by Toby Neal
“Then I hope they clear you soon.” Kamuela led him into a conference room. The walls were decorated in crime-scene photos of the various sites looted for petroglyphs, sacred carvings, and statues. Another wall was filled with mug shots. “These are the suspects we’re running down.”
“I’ve got something really good for you,” Stevens said, digging his phone out of his pocket. He consulted Lei’s text. “Norwegian art thief wanted by Interpol was killed at the inn he was staying in last night.” He sent the name and Interpol link Lei had texted him to Kamuela’s phone.
The big Hawaiian frowned down at the name and mug shot appearing on the phone in his hand. “Norwegian, huh? That European connection seems like the artifacts might be going out of the country.”
“I hope not. Maybe they’re just using pro art thieves to collect them. Anyway, this guy was bludgeoned to death with a crowbar. Makes me think of some of the hotheads in the Heiau Hui. Lei tells me there were three perps at the crime scene. I have an inside man; he told me there was going to be a rally of the Hui on Maui. Do you know anything about it?”
“Yeah. We have the Hui leader’s phone tapped.”
“How’d you get an order for that?” Stevens glanced at Kamuela in surprise.
“God bless the Patriot Act. We suspect these are domestic terrorists,” Kamuela said. “And now we get to surveil them night and day and on all technologies. So far there hasn’t been anything but chatter about spreading the word to recruit more people to participate in guarding the sites and such.”
“Let me get ahold of my confidential informant,” Stevens said, digging the burner phone out of his pocket.
“Sure. Take a look around at all this; see if it sparks anything for you. I’m going to update my captain on this Euro guy’s death and Interpol connection.”
Kamuela left. Stevens called Brandon Mahoe.
“Hello?”
“Brandon? This is Lieutenant Stevens.”
“Yes, sir! I was just going to call you.”
“What have you found out?”
“There’s a lot of anger. I know this is supposed to be about guarding our sacred sites and artifacts, but it seems like there are a lot of other agendas happening.”
“Like what?”
“Like focusing on that book, Maui’s Secrets. They wanted to organize boycotts and demonstrations outside the retailers carrying it, and a campaign in the media pressuring the publisher to pull it down, at least until the author revises it and takes the sites out of the book.”
Stevens thought of his copy of the book and how he’d bought it to find out where the main heiaus were located. “Like I said before, it’s closing the barn door after the horse is gone.”
“Right. But there’s a lot of anger here about a lot of things. High taxes on land Hawaiians have owned for hundreds of years. So many families unable to own a home, while rich off-islanders buy everything up. The streams getting diverted for big agriculture. Corruption in our local government. Somehow the rally turned into all that, and people were jacked up afterward.”
“You should know there’s been a murder that’s very likely related.” Stevens told Mahoe about the Norwegian thief’s bludgeoning. “Stay very careful. They can’t know you’re reporting to me.”
“I understand. I heard about your ex’s murder, boss. I’m sorry.” Mahoe’s voice was strong and steady, and once again Stevens was heartened by the support around him.
“Thanks. I need all the help I can get. I’m here on Oahu, seeing my son and helping coordinate with HPD’s end of the investigation.” Marcus Kamuela returned, his commanding officer with him. “In fact, I have to go. Stay safe and check in with me tomorrow.”
Stevens shut the flip phone and slid it into his pocket.
“Michael Stevens, this is Captain Bards.” Captain Bards was a dapper, muscular man with a neck that strained the tight collar of his uniform.
“I hear you’re at the front of the case on Maui,” Bards said.
“You could say that, but we have a whole team on it,” Stevens said, unwilling to disclose his leave status. “What do you make of this beating death of the Norwegian art thief?”
“Do you have confirmation that the vic was looting the heiaus?” Bards said.
“I don’t, no. The lab is working on samples from the mini jackhammer retrieved from the man’s possessions. I happened to be over here on personal business and thought I’d pass on the latest from our side of the investigation.”
