by Toby Neal
“Yes. I thought that was already done.” Schumacher looked at Okasako.
Okasako shook his head. “Everyone was complaining so much I lifted the restriction, but I’ll get the foremen locking all the gates again. It’s a hassle for our employees, but the ones who need access can all get keys.”
“It’s just while you’re under fire, as it were,” Owen said. “Once we catch this perpetrator, things can be more relaxed. Tell them that when they grumble. Okay, just one more. Install outdoor smoke alarms along your access roads. This could help warn anyone camping or hiding in the fields that the cane is on fire.”
“That’s pretty easy. We can do that,” Okasako said. “We’ll see if it doesn’t just drive everyone nuts going off at the wrong kinds of smoke.”
“That’s all I’ve got right now,” Owen said.
Stevens stood. “I think we have a good start here. We’ll be in touch with anything further. Give us a call if you hear anything, no matter how insignificant.” He handed over cards to both managers. “Thanks for your help.”
“We want to catch this guy more than you do,” Schumacher said. Walking down the hall, Stevens wondered if that was really true. Based on their lukewarm implementation of Owen’s suggestions, it didn’t seem like it.
The Coconut Sunseeker was an old three-story building covered with lumpy spray-on exterior spackle. Its turquoise paint was grayish with Hilo’s ever-present mildew. One of Hilo’s gigantic spreading banyan trees hung over it, casting the motel into shade and rendering the name literal.
Lei set up her laptop on the rickety desk in her room. She’d paid cash and registered under a fake name, squelching the last dregs of guilt. She’d made a choice, chosen a path. Being off the radar was a necessary part of it, because she didn’t know where this would lead. Stevens’s words to her on the side of Haleakala right after their wedding rang in her ears: “I’ll take you down myself if I have to, to keep you out of danger.”
No, she couldn’t tell him what she was doing, but he’d forgive her when she’d removed the threat. He always had before.
She called South Hilo Station, setting up interviews with her first commanding officer on the force, Captain Ohale, and his vice detectives. First order of business was to legitimize the trip.
She sent a text message to Stevens:
Phone is on the fritz. Had to go to Big Island for a gambling case. I’m buying a burner and will call you later—Omura has details if you need them. Don’t worry. I love you and kisses to the little man!
Her heart actually ached, a tightness in her chest that shortened her breath, as she put this part in motion. She turned off the smartphone and removed the battery, then opened a cheap burner phone she’d picked up at Hilo’s Longs.
She texted Stevens again, knowing that if he didn’t have her number, he’d immediately suspect something—hell, he was going to suspect something anyway, just because she was on the Big Island—but she needed time.
Time to investigate her real gambling case.
Time to find Chang and see what he was up to.
And time to establish an alibi.
Chapter 5
Stevens and Ferreira sat on either side of his desk back at Haiku Station with the list of names from Maui Sugar. Between families with teens, disgruntled employees, and complaint letters, it was quite a stack to work through. “How do you want to divide this up, boss?” Ferreira asked.
“Let’s just cut it in half and then work the phones,” Stevens said. “Let’s start with running background checks on all of the employees. Then, if we get a ping off anything, someone with suspicious priors, we can put together a list of visits and interviews. I think we should go find them, get the element of surprise versus calling them to come in for interviews.”
“Sounds good.” Ferreira grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the list of employees in half, handing part to Stevens. “Done.”
Stevens felt his mouth tug up in a smile, but he wanted to clear something up from the earlier interview.
“Joshua, I know you feel strongly about the cane company’s right to keep doing what they’ve been doing, but we need to be able to follow every lead, even if it steps on toes.”
“I thought we were playing ‘good cop, bad cop’ in that interview,” Ferreira said, his expression neutral. “I want to keep playing ‘good cop’ to Maui Sugar, because as you saw, I’m related to a lot of people there and have a lot of friends there. But if you’re asking where my loyalty lies, you should know me better than that.”
“I just want to be sure,” Stevens said. “We could end up finding out they’re setting the fires themselves, for an insurance claim or something. You never know where the evidence will lead.”
“Not likely on the insurance, since they were able to recoup most of the cane that was burned,” Ferreira said. “But yeah. We’ll follow wherever the evidence goes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, got some background checks to run.”
Stevens watched the older man depart, noting the stiffness in Ferreira’s barrel-like posture and the red on the back of the man’s weathered neck.
He’d offended Ferreira.
Stevens got up and shut his glass-windowed office door. He wasn’t going to apologize. He needed his men to know he’d call them on contradictions. Ferreira had never given him any reason to wonder about his loyalty, and yet even in the face of Ferreira’s support during his own investigation a few months ago, Stevens still found it hard to trust the other man.
Maybe it was because he’d been betrayed by a partner in Hilo before, in the worst possible way. He wished he could forget the man he’d worked with who’d tried to kill Lei. He never would. He lived with the scars on his wife every day. Ferreira was the closest thing he’d had to a partner since, because he’d refused to work with one after the Big Island.
