Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  “Oh, this feels good. I’m not Jane Doe anymore.” Lei took the items and stowed them in a new leather backpack purse. “Seriously, thanks so much. This is amazing.”

  “I know. Got any more coffee? My caffeine level is subpar after all this shopping.”

  Lei filled her friend a mug of inky brew. “’Nuff of this girly stuff. What’s the word on the investigation?”

  “Boot up that new laptop I brought you. It’s got a wireless satellite uplink. You won’t ever be out of wireless range again.”

  Lei turned on the device and Marcella went on. “Coast guard’s begun their searches. They’re going top to bottom with schematics and looking for compartments. They are also checking tickets and IDs in case the sex workers are disguised as regular employees or passengers.”

  “Be pretty easy for them to make fake IDs,” Lei said. “Especially with all the foreign countries they could be from. Aren’t the cruise ships having a fit? They weren’t happy with the search for a missing person we had to do.”

  “Most of them are offloading the guests at port and putting them in a hotel for complimentary poolside play and just screening as they get on and off the ship. Then, while the guests are off the boat, the teams search. And no, they aren’t happy.”

  “Anything happening in Maui?”

  “Not today, but tomorrow the Rainbow Duchess is due in port. The coast guard is standing by.”

  Lei’s pulse sped up. Searching ships, banging down some doors would be so exciting. It was killing her to sit here idle. But—maybe this was the perfect time for that other errand. The idea took hold and galvanized her.

  She hugged Marcella. “You’re such a good friend. I can never thank you enough.”

  “Yes, you can. Let me take you away from all of this. Come to the Bureau with me.”

  “I’m thinking about it.” Special Agent Lei Texeira. The world to police, all the assets and resources she would have access to—not to mention a whole different kind of crime to bust. “I don’t know what to do about Stevens.”

  “He’ll wait for you. Couple of years and you’ll be back in Hawaii, if all goes like I hope it will.”

  “Let’s talk after this case wraps up.”

  “I’m taking your word for it. Forward me your CV.”

  “My curriculum vitae’s not much. Oh, and it was on my old laptop, and that’s burned.”

  “It’ll be a good project for you to re-create it. Okay, hon. Grow some hair and get it done.”

  “Will do.” She hugged her friend goodbye.

  Marcella always seemed to bring both sunshine and storm into a room—one of the things Lei liked about her. Once the agent had pulled out, she got online and looked up Hawaiian Airlines.

  “No time like the present,” Lei murmured aloud as she charged a round-trip ticket to the new charge card in the replacement wallet. Now she just had to ditch the officer on the corner.

  She looked up the map and located an address a block away, far enough to be out of sight and close enough to seem within response distance, looked up the occupant and called the house.

  An elderly voice answered.

  “Hi, I’m calling because I think I see someone in your yard. They might be trying to break into your house. You should call the police!”

  Querulous thanks, and only a few minutes later the Crown Victoria outside the house fired up and pulled away down the street.

  Lei strapped on her Glock and filled her backpack with a few essentials, put on her new running shoes (size eight and her favorite brand) and put on the blond wig Marcella had included as a joke. Her tilted brown eyes looked big and mysterious under the platinum bangs—even more so when she put on wraparound silver sunglasses. She shrugged into a hot-pink jean jacket—an item of clothing she shook her head over.

  She looked like an anime cartoon come to life.

  Guilt was a familiar twist in Lei’s gut. But she’d be back before anyone knew she was gone, with any luck, and this was something she had to do. Something she’d promised herself she’d do for years. Something she needed to do to be free, and healthy, and whole.

  At the last minute, she stashed a pair of rubber gloves from under the sink in her backpack. She would need them where she was going.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lei got out of the taxi in front of a condo building in downtown Honolulu, just up from the Ala Wai Canal with its brackish scent of paradise gone wrong. Wash lines flapped across the balconies of the dingy Pepto-Bismol-pink complex, and tired bougainvillea in cement pots failed to brighten the entrance. She took a couple relaxation breaths on the sidewalk, gathering her resolve as she looked around.