Kamuela gestured to the wall. “As you can see, we have plenty of evidence gathered—but no one we’re looking for yet. Too bad they killed the guy—he could have put us onto who his crew is.”
“We’d never have found him if he wasn’t dead. This has been a slick operation—as you know even better than I do. I just got off the phone with my inside man, who’s in the Maui branch of the Heiau Hui,” Stevens said. “He reports conflicting agendas and a lack of unity within the group. It seems to be generating a lot of unfocused anger.”
“Yeah, we’ve had two random beatings of tourists who visited the heiaus. We really need to solve this case before a ripple effect inflames the community further,” Marcus said.
“Are you following money trails? Because whoever is behind the looting is paying top dollar for expert thieves.”
“We’re looking at that,” Bards said. “Or we would, if we had a lead on where to look. Maybe now that you have that Norwegian on a slab, you could trace his accounts and see who’s paid him recently.”
“Seems like we’re starting to need the FBI now that we’re getting into Interpol territory,” Stevens said.
“I’ve been discussing this with Special Agent Scott,” Kamuela said. “They’ve got a case file open, just waiting for the word that we need them.”
“Well, tracking international payments and bank accounts is definitely an area we’d need them for. Our office can’t handle that kind of tech,” Stevens said. “Seems like it might be time to bring them in.”
They reviewed the case thus far, and Kamuela agreed to contact Captain Omura to coordinate involving the FBI.
Walking toward the front of the building, Kamuela clapped Stevens on the shoulder. “Married and a dad in the same month. How’s it feel?”
Stevens slanted him a glance. “You really want to know? Great. And terrible. Don’t do what I did. If you’re in love with her, marry her if you can; wait until she’s ready if she isn’t. Be there. Don’t give up.”
Marcus Kamuela’s eyes widened at the sober, heartfelt words, and he ducked his head. “Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have joked about it.”
“Just remember what I said,” Stevens said. “If you think Marcella’s the one, don’t let her get away. Now I’m back to the hospital to see if I can feed my son his evening bottle.”
Chapter 17
Anchara’s cottage had a small front room and kitchen combo with a bedroom and bathroom in back. The walls were white, the space tidy, and she’d decorated with bright fabrics. Lei could hear the squabbling of mynah birds in the mango tree outside, and the rooms smelled a little musty from being shut up.
The evidence search team had not been careful. The pillows from the couch were tossed on the floor, cabinet doors hung open, and the bedding had been stripped off the bed, leaving a stark white mattress. Lei coughed to clear her throat, constricted by emotion at the sight of the violation of the simple, pretty space.
Lei decided to start in the bedroom and immediately sucked in a breath at the sight of the small, beautifully carved rocking bassinet near the bed. Under the window was a changing table, fully stocked with everything a new baby coming home from the hospital would need.
Anchara had prepared so carefully and lovingly. It was really a shame Stevens had gone to Longs and bought all that cheap stuff. Lei sat for a moment on the bed, letting the tears she hadn’t allowed herself to cry for Anchara well up. Using these items would be a way to remember her and to share with the baby, when the time came, how muc
h his mother had loved him.
Lei shook her head briskly, pulling out a tissue from beside the bed and blowing her nose, blotting her eyes. She stuffed the tissue in her pocket. She had to get in and get out. Every minute that went by was a minute her trespassing could be discovered.
Where would she find the name of a baby not yet born? And were there any clues to her killer the search team had missed?
There might some sort of baby book, and given Anchara’s other careful preparations, she probably had one.
Lei scouted around the bed. Nothing. She flipped through the stacks of tiny shirts, cloth diapers, folded flannel blankets. Wow, Stevens was right—babies needed a lot of stuff.
Nothing here. She went back into the living room and over to a low bookshelf under the small TV in the corner. A blue cloth-covered book drew her eye, and she took it out. The cover held a decorative medallion shape on which Anchara had written something in Thai.
She flipped open the book. It was a baby book, all right, with monthly notes in that beautiful script she couldn’t read.
