by Toby Neal
“That’s good.” Was there an assessing light in Thomas’s eyes? Nunez was cute, even buried in foul weather gear, and the handsome Coast Guardsman was still single three years after their brief flirtation.
“Yeah, Becca’s a real badass. Runs triathlons when she’s not in the lab processing evidence.” Thomas just grunted, so Lei moved on. “So, what does your commanding officer think about what’s going on?”
“With this second attack, we’re considering that there might be pirates operating in the area. Commander Decker is asking for extra patrols to Maui and the small surrounding islands, to search for a place where perps might be hiding. Like I told you the first time we talked about this, we don’t get many pirates in Hawaii because we’re usually able to keep them from finding places to hide. Kind of like how the state highway patrols monitor freeways and keep them safe.”
They hit a particularly vicious chop, and Lei slammed into Thomas. She hung onto the bench with both hands as the inflatable came out of the wind shadow cast by Lana`i, and was slammed by crosscurrents and even more wind.
Nunez lost her battle with seasickness and upchucked over the side. Thomas shook his head and turned away. So much for setting those two up.
It was a long hour of rough seas across another channel to Moloka`i, and even though Lei spotted flying fish and a pod of dolphins off to one side, she felt nothing but relief when she saw the arid, golden-topped island looming close.
The fifth smallest island in the main Hawaiian chain, Moloka`i was a long wedge, with one larger, elevated side rimmed by cliffs facing the west coast of Maui, and the far end sloping down to a windswept beach facing far-off Tahiti, the next bit of land on the globe. Moloka`i’s main town, Kaunakakai, was built near a harbor and small airport at the center of the island, where supplies arrived that were the island’s lifeblood.
Instead of entering the harbor, the Defender inflatable slowed down. Lei stared curiously as several uniformed sailors came out of the cabin and went to the stern, deploying some sort of metal mechanism using a winch.
“That’s our sonar search gear,” Thomas pointed away from them to another inflatable similar to theirs off their starboard bow. “See that other vessel? We’re running a search pattern grid and taking pictures of the bottom.”
“Cool.” Lei checked her phone—she had a few bars now that they were closer to civilization. “Ok to call my husband and check in? He’s been added to the case.”
“Sure.”
Stevens answered right away. “Hey, Sweets.” She heard the crack of his jaw as he yawned. “Great of you to set up a ride to school for Kiet with your dad, and Mom already has Rosie over at the cottage. I needed a little more shut-eye.”
“I thought you would. Like I told you in my message, the Coast Guard hasn’t found the boat yet, but they wanted someone from MPD as well as a scene tech on hand in case they did find it.”
“Keep me posted.” Lei could hear, by the rustling of the bedclothes, that he was getting up. “No activity at the container last night, which is a bummer. The captain sent over a couple of plainclothes officers to keep watch today. We’re committed to surveilling it until there’s some movement. Did you find anything out about the warehouse where they did the work on the container?”
“I did.” Lei filled him in. “I didn’t find much, though, and it’s likely a shell corporation pretending to be an import/export company, with only imports on the books.” Nunez came up, and Lei nodded to her. “I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything real. Love you.” She ended the call and addressed Nunez. “Feeling better?”
“Not really, but Petty Officer Thomas gave me some Dramamine, so hopefully I’m done puking.” The CSI pushed her hood back. Her purple-streaked hair was a mess, her eyes ringed with dark circles. “I’m not sure this is the best use of our time. Maybe we should have waited until they found the wreck to liaise with the Guard.”
Lei nodded. “Ugh. I think you might be right.”
The women soon grew tired of standing as the boats crisscrossed in their search pattern, and sat on the bench. As if on cue, the other search vessel gave a klaxon blast. Their boat hove about and headed over toward it. Lei moved to the bow, Nunez close behind her.
They were headed for a dark object floating in the water.
The Coast Guard boats side-tied to each other, a quick and efficient process. Lei and Nunez, along with Thomas and Commander Decker, a short, thickset, but well-groomed officer, went aboard the other vessel.
