by Toby Neal
“Tell Wylie to wrap it up or we’re going in. I guarantee that he’ll be embarrassed.” Lei’s tilted brown eyes must have said she meant business, because the woman picked up the phone and shortly thereafter, a gaggle of golf-shirted haoles exited, giving curious glances. Lei led the way into the inner sanctum.
Chapter Eight
John Wylie got up from a traditional red leather, tufted office chair. “Aloha, Detectives. What can I do for you?”
Lei opened her mouth, and Pono put his hand on her arm, stepping in to shake the man’s hand. “Pono Kaihale of Maui Police Department. This is my partner, Lei Texeira. We are investigating a homicide.”
“My goodness, that sounds serious.” Wylie’s wind-chapped cheeks went a bit paler. He stayed ensconced behind his vast walnut desk. “Please, sit.”
They took the supplicant chairs in front as Wylie resettled himself.
“How can I help you?”
“Well, the young woman in question is still unidentified. The focus of our investigation is finding out who she is.” Wylie nodded, a furrow of faux concern stitched between his brows, and Pono went on. “She was recognized by someone from a ‘lineup’ of women procured for escort services. By you.”
This bombshell was delivered in calm, measured tones. Pono could still surprise Lei.
Wylie shot up. Color flooded up his neck like mercury rising in a thermometer. “Who said that? I demand to know who would make such an accusation!”
“Not gonna happen.” Pono sat back, laced beefy fingers over his muscular midsection, blinked as slow as an owl in the sun. “Not relevant. What we want to know is, who sent you those whores? Who’d you call? We aren’t looking to prosecute you for that at this time.”
The threat was in the delicate emphasis of the last sentence.
“Well. Well.” Wylie huffed. He turned to a decanter on the credenza behind his desk, poured some amber liquid into a highball glass. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He tossed the drink back. “When was this?”
“So you make a habit of calling for a lineup of whores?” Lei’s first contribution to the discussion was acidic and seemed to rattle him further, and he splashed more alcohol into the glass.
“I’m just trying to establish a framework for these questions,” Wylie said. He resumed his seat. “I have to put it in context.”
“It was a construction wrap party a month or so ago.”
“Ah.” Wylie sipped. “One of the guys talked. Knew I was taking a chance.” He set the glass down. “I’d like you to know that calling an escort service is not illegal. What the girls do with the guys they are escorting is their business.”
“Of course,” Pono said.
Lei rolled her eyes but restrained herself. She could tell this was the kind of guy who kept a lawyer on speed dial.
“I use this service when I want to entertain.” He opened a drawer in his desk with a little gold key on a key ring, shuffled a bit, and pushed a card over to them. It was glossy white with a satin-embossed edge and nothing on it but a phone number in crisp black Gothic script.
“Now, anything further and I must insist my lawyer be present.” He took his BlackBerry out, finger poised. Yep, speed dial. Lei was irritated to be right.
“One more question—did you know anything about a girl at that party, long red hair, blue eyes, a tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle?” Lei slid the photo of Jane Doe across the desk to Wylie. He did not look at it; instead he pushed a button on the phone and they heard it dialing. He held up a finger toward them as the phone was answered.
“Kevin, this is John. Can you come right over? Some detectives are in my office, harassing me about an escort service. Oh. Okay.” He pressed End and looked up with a smile straight out of a denture commercial. “My attorney has instructed me not to answer any further questions until he gets here.”
Pono stood up, put the white card in his pocket. “Thank you for cooperating, Mr. Wylie. MPD appreciates it.”
Lei had spotted a picture behind Wylie on the credenza. A pair of blond, orthodontia- wrapped teen girls flanked him in a formal portrait. Lei tapped Jane Doe’s photo, forcing his eyes down to look at it. “This young girl, same age as your daughters, was murdered ,and all you can do is dial your phone and hide behind your lawyer. Nice.”
She waited a long moment, but he didn’t look up from the beautiful dead face. She stood and turned away, following Pono. Wylie’s voice came as she was almost at the door.
