by Toby Neal
Charlie Kwon was the ghost that stood between them.
She shut her eyes and indulged in a daydream involving Kwon, a knife, and a bathtub. It was just getting messy when Stevens opened the door, interrupting.
“Pono went home. Feeling up to some dinner?”
Lei was surprised to find she’d rediscovered her appetite. “Sure.”
Monday morning had sent Stevens to work, and Lei, never one to enjoy a day off, found herself grateful for once to be sitting on the front stoop rather than getting in the truck to join the traffic down the hill into Kahului. She’d been forbidden to leave the house without an escort, annoyed when Stevens had clarified, with a tap on her nose: “No. Keiki doesn’t count.”
She sipped her morning coffee, feeling the pulse and throb of various bruises. Her headache had downgraded from acute to dull roar, and she decided to switch to Advil so that she could develop a murder board for Jane Doe—something she’d been too busy tracking leads to do.
Keiki trotted back and forth against the chain-link fence, barking at wild chickens scratching in the leaf mold across the street beneath the belt of java plum trees, obviously missing her daily run. Lei moved slowly down the weather-beaten stairs to the little shade-cloth shelter Stevens had built against the side of the house for her collection of orchids.
She’d moved so much that she’d had to give them away after each move, first on the Big Island, then Kaua’i, and now Maui. He’d been giving the plants to her throughout their courtship, and when the flowers had fallen, she’d enjoyed trying to get them to bloom again. Lei was misting them with Miracle-Gro and tossing a ball for Keiki when her cell rang. She dug it out of the pocket of her sweats, glancing at the number.
“Hey, Marcella!” She was delighted to see it was her FBI friend, Special Agent Marcella Scott. They’d hit it off on the Cult Killer case—first with competitive sparks, then with an enduring friendship of like minds and interests.
“Hey, Sweets.” Marcella still liked to use her Kaua`i nickname, based on the old Bing Crosby song “Sweet Leilani,” to tease her. “I’m in town for a case; thought we could get together for coffee or something.”
“I’d love to, but I’m injured and confined to quarters.”
“What?”
Lei filled her in, and halfway through a description of the situation, Marcella cut her off.
“I’m coming over. Where are you guys living now?”
Lei gave her the address.
That was Marcella, all decisive action. One time, after a few drinks, Marcella had bragged that she could take out a guy twice her size with just her forefinger—and when Lei challenged her on it, it had taken about three minutes before she’d had Stevens on his back with the aforementioned finger poised above his eye.
Lei shuddered a bit, remembering. She knew what it felt like to burst someone’s eye with a thumb, and thinking about it still nauseated her. She straightened up the living room and went into the bathroom to see what could be done about her appearance.
Not much. At least her hair couldn’t get any worse, shorn to a cap of curls, but her arms were stippled with black-and-blue bruises from rolling down the embankment, and the bandage on the side of her head was a stark reminder of her near-death experience. She settled for a swipe of lip gloss and a little mascara—good thing Stevens said short hair suited her, and her eyes did look big and exotic. Seeing Marcella always made her want to look her best, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it today.
It wasn’t long before an unmarked shiny black Acura SUV pulled up into her driveway.
Chapter 16
Keiki sounded an intruder alert but settled into slavish whining and cavorting when the dog recognized Marcella get out of the SUV. Lei stood at the top of the stairs as her friend greeted Keiki with ear rubs and a big beef bone, still sporting shreds of last night’s steak. Keiki settled down to enjoy her prize as the women embraced.
“Shit, Lei, what are you into now?” Marcella asked, frowning as she held Lei at arm’s length.
“Some deep shit, apparently,” Lei said, leading them into the house. “Have a seat. I could use some FBI consult on all this.”