Lei wondered why they hadn’t taken this in for evidence. Maybe they’d flipped through it and decided it wasn’t relevant—after all, Lei couldn’t see any mention of Stevens’s name, nothing but the monthly journal and, at the end, a photo of Anchara, smiling, her hands cradled around her huge belly. Lei covered her mouth with her hand—Anchara was beautiful, her body full and ripe, her smile radiant.
All gone. Stolen. Snuffed out.
Thank God the baby, at least, was alive. Lei wondered how Stevens would have survived a blow like losing both of them. It was hard enough as it was…she tried not to think about the crime scene she’d heard about, but the mental images came anyway.
Lei shut the book. She was pretty sure the writing on the cover was the baby’s chosen name, and the color of the binding indicated Anchara’d known the sex of the child. She slid the book into a paper evidence bag for the landlord’s benefit and, after one more pass where she found nothing of interest to the case but a lot to grieve over, Lei closed and locked the door of the little apartment, making a decision as she did so.
She stopped back at the landlord’s door. Knocked. The dog’s barking summoned the man, and she took out her card. “I think I have an idea of a family that’s adopting a new baby unexpectedly and may be able to use this stuff. Can you call me before you do anything with it? They’ll even be able to pay you something.”
“Good,” the landlord said. He rubbed his eyes, and she saw they were red-rimmed. “I just hate what happened to her. If some family would use the stuff for a baby in need…”
“We’ll make sure that happens.” All Lei was keeping quiet about stuck like a chicken bone in her throat. “Call me when you go to clear her place out, and I’ll make sure the baby things are used and appreciated.”
Out in her truck, she leaned her head on the steering wheel for a long moment and then sat up and turned on the engine to return to work. She had to find someone who read Thai.
There was only one person she knew who did. Sitting in her truck, with the engine idling for the AC, Lei took a photo of the medallion on the front of the baby book with her phone and texted it to Special Agent Sophie Ang at the FBI.
Can you translate this for me?
As Lei hit Send, she realized she hadn’t talked with her other FBI friend about the mess they were in. She’d called Marcella in tears the other night after she’d left Stevens to sleep in the living room, but she and Sophie weren’t as close and she’d had the energy to tell the tale only once that night. She remembered Marcella’s bracing words: “You two have been through worse, and I’ve got your back, no matter what. I’ll even learn how to babysit and give you guys a date night out when all this gets sorted out.”
She’d been able to fall asleep after talking to Marcella and was sure Marcella would tell Sophie Ang about the situation. She pulled out and headed for the police station.
As she pulled in to the station parking lot, her phone rang.
“Lei!” Sophie Ang’s slightly accented voice was hurried. “My God! Marcella told me what happened to Stevens’s ex-wife!”
“Yeah.” Lei shut her eyes. “It’s terrible. In every way. Stevens is on Oahu now, actually, visiting the baby at the neonatal unit. I’d appreciate if you guys called him, kept him company. This has been really rough, and being at the top of the suspect list doesn’t help.”
“I can only imagine. So does this photo you sent have to do with that case?”
“Yes, but not directly. We’re trying to discover the name she had chosen for her son.” Lei still couldn’t say Anchara’s name out loud. “This is on the front of a baby book she kept, but it’s all in Thai. You’re the only person I know who reads or speaks that language.”
“Yes. I can translate the whole book for you, if you like.”
Lei’s stomach knotted at the thought. She didn’t want to read about Anchara’s hopes and dreams for her son month by month. It would be too sad. But it might be a priceless gift for a motherless boy someday. “That would be great. Next time we get together, I’ll give it to you.”
A long pause.
“Well, do you want to know what the writing says?” Sophie asked, her voice a little tight with tension.
“Yes. Lay it on me. I can call Stevens, and he can put it on the birth certificate at the hospital.”
“Kiet. Kiet Mookjai.” Sophie took a breath, blew it out. “Kiet is spelled K-I-E-T, and it means ‘Honor.’”