As if he’d conjured his wife in his thoughts, his phone dinged with an incoming message from her. His brows knit, reading it. Phone is on the fritz. Had to go to Big Island for a gambling case. I’ve bought a burner and will call you later—Omura has details if you need them. Don’t worry. I love you, and kisses to the little man!
On the Big Island? Why hadn’t she said something last night?
He texted her back asking that very thing. Seconds later a ping back informed him that the message was undeliverable.
Phone on the fritz? How likely was that? He needed more information.
He grabbed the desk phone, speed-dialing Captain Omura’s private line.
“Lieutenant Stevens.” Omura’s chilly tone doused his ire somewhat. The captain hated unprofessionalism and emotionality, not to mention lack of teamwork and communication, which this call would reveal. Stevens slowed his breathing with an effort, curling one hand into a fist so hard it hurt. The tiny purple heart with lei on it bulged on his tight forearm muscle. He put the phone between his ear and shoulder and rubbed the tattoo—hard—until it burned, as if he could erase it from his skin.
“Captain, I’m calling about Lei’s trip to the Big Island.”
“Yes.” As usual, he heard the tapping of her keyboard. She didn’t elaborate, making him ask what he wanted to know. Even as he was forced to do so, he admired her technique.
“I’m just checking that you authorized the trip.”
“Yes. Couple of days. She’s working a vice case.” A pause, then the jab. It hurt even when he was braced for it. “Thought communication was a big part of marriage.”
“You know Lei.” He gritted his teeth.
“I know she’s an excellent detective. Bit of a risk taker and one to cut corners, but she’s on a mellow vice case.” Omura’s annoyance came through loud and clear. “I authorized three days, if that helps.”
“Thank you. It does.” He hung up with a bang and surged to his feet. A “mellow” vice case? The hairs on
the back of his neck rose. Would she go after Terence Chang alone? No. She wouldn’t be so crazy.
Adrenaline flooded his system in a hot jolt of rage born of fear and frustration. Her case had to have ties back to the Changs. Gambling was their main thing after drugs.
“Sonofabitch.” He tried Lei’s phone again, and it pinged back again.
He walked back and forth, trying to burn off the adrenaline while he called South Hilo Station, where he and Lei had first met. Lei wasn’t the only one with connections there.
“Captain Ohale. This is Lieutenant Stevens on Maui.”
“Mike! Speaking to you both in one day, what a pleasure. How’s married life treating you?”
Stevens let out his breath in a whoosh. “You heard from Lei?”
“Yeah. She’s in town for an investigation, coming in to talk with me about a case.”
“What’s it about?”
“Why are you asking?” Ohale’s bass voice had gone slow. “Don’t tell me she took off without telling you what she was doing.”
“Nah.” He didn’t want to throw Lei under the bus with her old boss, so he tried for nonchalance. “I was just wondering if this had anything to do with the Changs. We’re supposed to stay a long way away from them—orders to Lei from the FBI. She still has a liaison role with them. Thought you might want a heads-up.”
“You saying you don’t trust her to do that? Yeah, I guess we both know the answer to that.” Stevens heard the creak of Ohale’s old office chair as he leaned back. He could easily imagine the burly station chief pushing his tiny steel-rimmed readers onto the top of his head as he rubbed his eyes. “So married life hasn’t settled her down yet?”
“It’s fine,” Stevens said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to get into it.
“Well, she just told me she was here on a vice case, wanted to speak to my detectives. So I guess I’ll find out more when we meet.”
“Great. Just thought you should have a heads-up about the Chang thing. This came down to us from the FBI after that bust at the Chang compound a few years ago.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Ohale said, and Stevens thanked him and hung up.
If Lei was investigating the Changs, he’d just thrown a major spoke in her wheel. He felt shitty about it—but it was for her own good and for the good of their unborn baby. He just didn’t trust her. He felt bad about it, but it was the truth.
And anger boiled up again as his phone dinged with a text from an unknown number. Here’s my burner phone number so you don’t worry. Lei.
“Too late, Sweets,” he said through gritted teeth, and called the number. “I’m onto you.”
The new number rang and rang mockingly and then went to an inactivated voice mail box.
“Sonofabitch!” Stevens growled. He resisted the urge to throw his phone. Instead, he set it down carefully on the desk and thought through his options.
The Fireman bought supplies at several different stores and paid in cash. Didn’t use one of those stupid discount cards either. All those seemingly innocuous things, done for convenience, combined to create trails that could lead to him. He checked his phone for the hundredth time—and this time there was a text message.
No more money. Tech support will be arriving in the mail.
Tech support. What the hell could that be?
Back at his place, he gathered the materials together, along with a big black plastic container he could close and carry to the truck, hiding its contents. He lived in an apartment. There was no telling how many people were watching.
He stowed a battery-operated, handheld drill with a large-bore bit in the container, then poured a couple of gallons of his favorite mixture of gas and diesel fuel into a series of one-gallon ziplock bags, sealing them double-tight to prevent leakage and smells that could alert anyone to a problem. He added a Christmas tree timer with a plug to the box and then took out a long orange extension cord.
Using a sharp paring knife, he cut the receptacle end off and peeled the plastic coating off the wires, exposing a couple inches of wire, which he then crossed carefully. A bottle of nail polish remover and big bag of cotton balls completed his preparations.