“When are we ever going to just talk about boyfriends and nail polish?” Marcella’s FBI “uniform,” a tailored gray suit, seemed to enhance her taut, curvy figure. Shiny brown hair wound into a bun and no makeup—and still her face was beautiful, all flashing dark eyes and pillowy lips. Marcella shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the couch. A concession to the climate in Hawaii, the shirt underneath was short-sleeved and she wasn’t wearing a tie.
“Coffee, please, I beg of you.” Marcella fueled her day with nonstop cups of it, black.
“On it.”
Lei poured herself a refill and brought Marcella a mug, sitting down in the armchair kitty-corner to her friend.
“I don’t know if either of us is much interested in discussing boyfriends and nail polish.” Lei sipped her coffee. “I’m much more interested in who might be trying to kill me and a sex slave trafficking ring using cruise ships for transport.”
“Yeah. About that.” Marcella frowned, blowing on the surface of her coffee. “If there’s any evidence of something like that, you’re going to have to bump that to us.”
“Seriously? With pleasure. I don’t get the feeling we have the authority to make those ships do much of anything, and so far the connection’s pretty thin, based on a wit we have stashed.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“Well, okay. I might as well get going on my murder board. That’s what I was going to work on before you got here.”
Lei got up and fetched the portable whiteboard she liked to use for brainstorming. Stevens had already installed a pair of hooks on the remaining blank wall, and she hung the board up and uncapped a marker.
“This all started with a body. A few days ago, we got called out to a crash site—Pauwela Lighthouse, real creepy place. A car had gone over the hundred-foot cliff. Anyway, it looked like a suicide at first—young girl gone over the cliff in an old Plymouth. But there was something off about it from the beginning, and after restraint marks were found on her, the ME ruled it a vehicular homicide. We’re still waiting on tox results.”
Lei went on to describe the steps of the investigation, drawing a line and marking it with the different pieces of information that had come together.
“The real break was getting that slimeball at the cockfight bust to recognize the dead girl as someone he’d seen in a hooker lineup. That was also when we heard about someone called the House. We then found another escaped sex slave who’s now staying out at the homeless encampment at Pauwela. Along the way, I must have pissed someone off, because some perp tried to run me over on my jog Saturday morning.”
Marcella sat forward intently, the mug of black coffee forgotten. Big brown eyes narrowed in thought as the agent mulled things over. She took a sip of coffee and seemed to make a decision.
“I think our investigations are crossing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m here on a case involving smuggling. I have to talk to the special agent in charge before I tell you anything more, but I think your case could be the break we’ve been looking for.”
Lei bounced with excitement, joggled her sore head and groaned, clutching her bandage.
“Shit, you can’t tell me anything?”
“You know. Bureau politics.” Marcella waggled her hand in a dismissive gesture. Her Italian heritage contributed to an expressive, dramatic style. “You think over applying for the Bureau? I’d love to have you on my team someday. Clock’s ticking, you know.”
“Not ready to decide yet.” The ring felt heavy as lead around Lei’s neck. Was she really ready to settle down and call the Maui Police Department all she was going to experience in her career?
“Keep me posted. I think you’d rock the Bureau and be a big asset over here with your local background. Anyway, lemme st
ep outside and make a few calls.”
Marcella strode outside, shutting the door firmly behind her. Lei got up and carried their mugs to the sink, deliberately not letting herself feel slighted. Marcella had, several times, had to keep her in the dark on their case on Kaua`i while milking her for information, but she knew the other woman didn’t like doing it. She always said she’d tell her everything if she was just in the Bureau.
At the sink, Lei reached up to touch the ring on its chain around her neck. Suddenly claustrophobic, she took the chain off and slipped the ring into one of the drawers, slamming it shut.
Marcella came back in.
“Yeah, I can give you partial disclosure in return for meeting with your commanding officer and taking over the smuggling and human trafficking part of the case. We’re going to do the interagency cooperation thing, baby!” She high-fived Lei.
“I can’t wait for you to meet my lieutenant.” Lei glanced at the door where Marcella had toed out of her shoes—they were Louboutins, with trademark red heels. Marcella and Omura were bound to strike sparks and might even have a lot in common. “So, you gonna tell me anything now?”