Lei’s eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip. Honor. Naming the child Anchara’s choice was a way to ‘honor’ her memory. “Thanks, Sophie. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. I’m your friend. Let me help. What else can I do?”
“Call Stevens this evening and you and Marcella distract him. Find a way to make him laugh.” Lei struggled with how much to tell her friend and finally said, “I’m worried about him.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him. Now, go call him about Kiet, and you can decide if you want to keep the name.”
“Oh, we will,” Lei said, and blinked again as she hung up. Kiet. It sounded good when she whispered it.
She called Stevens. “Where are you?” he asked. “I tried the house phone.”
“I’m sitting in my truck, outside in the station parking lot,” Lei said, looking around at the parked personal vehicles and rows of squad cars outside the fortress-like building. She spotted McGregor and Chun coming out the sliding doors. She saw them heading her way, and McGregor pointed at her truck.
“Listen, I can’t talk. I found something with the baby’s name on it, and I got it translated. His name is Kiet, spelled K-I-E-T. And it means ‘honor.’” A pause as Stevens absorbed this. McGregor was getting closer. His choleric face was frowning, and she could see a white paper in his hand. “I think we’re about to be served with search warrants. I have to go, but I was thinking you might put your dad’s name in as a middle name. A way to remember him.” McGregor reached her, knocked on the window. “Whatever you decide, I support. But I love the name Kiet already.”
Lei hung up the phone. She took a deep breath, rolling down her window. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
Chapter 18
Stevens put his phone back in his pocket. He was standing in the hallway of the hospital nursery, still in the scrubs and gloves he’d been wearing. The baby was being discharged the following day to the foster home.
He hadn’t had a chance to say anything to Lei, to answer her at all, but he didn’t need to.
“Kiet,” Stevens said aloud. “Honor.” And he knew it was perfect, as perfect as adding his father’s name as his middle name. Edward Stevens had been a firefighter and had died on the job when Stevens was sixteen. He’d been a hero. He’d saved three people before the fire in an old motel with faulty wiring claimed him and the rest who were trapped inside.
Stevens had stepped into his father’s oversized shoes and done his best to be the
“man of the house,” but his mother’s drinking, until then a little problematic, had tipped into raging alcoholism with the loss of her husband. Stevens escaped to the military and his brother, Jared, two years younger, had followed their father into firefighting.
Kiet Stevens. It had a ring about it.
He called the caseworker next. “Ms. Fujimoto? My wife found out what our baby’s mother wanted to name him. I’d like to get the paperwork started for his birth certificate, and to adopt him. His name is going to be Kiet Edward Mookjai Stevens.”
McGregor handed Lei a folded white paper through the truck’s window. “Warrants to search your house and cars.”
“Mine, too?” Lei frowned. “I alibied out on TV during the time of the murder.”
“Doesn’t mean you weren’t in on it together,” McGregor said, but his eyes shifted away.
Lei snorted. “Do what you gotta do.” She got out of her truck, gathering her backpack that served as a purse, where the blue cloth-covered book was stowed. The receipt she’d found planted in Stevens’s truck felt like it was burning a hole in her back pocket.
She handed her keys to McGregor. Neither of them would meet her eye, and as she headed into the station, she felt a shiver of terror: Maybe whoever had killed Anchara had planted something in her truck, too. She’d been so preoccupied, she hadn’t searched her own vehicle; nor had she had time to return to check the house.
Her palms were sweating. She needed to get rid of that receipt, but not to McGregor and Chun.
Lei knocked on Captain Omura’s office door. Her boss looked up. “What is it?”
Lei shut the office door and approached the desk. She set the receipt in its plastic evidence bag on the captain’s desk and slid it over to her.
“I found this in Stevens’s truck at the airport. Hidden in the driver’s seat.”
Omura looked up, frowning, studied the receipt. “Why didn’t you give this to McGregor and Chun? I know they were headed out to serve you with warrants.”