  No one was in sight on this dilapidated side street with its smell of dead end. She glanced at the sky, the same brilliant blue as Maui—but she could have been a world away with the skyscrapers of downtown crowding it out, squeezing her chest with claustrophobia. Still, she wanted to do this. Needed to do this.

  Lei glanced at her reflection in the window to make sure the blonde wig was straight. She wore her sunglasses, and her mouth was painted bright red. No one would recognize Lei Texeira, tomboyish cop from Maui. She climbed the aluminum stairs on the outside of the building to the fourth floor, paused in the hallway, and glanced both ways. No one around. Sleepy afternoon sunlight slanted through bars across the concrete aisle-way that fronted the building.

  She put on the rubber gloves, tucking them into the sleeves of the pink jacket, pulled the Glock, and walked quick and light on the balls of her feet down to 4C. The door was peeling plywood with a peephole and a grilled iron screen, an extra layer of security she hadn’t considered. The worn rubber mat spelled welcome.

  She pushed the bell.

  Approaching footsteps—someone was inside. A pause. Must be checking the peephole. The wig and sunglasses would be intriguing. Sure enough, the door opened and he stood in the doorframe, the grille casting a barred shadow over him.

  “Yes?” He was smaller than she remembered, blurred around the edges, black hair gone mostly gray. An ordinary man who had done terrible things.

  “Charlie Kwon?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I have business to discuss. Can I come in?”

  “I don’t think so. What’s this about?”

  She brought the Glock up, aimed it at his head. “I can’t miss at this range, even with the security door. Open up.”

  A long moment while he weighed his options; then he slowly pushed the door open. She grabbed it and whipped inside as he backed up, hands in the air. She kicked the main door shut with her heel.

  “On your knees.”

  “I thought you had business to discuss.” Kwon tried to keep his voice steady, but it wobbled into soprano.

  Lei kept waiting for the heady power of having him at her mercy. It didn’t come.

  “On your knees!”

  He obeyed, put his hands on his head. “What’s this about?”

  “The past catching up with you.”

  His angular face went even paler.

  She still didn’t feel what she wanted to feel. Instead she felt a creeping shame—using her weapon issued in good faith this way, using her training meant to serve and protect to subjugate.

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. I’m sorry for whatever I did.”

  “Not good enough. You raped me when I was nine. You used me.” The gun wobbled in her hand as she spoke. “You made me damaged goods.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You don’t know?” A hot wave of rage blew over her. “You had so many victims, you don’t remember me?”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sick and wrong, and I deserve to die!” His voice was anguished.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? The Charlie Kwon I knew never gave a shit who he hurt. He just took what he wanted.”

  “I’ve gone to treatment, and I’ve changed, but I deserve to die for what I’ve done. So just do what you need to do.”

  “You pervert. Mes
sing with little girls. Prison isn’t good enough for you.” It suddenly occurred to Lei that she might actually kill him. That made the gun wobble more. She’d never been less in control of it. “I came to see you and tell you…you’ll never be able to touch another little girl again.”

  “Just do it! Do what you came to do!” Kwon swayed, his eyes ringed in white, staring into the bore of the pistol.

  “I don’t know what I came to do,” Lei whispered. This was all so hollow. He closed his eyes, bowed his head.

  On his knees before her knelt a gray-haired Chinese Filipino man in need of a shave. Smaller than average, wearing a blue T-shirt emblazoned with haleiwa shave ice and a pair of baggy cargo shorts. His legs were startlingly white, feet bare.

  He still didn’t know who she was. But maybe it was the disguise.

  “My name is Leilani Rosario Texeira, you sick son of a bitch.”

  He looked up at her blankly.

  His lack of recognition was an icy blade. Her arms shook; her finger tightened—and she stepped forward and pistol-whipped him so hard he flew over sideways, sprawling in the graceless pose of the deeply unconscious. She looked down at him for a long time.