“If I must,” Marcella said as she sat. “More coffee?”
“If I must.” Lei fetched it, and Marcella went on.
“We know about the House. He’s serious organized crime: heroin, coke, meth, pot—the whole range of drugs. Which isn’t an FBI focus. He also has a whole gambling network across the islands—cockfighting, dogfighting, parlors with cards, mah-jongg, all that. Still not our focus. Then there are the whores—lots of them. We were already aware there was something going on with some sort of imported hooker ring—but we don’t have anything hard on that. Human trafficking is an FBI priority—as are the weapons.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. The Bureau’s been directed to stay away from any cases local PD can handle, like drugs, hookers, and gambling. But when he started bringing in guns, and now it looks like sex slaves, we’re on it. We also look hard at anything that could contribute to domestic terrorism.” Marcella sipped her coffee. “I’ve been thinking the priorities have been screwed up for a while, but ever since nine eleven and all the budget cuts, we really focus on cases that could have terrorist implications.”
“What about ATF? Thought they did investigations with guns and armaments.”
“Usually, but the agency is small out here, and once we knew this one was leading to the House, we knew that was way too big a case for them. More interagency cooperation.” She grinned, a dazzling display. “The House has his headquarters on Oahu, so it’s a surprise that Maui is the place where we may finally get some momentum on this case. I want to interview both your witnesses—the witness from the cockfight and the runaway.”
“I’ll call Bunuelos down at Kahului Station and have him bring in Silva for you. I can take you out to interview the Thai girl. Maybe the safe house will be available and we can kill two birds with one stone and take her there. My lieutenant was going to try and get that authorized today.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be off today?”
“Yeah, well, this is my case, and with you here, I’ll be well escorted.”
“I think we’re going to find that the art gallery owner is a little more than she at first appears. What we’ve been observing is that the House has cultivated contacts in some of the most affluent levels of society throughout the islands. They never get their hands dirty, but they help him launder all that gambling, drug, and hooker money through shell corporations.”
Lei shook her head at the magnitude of the case, instantly regretting it. She touched the bandage again. Marcella leaned over, concerned.
“You okay? I never asked.”
Lei showed her the bruises on her legs, arms, and hip. “Car hit me here, and I rolled off the road twice. Concussion. Bumps and bruises otherwise.”
“Damn.” Marcella extended her left arm, pushed up her sleeve. A deep red mark transected the exterior of her biceps. “Got shot for the first time six months ago.”
“Nice. You’ll have a good scar from that. How’d you get it?”
“Bank robbery. You’d be surprised the shit they get up to on Oahu. This idiot robbed the downtown Waikiki branch of Bank of Hawaii. Took a shot at me as he was running away.”
“Holy crap. Did you get him?”
“Stupid dude ran right into a newspaper kiosk. I was so hopped up on adrenaline, I didn’t even know I was shot until blood got on my hands as I was cuffing him.”
“War stories. One for every mark.” Lei clinked her mug against Marcella’s. “Better than nail polish any day, right? Let’s make some calls, get this thing going with the witnesses.”
Lei called Stevens from the back of the Acura SUV as Matt Rogers, Marcella’s partner, drove them out to Pauwela Lighthouse. Rogers’s broad shoulders filled the cab as he drove. He hadn’t changed his military style, sporting a buzz so short she could see that his scalp was a little freckled. The SUV had a Plexiglas panel up between her and the agents.
Stevens wasn’t pleased to hear the plan. “You were supposed to be off today. Lieutenant’s orders. You have a concussion!”
“I feel fine,” Lei lied. Actually, she felt queasy, and the headache was calling for Vicodin again. “Anyway, how is Marcella going to find this girl without me?”
“You could have called me. I’d take her out there.”
