woman across from her.

  “You knew what upset some people?”

  The question seemed to snap Watari out of her thoughts, her eyes coming up to meet Kalani’s, her body rocking backwards to lean against the chair behind her. Gone was any trace of the excitement she’d had a few minutes before, now replaced with a sense of dread.

  It was not the first time this week a visit from Kalani had brought such a reaction from someone, a fact she was fast growing tired of.

  “Let me back up and answer your original question first,” Watari said. “It will help put everything in context.”

  Her face changed again, pushing aside a bit of the emotion splayed across it, settling into more of a detached teaching posture. Kalani got the impression it was a seasoned response, something ingrained from years of reciting the same information to students time and time again.

  “As you well know, every last part of the body, from the heart to the skin to the hair on our head, is made of cells. All told, there are over two hundred different types.

  “What sets apart stem cells from other types of cells though are two distinct things. First is self-renewal, the ability for it to go through numerous cell divisions while still maintaining its original undifferentiated state.

  “Most of the time, a cell divides once in its lifetime, producing two duplicate daughter cells. This is what allows the body to repair itself, hair and nails to grow, things like that.

  “The second key aspect of stem cells is the potential outcomes of that differentiation. Like I said before, most of the time, a cell duplicates into two daughter copies. Skin cells beget more skin cells, hair cells become hair cells, etc. A properly stimulated stem cell though can become any one of the two hundred types of cells in the body.”