by Toby Neal
“Anybody able to get this open?” The safe looked serious to Lei.
“Not so far.”
“Someone on the way?”
“Yes. Homeland Security’s got a safecracker deployed.”
“So what was the MO here?”
“Hide in plain sight,” said Marcella. “A lot of people had to be involved to keep this room secret. Now that you’re here, the Maui Police Department can take the women into custody for interviews.”
Stevens was already working his cell phone, getting transport arranged.
“We’re taking the captain in for interviewing, but he’s adamant he didn’t know about the smuggling,” Marcella said. “We’ve got the ship on lockdown; nobody leaves until we interview all the crew.”
“Sounds like you have things under control,” said a new voice. Lei turned to see Lieutenant Omura, looking sharp even at five a.m., enter with Pono and Jed Larson from Kahului Station. “Nice work.”
“Coast guard found the room and secured the scene before they called us,” Marcella said. “We’re just coordinating agencies and looking for connections to the House.”
Lei approached the group of women huddled in the corner. “Anyone here speak English?”
In ports on all the Hawaiian Islands, Duchess cruise ships were boarded by coast guard troops and searched stem to stern as the sun broke over the shoulder of Haleakala on Maui. Marcella, Rogers, the coast guard captain, and several Homeland Security agents continued interviewing the crew on board. Lei stood by the Bronco as Pono, Larson, and a couple of uniforms helped escort the women from the stateroom onto a transport bus going to Kahului Station. An Immigration and Naturalization official took down each name as they climbed onto the bus.
Lei’s stomach clenched at the sight.
Many were in tears, dreams of a glamorous cruise ship job having ended in sex slavery, with deportation imminent. At least the familiarity of their home countries would be returned to them even if their innocence was lost.
Her eyes wandered down the dock—and she spotted movement in the shadows of the bow of the ship. A giant chain anchored the cruise liner to the rubber-padded dock, and a shadow moved precariously down it.
Someone was escaping.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Stop! Police!” Lei bellowed. A man dropped off the giant anchor chain and glanced back. Ignoring lingering tightness from her injuries, Lei pushed off from the Bronco and sprinted down the dock, dodging vehicles, boxes, and piles of rope. The man broke into a run, tearing down the dock.
“Stop! Police!” This was that moment she’d trained for, bruises or not. She poured on more speed and cleared a low stanchion like a hurdler, using the extra momentum to hit the fleeing man in the back with an extended elbow. He flew forward and provided with her a nice landing pad. She straddled him, hauling his arms behind his back to cuff them.
He was still trying to drag in some air from having the breath knocked out of him as she sat back on her haunches. Adrenaline had obliterated the voice of her bruises, but they threatened a dull roar in the future from all of this activity. Pono jogged up from where he’d been helping load the women onto the bus.
“Who’s this?”
“Dunno, but he was sneaking off the ship.”
A compact square of a man, dressed in nondescript sweats and running shoes, he had the fresh-scrubbed look of a midlevel executive. His lips folded into a hard line now that he’d got some oxygen back in his lungs.
Larson had joined them, and he hauled the man up by an armpit. “C’mon down to the station, buddy, and tell us why you were taking the rat’s way off the ship.”
Lei followed them and dug her cell phone out of her pocket, where it was none the worse for wear. She pushed down the speed-dial button for Stevens.
“Where are you?” His voice was brusque.
“I called to ask you the same thing. I caught someone getting off the ship, and I want to interview him. Can you get another ride down to the station?”
“Never mind that. I’m on my way.”
Lei shut the phone and put it back.
Larson hauled her prisoner toward the transport bus, and she stopped him with a hand. “Put a guard on the anchor chain, and I’ll take him in.”
She led the man to the Bronco and put him in the backseat, then got in front. Stevens appeared at a run and jumped into the passenger side. Larson stood by the transport bus, frowning as they pulled away.
Lei decided to let Marcella know after she’d had a crack at the guy—after all, finders keepers.
My latest burner rings. It’s an unknown number. Maybe it’s the House. My heart picks up speed.
“Hello?”
“Didn’t think you’d pick up.” My MPD mole. Today his voice has got a touch of steel. Guy’s getting an attitude.
“Didn’t think I’d hear from you again.” I match the ice in his voice.