  Nothing here could fix the past.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lei was in a taxi back to the safe house when her cell rang. She glanced at it—Marcella. She let it ring. Blue shadows of evening wove patterns on the road. She got out a block away from the house, paid off the cab, and boldly walked down the sidewalk, the sunglasses, wig, gloves, and pink jacket in her backpack. The uniform, back in his car on the corner, did a double take as she tapped on his window.

  “I had to get some air.”

  “How’d you get past me?”

  “You’d gone out on a call.” She strode on and let herself through the locked gate.

  Keiki greeted her rapturously, whiffles of joy mixed with much bouncing and wagging of her cropped tail. Lei knelt and hugged her. She sat on the steps, letting the dog’s rough tongue sponge off tears she hadn’t known were on her face. Finally, she patted Keiki and led her up into the house.

  She went straight into the shower, shedding her garments in a crumpled, sweaty heap. With the water pouring hot absolution over her, she cried—cried for the child she’d been, for the revenge she’d dreamed of for years that had been so empty. Cried for all the little girls Charlie Kwon had made damaged goods.

  The water ran cold by the time she got out. She was done with Charlie Kwon. She felt empty. Empty and very, very clean.

  Lei dried off, slathering scented lotion onto her body. The lurid bruises were fading at last. Marcella and the lieutenant had even remembered hair gel—and Lei worked it into her hair, the short curls coiling up instead of frizzing, thank God.

  She noticed that, though her eyes in the mirror looked the same, she was different. Changed. Lighter. With the confrontation with Kwon behind her, life could only improve. Maybe it was better he’d never remembered her.

  Stevens was rattling pans in the kitchen when she walked out in the new yellow terry-cloth robe she’d found among the shopping bags. She rose on tiptoes and hugged him from behind.

  “Mm. You smell good.” He nuzzled and snorted into her neck and turned back to chopping bell peppers. “Looks like someone went shopping—I hope it wasn’t you.”

  “Nope. Marcella and the lieutenant bought all this stuff for us—some fund for officers who lose their homes in the line of duty.”

  “Wow. That’s above and beyond—and I’m trying to wrap my head around Marcella and the Steel Butterfly cruising the aisles together. Terrifying.”

  “I’m sure it was. But they got good stuff. Seemed to want to do a makeover on me. The clothes aren’t what I usually wear.”

  “Wonder what horror they bought me. Probably polyester pants and golf shirts.”

  “Anything breaking on the case?” Lei asked. “I’m planning to go back into the station tomorrow, now that I’m feeling fine and I’ve got some new clothes.”

  “Yeah. I was meaning to tell you. The Thai girl turned back up. She’s down at the station and she’s going to be spending the night with us, since this is the safe house. The Feds are bringing her here to interview her.”

  “You should have called me!”

  “I did, but your cell was off. Anyway, I wanted you to get some more rest.”

  Lei felt a stab of guilt—she’d hardly been resting. “Well, at least we’ll get to listen in on the FBI interview. How’d you find her?”

  “She was hitchhiking, had her thumb out when a patrol car was passing and they picked her up. The BOLO worked, for once.”

  “She was probably terrified.”

  “She should have stayed where we left her.” Stevens dished up the food, a tasty stir-fry. He’d kill her if he knew she’d gone to see Kwon. Guilt, her familiar, twisted her guts. She wished she could tell him—but he’d be so angry at the danger she had put herself in. Sometimes she just had to do what she had to do, and he’d never totally understand that.

  After dinner they went into the bedroom and unpacked the rest of the shopping bags. The choices for Stevens were what he usually wore—jeans and khaki pants with subdued aloha shirts, the Hawaii business-casual uniform. Stevens put the last of his new socks away as Keiki barked, letting them know someone was in the driveway.

  The black Acura SUV Marcella drove had pulled up. The agent and her partner escorted Anchara up to the locked gate. Lei punched in the code and made Keiki sit and greet the visitors politely.