“True. But where’s the fun in that? Lieutenant knows I’m going. I’m just going to direct them to the camp and stay in the car. I’ll ride in the back with Anchara and reassure her she’s not in trouble. The safe house has been cleared for us to stash her there.”
A long silence. Lei rubbed the black stone in her pocket as she looked out the window at the passing scenery. This was the part she didn’t like about being in a relationship—always having to account for her actions and whereabouts. “Well, anyway. Just thought I’d keep you posted.”
“Thanks.” He hung up.
Marcella glanced back, pushed a button that lowered the panel. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Marcella turned back. “Not much room at the Academy for the ol’ ball and chain.”
“Hey, Stevens is hardly a ball and chain!”
“I didn’t mean him in particular, just relationships in general. They only hold you back.”
Rogers snorted. “Don’t listen to her. I’m married and the Bureau life is fine, as long as your spouse doesn’t mind long hours, frequent moves, and a few PTSD symptoms on the weekends.”
“It’s just that while you’re a field agent there’s so much to do, and you don’t want anything to get in the way of your cases. I stay out of entanglements—but I don’t say no to a little bounce now and again.” Marcella smiled at Lei over her shoulder. “A woman has needs.”
Lei looked out the window at the lush, rugged coastline. The ocean was bright and sparkling today, and she gazed at it unseeing. She preferred to let things unfold and try to make the best of them—making plans too far in advance only led to disappointment, in her experience as the child of a drug addict. She had to consciously work to make her mind assess the future, and dealing with the engagement ring, deciding about the Academy—it was just too scary to try to figure out.
“There it is.” Lei pointed to the narrow, unmarked turn into ten-foot, waving guinea grass, and Rogers cranked a hard left.
The black Acura SUV bounced down the rutted road, red dust rising around them to coat the shiny finish. “Yeah, Hawaii Land and Pine stopped working this field about ten years ago, but the irrigation system was still in place. After the field went to seed, the homeless found a place to get shelter in the brush on the bluff, and they tapped into the irrigation system.” Lei held on to the back of the panel for support as the SUV crawled along.
“At least they’re not right in your face, living in the public parks. We have quite an issue in Honolulu and nowhere to put them.” Marcella hung on to the dash and sissy
handle.
“Not very picturesque for the tourists,” Rogers said as they bumped to a halt in front of the unprepossessing steel light tower with its glorious ocean view and grim human aspect. Lei got out of the Acura as the FBI agents did a quick survey of the area. Marcella took 360 degrees’ worth of reference photos, clicking the tiny, high-tech camera no bigger than her thumb as they approached Ramona’s tent.
The older Hawaiian woman stood up when she saw them coming but didn’t speak until the three of them faced her.
“She’s gone.”
Chapter 17
“When? How?” Lei stammered, as the two FBI agents immediately approached the tent, unzipping it.
“After you left, that afternoon a man and a woman came. I saw the car they were driving, looked too rich for this neighborhood; I hid her in a place we’d talked about. They searched every tent in the camp. They had guns.” She shook her head. “They show no respect. They left when they didn’t find her. Everyone said they hadn’t seen her. They asked about you, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“They asked if any cops came out here, showing a photo of the dead girl. We said yes, cuz what else was we supposed to say?”
“You did right,” Lei said, even as the agents spread apart and began looking all around the tents.
“So then what happened?”
“I went back to get her, and she was gone. She must have run.”
Lei’s heart squeezed. Where could the young Thai go to hide? “Why didn’t you call us?”
Ramona pointed to her swollen ankles. “Long walk to the phone, and my feet were killing me. Beside, what could you do?” Ramona sat back down, picked up a hala leaf, gesturing to the agents. “Who these people stay?”
“Special Agents. They want to help Anchara, keep her safe.” Marcella and Rogers had begun systematically canvassing the encampment. To Lei, their buttoned-down efficiency reminded her of a pair of Dobermans in work mode. Lei settled in beside the older woman to work the hala leaves.