“Did you send out that dirt to my wife? ’Cause if you did, I’m hanging up and you won’t get this tip.”
I sit up straighter in my chair at the gallery office. It’s early to be behind my desk, but I get some of my best work done before the doors open and the phone begins ringing.
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Good. For you. Because I thought I’d let you know busts are going down on all the Duchess cruise ships. We’ve got the women and whatever’s in the safe on the ship in Kahului Harbor.”
My heart begins doing heavy pounding thuds. I touch my throat, and it helps keep my voice steady when I speak. “So what? There’s no connection to me.”
“That’s not all. They found the Thai girl. Lei Texeira has her.”
Lei Texeira. A thorn in my side, if there ever was one.
“Where do they have her?”
“Safe house. My job is done. Send the usual to my account, but this is my last job for you—and, I suspect, your last job, too.”
The line went dead.
Screw him. I’m not paying him one more dime, and for good measure, I take the envelope with the photos in it, preaddressed and stamped, out of a locked drawer and put it in my Out box. My secretary will post it when she comes in. That parting gesture helps with the sting of what I have to do next.
I take a deep breath, let it out on a whoosh, and activate the encryption program that I embedded months ago on the gallery’s computers, all networked together. I can retrieve the information remotely, but it will take months for anyone else to do so. The computer sighs into permanent silence as I spring up and hurry to the elevator.
I have to warn the House. I make the call on my burner as I ride up to my penthouse for the last time.
“Yeah?”
“House, it’s me. We’re blown.”
“I already heard. Pull out.”
“I’m on it.” I get out of the elevator and hurry inside to the wall safe, setting the beautiful Clements painting aside with a little inward sigh of regret. Oh well. I can buy others. “You bailing?”
“They’ve confiscated our stash on at least three ships now, and it’s going to lead back to my operation. I’ve had a good run, but it’s time to execute my retirement plan.”
“Want to meet up?”
The words trip off my tongue before I can stop them. I take the passport out of the safe along with my Sig and the bundled ten thousand dollars. I hold my breath and find myself hugging the gun and the cash. His response means more to me than I could have imagined, and my stomach knots. Damn, I should have let him take the lead—but that’s never been my style.
A long pause.
“Where are you going?” A tentative note in his dark voice. I don’t remember ever hearing it before.
“Moving around for a while. I’ll decide on the way. Dr. Aurora Middleton, art forgery expert, is doing some international traveling.”
“Get going, then. I’ll find you.” He clicks off.
I feel something hot and hungry shoot through me. He’s going to find
me. We’ll finally meet—and now I can’t wait to get on the road.
I toss the safe’s contents into a capacious Coach bag and strip out of my signature white, putting on chinos and a lavender polo shirt. Dr. Aurora Middleton is conservative, even on vacation. I go into the bathroom and get out the haircutting kit I keep handy. With a few quick, brutal snips, my long hair falls into the toilet, leaving a choppy bob that’s pretty fashionable, if I do say so myself—I’ve always had more than a few fall-back skills, and haircutting is one of them.
I put on a ball cap with pebble beach on the front and a pair of plain flat white sandals and then head out.
I have only one more thing to do before I say goodbye to this chapter of my life.
It’s time to get my hands dirty again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lei clipped the prisoner’s cuffs to a metal ring on the aged steel table in the interview room at Haiku Station. The room was small, lined with nailed-on foam waffle insulation. A rectangular mirrored viewing window punctuated the wall, and three molded plastic chairs completed the decor of the claustrophobic space. Lei switched on the hidden video camera via its switch by the door. She knew the lens was aimed at the pale, sweating face of the ship’s escapee.
Stevens sat down across from the man, giving his best grin and blue-eyed twinkle.
“Great way to start the day, right? What’s your name?”
“Rodney Farrell. I didn’t do anything.”
Lei glanced to the window, where Pono sat on the other side at a counter with a phone and computer. He’d run Farrell’s name for any priors.
“If you didn’t do anything, Rodney, why did you climb down the anchor chain like a fucking monkey? And don’t tell me it was for the exercise.” She gave a contemptuous glance at his broad midsection.
“I—owe money for a gambling debt,” Farrell stuttered.