“I recognize her. She had an accent.”
Lei moved alongside the desk to align with him. “What kind?”
“Well. I don’t know. Seemed European.” He harrumphed, as if remembering he wasn’t supposed to speak, and then said, “I think all the girls are foreign. I’ve never seen the same ones twice.”
“Anything else stand out about her?”
“No. Other than she was a little younger than the others. I didn’t see who she ended up with that evening.”
“Do you know anything more about the escort service than just that number?”
“No. But I know who I got the card from.” He opened the drawer again, took out another card. “I can’t be linked to giving you this information in any way, but I want that girl to get some justice.” His pale eyes seemed to be trying to convince her what a good guy he was, and hell, maybe he was a good guy, at least by his own standards. He did try to build “green” after all.
Lei picked up the card. This one was printed on opalescent card stock with a name and address picked out in raised silver lettering.
“Thank you.” She reached over to shake his hand. “Takes a real man to take a risk for justice.”
Out at the purple truck, Pono shook his head. “That last line was laying it on a bit thick, but he seemed to buy it.”
“We might need him again, and I don’t want to burn any bridges.”
Pono snorted. “That’s a first.” They pulled out as a cream-colored Mercedes pulled in with a squeal of brakes. “Just dodged the lawyer.”
They drove back toward Lahaina’s main shopping and art route on a busy four-lane, tree-lined boulevard. Lei chewed her bottom lip, fiddling with the opalescent card that listed a Pacific Treasures Gallery with a Front Street address.
“Let’s follow up and hit the address, since we’re out here—before he has a chance to give this gallery a heads-up.”
Front Street had maintained its former whaling-village charm, and the narrow shop-lined street, facing the glittering ocean and a vista of the tiny island of Lana`i, was jammed with tourists and sightseers. Pono squeezed the oversized truck in between a pair of Hyundai rentals with the ease of practice. Lei jumped down onto the sidewalk and turned to her partner.
“Just scope the place, do the happy tourist thing. I don’t want to spook whoever it is until we have a little more to go on.” She buttoned her light jacket over her gun and slid her badge into her pocket.
“Right on, Sweets. We can be a honeymoon couple.” Pono gave her an exaggerated wink and made a pretend ass grab, which she froze with a look. They fell into character, meandering down the sidewalk with the rest of the tourists, leaning to look into displays of Tahitian pearls, racks of colorful pareu, and even a portable stand of parrots that people could pose with.
Eventually they came to the address. Everything about Pacific Treasures Gallery sent a message of upscale elegance, beginning with the pneumatic sliding glass door that ushered them into air-conditioned comfort seasoned with classical music.
Creamy white walls, white marble floors, and well-designed lighting highlighted a range of dramatic artwork. Lei circled around a sculpture inside a block of Lucite that appealed to her, an angel that appeared to float in three dimensions.
A statuesque blond saleswoman in a white Grecian-style dress approached as Lei dragged Pono over to look at the Lucite blocks. “Oh, honey! How do they do that?”
“It’s done with lasers,” the saleswoman said. “Each one is signed and numbered.”
/> Lighting from below made the angel glow, and Lei suddenly remembered one much like it, wings outstretched, that she’d had as a night-light when she was a child. That angel night-light had failed her. It had smiled a plastic smile as Charlie Kwon came into her room. Her eyes were on it as she begged him to stop, and as she gave up and waited for him to be done with her, his little “damaged goods,” the angel watched, and smiled, and did nothing.
Lei felt her chest tighten, her throat close. Her vision telescoped, black encircling the edges, as she focused on the floating angel. Her hand crept down to her side, and she pinched her leg viciously through her pants. Sucking relaxation breaths, she grabbed Pono’s big hand. She towed him into the main gallery area. Another Grecian-gowned saleswoman, a redhead this time, watched them from the back of the room. Lei hated it when memories ambushed her like this; she almost preferred the fog of memory loss she’d struggled with years ago.
