Carter Peterson Mystery Series (Volume 1)

by Al Boudreau

  My close proximity to the city snapped me back to reality, now just 15 minutes away from laying it on the line with the Honolulu police. I wasn’t sure how I’d broach the subject of what we were into, but knew I needed to tread lightly. I was a long way from home, so my previous credentials as a Boston cop, and my current NH private investigator’s license, wouldn’t hold much sway in Hawaii. I had no working relationship with the authorities on the island, whatsoever. They’d probably consider me just another pain from the mainland.

  I wasn’t even 100 percent sure the victim was dead, which added to my burden, though the odds never favored a pedestrian surviving a run-in with a vehicle the size of a delivery van. I let my mind drift back to what I’d seen and couldn’t imagine anyone making it through such a trauma. But if he had, there was a high probability his existence would be no more than a legal formality—he’d likely be on constant life support.

  I switched on the radio to search for a news station, hoping they’d mention details of the incident. After a few minutes of scanning local stations, I was convinced all they broadcasted over Oahu’s airwaves was music from the 80s and 90s.

  I racked my brain for answers as the miles ticked past, but nothing was coming to me. I was apprehensive about going to the cops, in light of Terri Odell’s insistence we avoid doing so, but didn’t see any way around it at this point.

  I slowed for the Nimitz Highway exit off H1, bound for Honolulu City & County Police Department. Fortunately, the station was located within a few blocks of the medical examiner’s office. Instinct told me I’d be paying a visit to the morgue before the night was through.

  Traffic got heavy once I left the highway, commuters from the late-day rush now replaced with tourists eager to immerse themselves in Honolulu’s diverse nightlife. As I signaled to change lanes I heard the text message indicator whistle coming from my phone. I reached for it out of force of habit, but changed my mind at the last second, unwilling to become another statistic in the texting-while-driving trend. Whatever it was could wait. My battle with all the confused, erratic drivers around me demanded my undivided attention.

  I managed to maneuver into the far left turning lane, the street leading to the police department now just ahead. The traffic light in no hurry to grant me right-of-way, I thought again about what my approach with the cops should be. My indecision was a reminder of how out of it I was. The long trip, coupled with the stress I was feeling, was taking a toll on my faculties. As the light turned green, I came to the conclusion I was overthinking the entire matter. The answer was simple.

  I’d tell them the truth.

  It was how I approached most situations. And one of many topics Sarah and I saw eye-to-eye on. We often laughed about how we’d both heard the old cliché, Honesty is the best policy over and over during our youth, but somehow it had managed to stick. The truth, difficult to spit out when faced with a dilemma, often brought relief. And more times than not, lighter consequences when all was said and done.

  The Honolulu City & County Police Department loomed large before me, a wide, three-story concrete-and-glass structure that sadly spoke little about the indigenous architecture of the Hawaiian Islands. In fact, it looked like a typical city building from Anywhere, USA. However, if the designers were going for an intimidating effect, it was safe to say they did it justice.

  I parked in a visitor’s space, grabbed my phone, and headed toward the massive concrete steps leading up to the main entrance. “Thanks,” I said as two officers walked out of the station, one holding the door open for me.

  I was about to pocket my cell phone when its flashing blue light reminded me I’d received a text. I tapped the envelope symbol and noticed the message had come from Richard.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the officer behind the bulletproof enclosure asked as soon as I stepped through the doorway.

  “Uh, yes … just a sec,” I replied as I tried to make sense of Richard’s text. No problem, was all it said. The officer’s glare was making me uncomfortable—not the ideal environment to be deciphering a cryptic message. I had no clue as to what Richard’s text meant, but it seemed benign enough to ignore.

  I slipped my phone in my shorts pocket and approached him. “Who would I speak with concerning a crime,” I asked.

  “ID, please,” was the officer’s reply.

  I pulled out my wallet, took my investigator’s and driver’s licenses out, and slid them under the narrow slit at the base of the thick laminated glass enclosure. “Here you go.”

  The officer studied them, then scanned them into the system. “Mr. Peterson, I trust you’re not working a case here on the island with these credentials. In the state of Hawaii, it’s against the law to provide the services of a private investigator without a Hawaii Private Investigator’s License.”

  “No, sir. Technically, I’m not on a case,” I replied. “I’m aware of your state statutes concerning investigators.”

  “You mentioned a crime,” the officer said as he put my IDs down on his work station and began clicking away on his keyboard. “Go ahead and give me the details.”

  “Well, I came to Oahu to interview an individual about a kidnapping case. Unfortunately, I now have reason to believe he’s been masquerading as someone else.”

  The officer stopped typing. “What law, specifically, do you feel this individual has broken, Mr. Peterson?”

  I hesitated and cleared my throat. “There was a traffic-related incident this afternoon. Out in front of the resort I’m staying at.”

  “Ko Ahiku?” the officer asked while picking up the phone.

  “That’s right.”