The floating object was hauled up on deck by the crew. Lei’s belly tightened at the sight of a male victim, approximately six foot, two hundred pounds or so, stiff with rigor. The cause of death was a single deep slash to the neck, similar to the one Lei had seen on Chaz Kaihale.
Decker took charge of the body and ordered it transferred over to his boat, the Defender. This challenging maneuver was executed with a boom and a winch, and soon the body rested at Lei’s feet.
The corpse oozed water onto the tarp used to transport it. Nunez, already gloved up, moved in to investigate, her camera clicking, dictating into a headset recorder. “Mid-thirties male victim of undetermined mixed race. Height, build and coloring match the captain of the Golden Fleece, though no positive identification available at this time. Appears to be same MO as the Sea Cloud victim we retrieved—severed jugular leading to exsanguination. Body appears to have been immersed in water for a number of hours, though still in rigor.” Nunez glanced up to meet Lei’s eyes. “See the rope around his waist? Seems like it wore through on something.” She held up a frayed end. “Maybe there are more bodies down there.”
“No telling where he floated from.” Lei bent for a closer look.
“Actually, we can pinpoint a likely radius,” Commander Decker said. “Based on the time of the distress call and the area we located for its origin, the speed and direction of the currents last night, and the condition of the body—I think we can keep working the grid we already set up to search for the yacht, as well as more victims.”
Lei frowned, gazing down at the pale face of the corpse. “What if they didn’t sink the yacht this time? After all, the pirates’ stealth plan is blown; we’re looking for them, and they know it. Maybe this time, they offed the captain and whoever they think might have been a problem, then they took the yacht. Didn’t sink it. Towed it somewhere to sell, and dumped this body here as a red herring.”
Decker had deep-set blue eyes framed by fans of sun-squint crinkles, and they flicked over Lei, dismissing her. “No time for all of that.”
“I think it’s odd that you haven’t found the yacht yet, with all that sonar equipment,” Lei persisted. “What if, after their attempt last time to sink the ship didn’t work, they changed things up?” She stared down at the body. “We haven’t had time to work up a background on the Golden Fleece, but from what we’ve already found out about the Sea Cloud and the family who chartered it, there was a lot more going on than initially met the eye.” Lei had everyone’s attention, and she pressed on. “There were powerful motives to kill Peterson, and apparently, now there’s a plan to sell his wife and daughters. If this is the same perp, maybe this murder isn’t random either.”
Nunez continued to work her way around the body, searching it carefully and murmuring notes into her phone, but Thomas and Decker stepped closer to Lei. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Thomas said.
“Perhaps there’s a reason that the Golden Fleece was targeted, and part of that may be the two teen girls and their friends who were on board, traveling with their billionaire father. If you assume the MO is the same as last time, then the pirates knew exactly who they were going after. Only, instead of attempting to scuttle the ship, this time they set up a false location for the Coast Guard, knowing that the response time would be good as everyone is on high alert.” Lei glanced around, making eye contact with Decker, Thomas and Nunez. “Not sure how they did it exactly. Maybe they sent out a small tender craft to make a fake distress
call near the Kaunakakai Harbor, a well-trafficked area, and they dumped the body so that we’d continue to search in the wrong location. Meanwhile, they’re long gone in some other direction, with the girls and the yacht as prizes.”
Decker snorted. “What evidence do you have that this is true? Your own crime tech just showed you a rope around the body’s waist that seems like it could have worn through on the rocks.”
“I don’t have any evidence. I just know we’re going to find out there was a reason this ship was targeted, just like there was a reason they went after the Sea Cloud. I don’t believe these attacks were random.”
“We got the distress call at oh one hundred hours.” Thomas tapped a dent on the front of his chin thoughtfully, as he gazed at the other Coast Guard boat, already resuming its search pattern. “We had a response craft to the source of the call within an hour, isn’t that right, Commander Decker?”
“That’s right.”