  The girl looked exhausted and unkempt; skeins of long black hair tangled down her back, and her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes sunken. She shrank back from the Rottweiler.

  “Can I make you something to eat?” Stevens took Anchara’s arm and walked her past Lei and the dog and into the house.

  “How’s it going?” Lei asked her friend. Marcella looked tired, shadows under her eyes and a droop to her mouth, lush hair straggling out of its ponytail.

  “Putting together some good connects on the House. We think his organization is spread out across the islands and run by substations. Could be a thread tying him to your old friends the Changs on the Big Island—we’re tracking the network through some CIs we’ve been developing.”

  “Now, that would be sweet.” Lei followed Marcella, as Rogers, carrying a duffel of recording equipment, walked up the steps into the house. “Why did you want to interview her here?”

  “She’s close to collapsing. Thought the homey atmosphere might help,” Rogers said over his shoulder.

  The girl was already seated at the little Formica table, and Stevens had filled a plate with more of the stir-fry, setting it in front of her.

  “Smells good in here,” Rogers said. “Got enough for a couple more plates?”

  “Give me a few more minutes and I’ll whip up some more.”

  “Lei’s out of the kitchen. Good choice,” Marcella said as she and Rogers set up their equipment in the living room area.

  “I can chop vegetables,” Lei grumbled, going to the refrigerator to take out the bags of stir-fry ingredients.

  “That’s all I’ll trust her with,” Stevens said, turning up the flame under the frying pan as he tossed in more chicken strips.

  In the midst of this swirl of activity, Anchara sat, eating efficiently, her head bent. Tangles of long hair shielded her face from view. Lei was reminded of the feral cats that were a part of life on Maui—thin, bedraggled, and blazing with intention to live. She’d seen them eating the food local residents brought to the parks with the same focus and speed. Stevens filled her plate a second time with the last of his and Lei’s meal. A slender brown hand picked up the glass of water Stevens had brought her, and the girl drank it down.

  Lei finished chopping more bell peppers, celery, and onions, and Stevens added them to the pan. Marcella came in and sat beside Anchara. “Nice place.”

  “No, it isn’t. But it gets the job done.” Stevens was generating a lot of good smells a
nd sizzling sounds. “Why don’t you get started. This will be ready when the interview’s over.”

  “Okay. Anchara, do you mind coming in and sitting on the couch, where we can record you?” Rogers leaned on one of the kitchen chairs, muscular shoulders bunching as he grasped the chair back. His blue eyes were kind. “We’d like to get it over with so you can take a shower and rest.”

  Anchara nodded. She ghosted past them with the silent, graceful way of moving she had, and sat on one end of the old tweed couch.

  Chapter Thirty

  Marcella and Rogers seated themselves, Rogers in the armchair across from Anchara and the battered coffee table and Marcella on the other end of the couch. Lei brought kitchen chairs and set them back from the seating area while Stevens turned off the stove after giving the savory-smelling meal one last stir and covering it with a lid.

  Marcella turned on the video recorder set on a tripod beside her and recited the date and time and the names and positions of all parties present.

  “State your full name for the record, please.”

  “Anchara Mookjai.”

  “Your age and address?”

  “I am twenty-three. My address is village outside of Bangkok. It not important.”

  “How did you come to the United States, Anchara?”

  “I came on cruise ship. They put up signs asking for waitress. I go because. . .” She took a deep breath, sighed it out. “My husband. He beat me.”

  Lei took this in. Anchara was older than she looked, which was no more than twelve. She was curled up with her knees under her chin. She’d wrapped tawny arms around them, and her hair spread over her like a cloak.

  “What happened next?”

  “I go on board and apply. They say papers not important because we in international waters. I think it strange, but I go because I want to get away. Then we all go below in many beds in one room, and they lock us in.” She pushed the skeins of hair behind her ears. “I know something is wrong then.”