  He hit a button on the phone then spun around in his chair to face away from me. “Sergeant, this is Palu, downstairs. I’ve got an individual here named Carter Peterson who claims to have information concerning the situation over in Kapolei earlier.” He spun back around and began typing again. “Yes, sir, the incident out in front of Ko Ahiku.” The officer hung up, turned to remove several documents from the printer, and attached my IDs to them with a paperclip. Without a word he stood up, left his work station, and disappeared behind a solid steel door.

  “Mr. Peterson,” I heard him call out a few seconds later. I looked over my shoulder to find him standing to my left, waving me over as he held the security door open. “Are you carrying weapons of any kind, needles, or any objects on your person that might cause me harm?” he asked as I approached.

  “No, I’m not,” I replied.

  “Please step through the door, empty the contents of your pockets into the plastic bin, and place your hands and feet against the indicators on the floor and wall.”

  I followed the officer’s instructions and he proceeded to frisk me. “Please step through the metal detector,” he said once he’d finished his search.

  I complied in time to see a second member of the force descending the staircase before me, the three service stripes on his uniform telling me he was a sergeant. “Thank you, Officer Palu,” the sergeant said. “Mr. Peterson, you can grab your belongings.” He followed the officer into his workspace, returned with the paperwork my IDs were attached to, and held out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Kehoe. Let’s head up to my office.”

  I followed Sergeant Kehoe up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway to a corner office with windows facing Honolulu’s downtown skyline. “New Hampshire, huh? Long way from home,” he said as he motioned for me to sit.

  “It is. I’m struggling with the adjustment. Six hours is a pretty big time difference for me.”

  “When did you arrive?” he asked.

  “Last night.”

  “Uh-huh. And how long are you planning to be here?” he asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I said. “A lot depends on our conversation.”

  My reply made him raise his eyebrows. “I see. Why don’t we start with you telling me what you know about that incident that took place out in front of Ko Ahiku earlier this afternoon? According to this paper
work, you’re here on Oahu to interview a client about a kidnapping.”

  “Potential client,” I said. “No formal agreement exists between us.”

  “Nothing verbal?” he asked.

  “Well …” I wasn’t about to lie, being that he’d asked a direct question, but I needed to cover my butt. “I did tell the man I intended to take his case, but we never got any further than that. He’s since disappeared.”

  “I see. And is this individual involved in the situation that took place in front of the resort earlier today?”

  I looked the sergeant in the eyes and nodded. “Okay, well, here’s where it gets a little tricky. After reviewing the interview notes I took during my meeting with this potential client, then doing some research online, I have reason to believe he’s an imposter. I also have a suspicion the victim of the traffic incident may well be the individual this imposter is impersonating.”

  I was half convinced the sergeant was trying to burn holes through my head with his stare as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “That’s pretty complex. You an ex-cop?” he asked.

  “Yep. Boston beat cop. Been out for about a decade now.”

  “And you’ve been in the investigations game since then?” he asked.

  “I have,” I replied, keeping quiet about the fact I’d only recently bothered to get my PI’s license, effectively making my career legit for less than a year.

  He leaned forward, grabbed my PI’s license from the paperwork, and studied it. “Okay, Mr. Peterson. I’m a decent judge of character, and I believe we can help one another, so I’m going to share with you some of what we know. And in turn, I trust you’ll be forthcoming with anything and everything you have to offer concerning our investigation.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Sergeant. And please … call me Carter.”

  “Okay, Carter. I want you to know I’ve been burnt several times by individuals entrusted with information they probably shouldn’t have had. But I approach these situations on a case-by-case basis. As I said, I’m willing to take a chance on you, so let me give you a solid piece of advice. Don’t piss on this opportunity. Because when someone decides to take advantage of me, let’s just say the relationship tends to go south pretty quickly.” The sergeant tossed my credentials onto his desk.

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. So let me start by telling you a little about our victim. And when I say a little, it’s because we don’t know much at this point. Hopefully, you’ll be able to contribute some information we might be missing.”

  “OK,” I said.

  “The victim was pronounced dead on arrival at the emergency room. The medical examiner would normally have sent someone to the scene, but his entire staff was tied up. It’s been a busy day. Too many fatalities on our roads. Second … we have no name for our John Doe. No identification on his person, and no hits on his prints in AFIS. And our third, and final, dead-end—dental records are a non-starter.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Simple. The guy’s mouth is full of implants. Perfect smile. None of it real. A lot of good it does him now.” The sergeant shook his head. “He has a few old scars, some body art, and several bones that were broken ten, twelve years ago, according to the ME’s office. No missing person’s report matching his description, and no one looking for him that we know of.” He leaned back, hands behind his head.

  “What about eyewitnesses?” I asked.

  “Nothing to help us identify our vic.” The sergeant wore a solid poker face. I could tell he wasn’t going to give me anything more. At least not until I shared what I knew.

  “I think I can offer some additional information,” I said, “but it could take a while. Got any coffee?”