“But they found no sign of the craft, nor anything anywhere near where the call came from.”
“We assumed they sank the Golden Fleece, like they tried to do with the Sea Cloud. We dropped a buoy in the area, and sent out the call for more craft to search as soon as day broke.”
“And have you found anything to indicate that the Golden Fleece was sunk here? Floating debris, life vests, etcetera?” Lei asked. “Besides the body, of course.”
Decker’s jaw tightened. “No.”
“I was wondering . . . how long would it take to sink a ship the size of the Golden Fleece?”
“Depending on the size of the hole in the stern . . .”
“I looked at the specs. The craft was a hundred and twenty feet long and had a ballast compartment and sealed interior rooms. They’d have had to basically dynamite that hull to get a hole big enough to sink it in an hour,” Thomas said. “I’m starting to wonder, too. Maybe the call and the body were a delaying tactic, to give the pirates time to get away and hide or disguise the stolen craft.”
“If so, where the hell is it?” Decker growled. “We know that the Golden Fleece left O`ahu two days ago. We know it made a distress call off the coast of Moloka`i, supposedly. Now we know that one of its crew has been murdered. That’s all we know.”
“I think you need to go back to what is known about where the yacht was going,” Lei said. “Did they file a navigation plan for where they were headed?”
“Boats don’t have to file a plan, though it’s considered best practice,” Thomas said. “Charter companies, like Dream Vacations Luxury Yachts who owned the Sea Cloud, do that as part of their insurance policy requirements. But the Golden Fleece was privately owned. According to what I could dig up, the owner, Willem Janssen, was an experienced sailor with his own crew. All we know about the craft was that they had sailed all the way here from Tahiti, that the boat is registered in Norway, and that Janssen filed a general application to tour the Hawaiian Islands. Very different scenario than the first crime as far as target. One of the crew had his throat cut, and that’s the only real similarity to the other case.”
“I disagree. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be related,” Lei said. “But I think that this perp, or gang, since it is likely a group, is perfecting its technique. Learning along the way. And they might have multiple goals.”
Decker, his hands on his hips, swept the empty ocean around them with a glance. “What would you have us do?”
“Go on the offensive, sir. Yes, leave a boat here searching this grid—but get some more patrols in the water from O`ahu, and begin to comb Maui, Lana`i, Moloka`i and Kaho`olawe for the Fleece. Once you find that yacht, you’ll find the pirates. Meanwhile, we’ve got eyes on the container and the warehouse that they may be using to hold the women. Maybe we’ll catch them that way.”
Decker took a step back and eyed Lei with increased respect. “I’d like to know more about Janssen, his family and his crew. Maybe you and your team can work on that. I’ll make the call for reinforcements, and we’ll run you, Nunez and this body back to Maui.”
“We’d appreciate that. I think we can be of more use to you once we have a crime scene to investigate,” Lei said.
“I’ve already called the Maui ME, Dr. Gregory,” Nunez chimed in from behind. “Maybe there’s more this body can tell us, too.”
Decker turned to Thomas. “We’ll leave our sister craft here to continue the search. I’ll talk to O`ahu about a sweep to search for the yacht in Maui’s outer islands.”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas gave a crisp salute.
“Thank you, Captain.” Lei stepped aside so that he and Thomas could go back into the cabin. The powerful engines throbbed into life, and the inflatable spun and headed back toward the much larger island of Maui.
Lei watched the low-lying, golden shoreline of Moloka`i recede in the distance. Hopefully she hadn’t just steered the whole investigation in the wrong direction.
Chapter Eighteen
Stevens got out of the shower, relatively invigorated by a heavy drumming with cold water. Thank God for Wayne and Ellen helping with the kids! They were already at school and nursery care.
Stevens dressed in his usual work clothes, a pair of jeans and a polo shirt with athletic style hiking boots. He strapped on his shoulder holster and ran his belt through the loops, making sure the pouches for cell phones and a knife were properly placed. His phone, resting on the dresser, buzzed with an incoming call from Omura, and he picked up. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Get over to that container with Mahoe. Surveilling officers report activity. I am sending two additional units for backup,” Omura rapped out.