“This is so beautiful,” Lei said breathlessly, the dark around her vision retreating in front of a stretch of canvas crammed with every fantastical ocean creature that could be imagined. She turned back to the saleswoman who had followed them. “We’re on our honeymoon. We want something to remember it by.”
“Fabulous,” the blonde said, sizing them up. “I have some lovely giclee prints over here.” She led them toward the back of the gallery, Lei taking everything in. Pono suddenly dug his heels in and turned to Lei.
“Let’s get the manager out here,” he whispered. Before she had time to respond, he commented loudly.
“Nothing too good for you, baby,” he boomed in pidgin. “I goin’ buy you anyting you like.” He raised his voice after the saleswoman. “You stay showing us these kine because you don’t think we can afford one real painting?”
“Oh, no, I just thought…something modest…” The saleswoman sputtered. “Young couple, starting out—”
“So what you mean is, local people can’t buy art here? This one haole-only kine place?” Pono’s voice had begun to climb.
Lei put her hand on his arm. “Now, baby, no make one scene. I’m sure the lady only meant fo’ be helpful…”
She glanced up. In the corner were surveillance cameras. Pono continued to agitate. She could tell he was enjoying this on one level and venting some long-simmering frustration on another.
“This land was our land, stolen from us; now we can’t afford to even own our home here. You insult me! I like speak to your manager. No, your owner! I like look ’em in the eye, the person who wen’ take my land from me!”
A few minutes more of that and the saleswoman fled through a door at the back. The redhead was already gone. A few minutes later, another woman entered, the blonde following. She was tall, with shimmering black hair that contrasted with a cream-colored pantsuit. Dark blue eyes took in the scene. Weighed them up—and found them wanting.
“Jillian, get these newlyweds some champagne.” Jillian hurried away.
Pono drew himself up to his not-inconsiderable height and breathed through his wide nose, thick arms crossed on his chest. “Your girl, she one racist.”
“My apologies. My saleswoman knows better than to profile our guests; I’ll see to it she’s disciplined.”
Her use of that word struck Lei oddly, and she darted a glance at the woman’s face, an inscrutable, beautiful white oval. She extended a hand, which Lei touched with limp fingertips, intimidated by the gigantic sapphire ring on it.
“Magda Kennedy. I own this gallery. And you are?”
“Lani Hale and this is my husband, Kimo. We’re on our honeymoon.” Lei spit out the first names she could think of. Cool amusement lit the woman’s eyes before she turned back to Pono.
“I understand and appreciate your position, Mr. Hale. I value the support of our local people and again, I hope you won’t take offense. Congratulations on your wedding, and take this champagne with our compliments.” She handed the bottle the saleswoman had brought to Pono.
He looked down at a magnum of Cristal, flummoxed. Police officers weren’t supposed to receive anything over fifty dollars’ value. Lei stepped in, conscious of the video cameras on them.
“We can’t be bought.”
She shoved the champagne back into Magda Kennedy’s arms and herded Pono out into the hot and crowded street. They hurried down the crowded sidewalk to a scrap of lawn in front of the picturesque Missionary House Museum.
Lei turned and lit into him. “What were you thinking? We were supposed to be keeping a low profile!”
Pono lowered the mirrored Oakleys over his eyes and set his chin. “Thought it would be a good idea to see who’s behind the operation there.”
“We are totally on their radar now. They’re never going to forget the local guy with the chip on his shoulder and his idiot bride. Not to mention, if we have to get more formal and question that Kennedy woman, she’s going to be pissed we went in there on false pretenses.”
Pono turned and walked away, giving her his back. He’d had enough, but she hadn’t.
“Also, I think there was something off about her. Like, she wasn’t totally buying the act.”
“She bought it. Enough to give me that bottle of Cristal.”
“Are you kidding? I saw the way she was looking at us—she wouldn’t hesitate to turn us in for taking a bribe if she ever got wind we were police officers, and I still think she made us somehow. C’mon, Pono—you know that went badly.”
She could tell by the red on the back of his neck and the way he pushed his way through the street that she’d had her say. The ride back to the station was long and uncomfortable.