  Chapter 11

  “Thank goodness for digital voice recorders,” Sergeant Kehoe said, jotting down a few points he’d culled from the story during my recap of the past 24 hours. “The officer who used to be responsible for transcribing interviews like this one was so happy when we got our voice-to-text software, I thought he was going to kiss our acquisitions officer right on the lips.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t enjoy having to document my ramblings, either.” I held my trusty notebook up. “I always keep one of these in my back pocket. Doubt anyone could make heads or tails of my chicken-scratch.”

  “Good note-taking is all you really need. I carry one of those, too.” The sergeant finished writing and looked up from his desk. “Carter, I want you to know how much I value your candor. I realize, by you doing the right thing and forfeiting that backpack full of cash, you and Richard no longer have a tangible means of compensation. Believe me, I know my fair share of hack investigators who would simply have chosen to ignore the law and taken the case. And they’d be looking for the missing girl right now, cash in hand. You chose the high road, and I respect that. It’s rare these days to meet a man with the kind of integrity you obviously possess.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate you saying that. Thing is, I need to be able to face myself in the mirror every morning. Life’s about more than just making money. Fortunately, every single time I’ve chosen to do the right thing over the course of my career, the stars have aligned and it’s all worked out in the end.”

  “I like that, Carter. I’ll have one of my men work on corroborating your story, but there’s no doubt in my mind it’ll all check out. That said, I’m willing to put in a request to authorize use of confidential funds on this case. It’s a little unorthodox, but we’ve done it before. The money won’t be anywhere near the level you PIs charge your clients, but if I can get it done it will be better than nothing at all.”

  It took me a few seconds to process his generous offer. “Uh, that would be great,” I said.

  “No guarantee I’ll get this funded, Carter, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Much appreciated, Sergeant. Either way, I’m looking forward to working with your department.”

  “Good. And just so we understand one another, you, and your men, will be playing the roles of confidential informants over the course of this investigation. It’s a way to cover all of our tails, short term, as far as the whole state PI licensing situation is concerned. That being said, if this case were to become protracted, we could always try to get you a provisional license. That way, you could actually enter into an agreement and get paid conventionally. Okay?”

  “Understood.”

  “Now that we’ve got those details out of the way, let’s get back to the question you asked me earlier about eyewitnesses. We got similar stories from several people. Seems there was a scuffle over a bag or a backpack—likely the backpack containing the cash you spoke of. The scuffle spilled out into the crosswalk. One lane of traffic stopped. The other lane—the one the delivery van driver was in—failed to yield. However, the driver of the first vehicle in line who stopped at the crosswalk said she believes one of the men intentionally shoved the other out in front of that van. She was adamant about that fact.”

  “And the driver of the van?”

  “Said our vic jumped out in front of him,” the sergeant replied.

  “My guess is that the van driver wasn’t giving the road ahead of him his undivided attention at the time of impact.”

  “I tend to agree. The skid marks at the scene begin on the far side of the crosswalk, which tells me the driver never saw the victim before impact.”

  “So if I’m following along correctly, the outcome of this case is going to make a huge difference in that van driver’s life. It’s a traffic ticket versus involuntary manslaughter.”

  “Unfortunately, that may well be the case. Not to mention a wrongful death lawsuit in civil court if the victim has family, and they decide to lawyer-up and sue.”

  I let go a huge sigh and shook my head. “What a mess. Makes finding Amber Odell that much more important.”

  The sergeant nodded. “That it does.”

  I looked up at t
he wall clock. 9 p.m.

  The sergeant raised his eyebrows. “So, three in the morning back in New Hampshire right now. No wonder you look exhausted. Let’s call it a night, Carter. Get some rest. We’ll get a fresh start tomorrow.”

  “Rest. Sounds nice. I just hope I can fall asleep.”

  The sergeant leaned forward, opened up a drawer, and tossed a blister-pack of sleeping pills on the desk. “Here, take these with you. Two will set you right for a good eight hours. I eat ‘em like they’re candy. Work every time.”

  I grabbed the pack of pills and held it up in front of me. “Thanks. And I appreciate you scanning those prints I brought in. Now I can just email them to my office, instead of using snail mail.”

  Sergeant Kehoe stood up. “Thank you for putting this package together in the first place,” he said as he shook my hand. “Again, I really appreciate you coming forward, Carter. I’ll be in touch.”

  I nodded and left his office, relieved by how well it had gone, but surprised I’d been there for so long. I stepped out of the building into the tropical night air, pleased by the comfortable temperature, thinking I could really get used to the place.

  I took the steps down to the parking lot two at a time, my phone bouncing around inside my shorts pocket. Which reminded me … I needed to contact Richard about the odd text message he’d sent earlier.

  “Hey, Carter,” Richard said. “How did it go with the Honolulu cops?”

  “Real well,” I said as I slid behind the wheel of the rental, plugged my phone into the vehicle’s system, and got under way. “I spoke with a sergeant who was receptive to working with us. Might even be able to throw a little cash our way by using confidential informant funds.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed. You golden-tongued devil, you.”