“On my way!” Stevens slid the phone into its holder, grabbed his Glock out of the mini-safe where he and Lei stored weapons, and sped through the house, grabbing a can of cold coffee and a granola bar. He checked that Conan had been fed, and the Rottweiler barked with excitement, chasing him as he ran out to the Bronco. He peeled down the driveway, barely waiting for the gate to open before him.
Stevens glanced back in his rearview mirror as the gate rumbled shut on Conan’s vigilant stance, legs braced and head up, standing guard over their place. That dog was all heart and protection, just as Keiki had been. He deserved more than a cup of dry kibble tossed in his bowl, and a pat on the head.
When would he be home next?
This case was going nuts. Stevens hadn’t even laid eyes on his children in more than twenty-four hours.
And what was going on with finding a step-down facility for Soga? Neither he nor Lei had any time to work on that pressing problem.
Stevens sped through the narrow, winding back roads of Haiku, overgrown ferns and palm trees brushing the sides of the Bronco, his light on the dash to clear the way as he encountered residents on the road. He swerved around a truck loaded with coconuts, and another with decorative yard waste, beating them to the one-lane bridge at the bottom of Maliko Gulch. Cranking up the hairpin turns on the other side, headed for the larger highway, he called Mahoe and made sure his young partner was on the way to the shipping container storage area.
“Don’t approach the container without me,” he instructed. “We don’t want this thing turning into a standoff.”
Stevens arrived too late to prevent disaster.
He pulled the Bronco up into the ironwood trees where they had been observing the container, only to see that the two units the Captain had sent over had boxed in a white cargo van, presumably used to transport the women, in front of the container. The patrol cars faced the Matson shipping crate, the officers using their doors as cover. They were pointing their weapons at the slightly open front door of the modified container.
“Shit!” Stevens grabbed his radio off the dash. “Units twenty-seven and thirty-four, be advised. This is Lieutenant Stevens. What the hell are you doing?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant, we thought we’d grab them before you got here, but the perps escaped into the container,” one of the uniforms said sheepishly. “We’re holding ‘em for yo
u.”
“Thanks for nothing!” Stevens gave his disordered hair a yank in frustration. “How many are in there?”
“Two, with the women. There were four of those.”
“Did it occur to you that approaching might not be a good idea? Now we’ve got a hostage situation!”
Mahoe pulled up next to Stevens’s vehicle and approached, his weapon drawn. “What’s our play, LT?”
“We have to establish contact with the kidnappers.” Stevens swore a few more times, leaving the radio open so the uniforms could appreciate how badly they’d screwed up. “They’re going to feel like there’s no way out.”
“There won’t be a landline into that container. I don’t know how you’re going to establish contact,” Mahoe said.
Stevens thought rapidly, and clicked on the radio. “Unit twenty-seven. One of you guys give up your cell phone. Raise your hands, walk forward, and set it on the ground. Then both units, back the hell up. Pull all the way out of visual range, back until you’re outside the gate. We also need to clear any nonessential personnel from the container area. Do you think you can do that?”
“You got it, Lieutenant.” Clearly eager to rectify their mistake, the patrol officers put their vehicles in gear. One of the officers walked forward with his hands up. He set his phone down on the asphalt near the door of the container. No shots were fired from the container. They then backed their vehicles away and disappeared.
Stevens sat down in the Bronco. Mahoe got in next to him. A moment later, the officer whose phone had been surrendered texted him the number with a message: “This is my private burner phone. Good luck, LT.”
Stevens wasn’t the only cop with a private burner phone.
He took a pair of binoculars out of the side pocket of his seat and applied his eyes to the lenses. He scanned around the container. “They’ve barely got the door open. Wonder if that AC unit is hooked up—if it isn’t, they won’t want to be in there long as hot it is today. Can you run that white van’s plates, Mahoe? We should see who that’s registered to.”