Chapter Nine
The Steel Butterfly was tied up in a meeting in her office when Lei and Pono got to the station, requesting an immediate meeting to brief her on the day’s events. They settled into their cubicle to wait.
Neither of them wanted to look at the other as they booted up their computers and scrolled through departmental e-mails. Lei started in on her notes for the Jane Doe case, writing up their two meetings while Pono called his contact at Kahului Station about the missing Simmons groom off the cruise ship.
He hung up the phone and turned to her. “They haven’t picked up anyone of his description off the BOLO or at the airlines.”
“Okay.”
April Morimoto, the dispatch manager, stuck her head into the cubicle. “The cruise ship bride keeps calling. Wants to know what’s happening.”
“We just got in and the day’s almost over! We don’t know anything,” Lei said impatiently. April handed her a stack of pink phone call slips.
“Call her and tell her that yourself, then.” She disappeared.
“Damn. I need coffee for this.” Lei stood up.
“Want me to do it?” Pono reached over and picked up the stack of call slips. Lei sighed with relief at this olive branch.
“Thanks, partner. You know broken hearts just aren’t my thing.” He did know, and he smiled at her as she left. She headed into the break room and poured a cup of coffee for herself and one for Pono, chipping hardened coffee creamer out of the jar of Coffee-mate and stirring it in until the color had lightened a fraction.
As she headed back, the lieutenant’s office door opened and dapper Captain Corpuz of Kahului Station came out. He grinned and reached for one of the mugs. “I could use a little of that.”
Lei laughed. “You’re not that desperate.”
Lieutenant Omura followed him out of her office, spike-heeled slingbacks clipping the floor.
“Get Kaihale. I need to speak to you two.”
The captain winked as he put his dress hat back onto a full head of wavy silver hair. He had an almost jaunty bearing, and she’d never seen him irritable. She saluted, wishing, not for the first time, that he was her commanding officer instead of Omura. Stevens spoke highly of how he ran the much larger downtown station.
Lei fetched Pono and they sat in front of the lieutenant’s desk. Lei wrapped her hands around the hot mug of coffee. It felt s
tabilizing, holding her in the chair.
“Report.” Omura sat down.
There was a new brass plaque that read “LT. C.J. OMURA” on her pristine desk. Lei wondered what C.J. stood for, not for the first time. The lieutenant opened the drawer of her desk and got out a tube of hand lotion, rubbed it into her hands. It smelled of rich tropical tuberose.
Pono summarized the situation with the cruise ship and the missing groom. He’d contacted Clara Simmons to update her on the nothing they’d discovered and settled her down with soothing male attention.
“Did you check on all the airlines going out since the time of his disappearance?”
“Yes,” Pono said. “But he might have made a run for it under an alias.”
Eyes sharp as a crow’s took in Lei’s frizzing hair and crumpled jacket. “You’ve been quiet, Texeira. Thoughts?”
“I think he made it off the island and it’s going to be a dead end. On the other hand, we’ve had a lot of movement on the Jane Doe.”
She filled the lieutenant in on the interview at Kahului Station, the trip to Wylie Construction, and what the developer disclosed about hiring hookers. That trail had led to a pristine art gallery on Front Street.
“So we went there to check it out,” Lei finished.
“What happened?” the lieutenant asked after a long moment.
“We were just going to case it, get a sense of who this was, recommending call girls. We’re pretty sure Jane Doe was hooking after that slime ball positively ID’d her from a lineup of girls. Anyway, it’s a classy place. The owner is a sharp woman.”
Lei could feel tension pouring off Pono in waves. She wished she could reassure him that she wasn’t about to throw him under the bus in front of the lieutenant—no matter how he’d screwed up.
The woman in question rubbed the scented lotion into her hands, paying special attention to her cuticles.
“I think I’m going to reassign the cruise ship case to detectives Benito and Franco. I want you two to focus on the cockfighting ring and the Jane Doe. I have a feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