But none of it was going anywhere if he couldn’t get access to the house.
He’d have to wait for that “tech support” and see how the blackmailer could help him breach the house’s security measures.
The Fireman had bought a barbecue starter as part of his supplies. He almost flicked it on, just to see the narrow tongue of flame come out of the metal wand and dance for him a little, but he remembered that gas fumes were still trapped in his living space. There might be enough to combust.
He opened all the windows, turned on the fan, and checked that the gas can was screwed shut tight, that the ziplock bags were sealed and stowed in the plastic container. When he was sure the apartment was clear, he lay down on the couch and flicked the lighter on, watching the steady glow of the flame, passing his hand through it just to feel its hot kiss. He’d write a post for his online Fireman Journal. Kissing the flame. It was a safe enough topic.
And mentally, he planned every step of the ignition.
Lei walked through the worn doors of South Hilo Station with a sense of déjà vu. The watch officer behind the desk was unfamiliar, though, and she had to show ID and sign the logbook. After that, though, it was a slow route across the bullpen as she stopped by various desks to greet old friends on her way to Captain Ohale’s office.
Finally reaching her destination, Lei smoothed her hair back off her forehead and adjusted her tight waistband as she faced the blank wooden door with the tiny brass plaque that said Captain Ohale on it.
She lifted her hand and knocked.
Almost immediately the door opened. From his casual clothing, she could tell that the man holding the door open for her was a detective. “Welcome to Hilo, Sergeant Texeira,” he said. “I’m Jed Campos.”
She shook his hand. “Thanks! Lei Texeira.”
Ohale stood up behind his desk. “Lei! Great to see you on the old stomping grounds!”
Another detective was seated in the other chair in front of the captain’s desk, and he also rose. She met Detective Sam Kilohana, as well, and greeted her old captain with a hug. “Great to see you, too, sir.”
“Well, I hear you’re a mama now,” Ohale said.
Lei knew he was referring to Kiet and she nodded. “It’s a big adjustment, but Kiet’s an easy baby. Which, of course, means I want to wrap this case up as soon as I can and get home to him.” She didn’t mention the baby on the way. He might have heard about it, but here in a male-dominated work environment, wasn’t the place to mention it.
They sat down, and Lei told them about her confidential informant’s comments about the knee-breakers from the Big Island. “Have you heard anything about organized online gambling with mah-jongg, or other gambling games?”
Campos had a pointed goatee on his chin, and he stroked it thoughtfully. “I’ve heard a rumor about this, but we didn’t follow up. Didn’t know it was originating in this area, and with cockfighting, dogfighting, and plenty of other things to track down, it seemed pretty small—manini.”
“That’s what I thought, too, until my CI told me the stakes were high—her cousin lost his house in one of the games. She said the same organization sending ‘tax enforcers’ over to Maui is the one soliciting them to participate in gambling activities.”
“How do they know that?” Ohale asked, rubbing his reading glasses with a big red bandanna.
“She told me some of the other business owners decided to follow the men. They tracked them to the airport, where they took a flight to the Big Island.”
“Still.” Campos frowned. “Civilians tracking these guys, really?”
“So
meone’s got a cousin who works the desk at Hawaiian Airlines,” Lei said with a smile. “As how they know for sure.”
“As always how,” Kilohana said, with a wry grin. “Hawaiian-style detecting.”
“Seriously, though, these folks are spooked. My CI said one of the owners refused to pay, and the next week his business burned down.”
“That is serious,” Campos said. “But how are you connecting that with us in South Hilo?”
This was the tricky part, Lei knew. She had to move ahead with her case and still conceal her real agenda. She shrugged and sat back in her chair. “Thought I’d start somewhere where I knew the players.”
“You mean us at South Hilo PD or the Chang crime family?” Ohale asked, his dark eyes unreadable. “Had a call from Lieutenant Stevens on Maui. He had some concerns about the Changs.”
“I can imagine,” Lei said, keeping her expression neutral even as her stomach clenched in response to this news—Stevens was checking up on her. She expected it, but the evidence that he didn’t trust her still hurt. “They keep turning up like a bad penny, behind sex trafficking, gambling, money laundering, and a couple of attempts on our lives.”
The two detectives glanced at each other, clearly confused, but Ohale kept his eyes on Lei. “So is there a connection that you know of between this case and the Changs?”
“No. I just came to you to see what you folks might know about this situation on Maui, and talking to you was a place to start,” Lei said. She felt a queasy roll in her gut, like the early morning sickness days, followed by something that felt like a flutter against the tightness of her jeans waistband. What a strange feeling—she probably had gas and was about to embarrass herself. She put her hands in her lap and unobtrusively pressed, willing the problem to go away before she had to run to the bathroom.
“Well, the Changs often come up as suspects. In fact, the FBI has requested we keep the compound in upper Hilo under regular surveillance. I think they may even have some wire taps on Terence Chang since his grandma died,” Ohale said. “But there’s been nothing. From what we can tell, Terence Chang is running a totally legit import-export business, most of it done online.”