“Well, we’re doing a completely unrelated investigation,” Stevens said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know who I owe money to,” Farrell said. “I didn’t want to get caught up in something. I took the chance to get out.”
“What’s your role on the ship?” Stevens asked. Start off slow, Lei thought. Lull him into complacency. She was having trouble with that and got up to pace.
“I’m the purser. I keep track of all the guests’ bills, accounts, and activities.” With that job, he’d definitely know whatever was going on. Lei swiveled, paced past him. Stevens went on.
“Do you know anything about some girls being kept in a stateroom on A-Deck?”
“What do you mean?” Beads of sweat popped out on Farrell’s forehead; he tried to swipe them away and the cuffs clashed.
“Bullshit. The purser knows everything that goes on.” Lei leaned in to his face. “Purser takes care of all the accounts, right? I bet you kept track of the girls’ fucking billing—and in this case, I mean that literally. The guy you owe money to happen to be the House?” Lei pressed in.
Farrell’s face whitened further. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “I’m not saying another word. I want a lawyer.”
Pay dirt. Lei made another gesture to the observation window. “My associate is going to call one for you unless you have someone local. Do you have your own lawyer?”
“No.”
“Get the public defender,” she said to the window. She turned back. “Too bad it’s the weekend. This could take a while. Mind if we go on?”
She nodded her head as she said this, and like an automaton, he imitated her.
Stevens picked up the thread. “Good. You’re small potatoes in all this, and if we get the House, your gambling debt would be canceled as a bonus. So what can you tell us about his operation?”
“I want my lawyer,” Farrell said. His nostrils flared, a rabbit smelling wolves.
“The lawyer’s on his way. Now talk.”
“What can you give me? Witness protection? A plea bargain? I’m not doing time—that guy has a long arm.”
“Tell us what you know, and I’ll tell you if it’s worth anything,” Lei countered.
Stevens cut in. “We know you are taking your life in your hands with a character like the House. We’ll do all we can.”
“Well.” Farrell sat back. “I’m counting on that agreement.”
“You’ll have it,” Stevens said, blue eyes sincere. Lei tapped her toe, keeping up the pressure. “Assuming you have something worth trading for.”
“The girls were kept on the A-Deck, nice accommodations. We’d get texts from the madam on each island for their bookings when we got into port.”
He described a well-organized operation. The girls were taken out in a van to various hotels for parties and service when in port, and kept in a warehouse on each island. This confirmed Anchara’s story. Farrell had overseen the overall operation and coordinated the girls’ schedules.
“They were treated well,” he said virtuously. “I had the medic up to check them out whenever they got back, and they had cable TV and healthy food. We even had them work out in the gym every day.”
“They were sex slaves!” Lei burst out. “They thought they were getting jobs on the cruise ships to see the world. Instead, they spent their lives locked in a room and on their backs for variety!”
Farrell recoiled, covered his face with his hands. “I never would have agreed, but I owe the House money, and he’ll take it out of me however he can!”
Stevens shot Lei a repressive look and leaned forward sympathetically. “Detective Texeira’s taking this a little seriously. We both know those girls never had much of a future, and you did what you could for them. So who was the Maui connection when they went out?”
“I only ever saw the handlers, Celeste and Kimo. But sometimes the guys came back in bad shape. Kimo said the Maui madam, Magda, liked to work them out. She had a bondage thing.” Farrell’s eyes skittered around as he blinked rapidly.
“Magda? Magda Kennedy?”
“I never got a last name.”
Lei halted her pacing. “So we didn’t find everyone, since we only got the women.”
She made a phone gesture at the window for Pono to call Marcella and make sure the male prisoners were found.
“So what about the safe?” Stevens asked. “What are we going to find in there?”
“The House used it to launder money. He’d send a lot over here from Oahu. The madam here did something with it. All I know is, the Oahu guy would bring it on and Kimo would take it out in boxes. That safe is pretty tough.” He’d obviously checked it out to see if it could be broken into. “I think Magda, whoever she is, cleaned the money for him. He didn’t have that going on the other islands. I know, because even though we ran the whores in all the ports, we only moved the money from Oahu to Maui.”
The art world was a perfect place to launder money. All those expensive paintings and sculptures that could be bought and sold—not to mention Magda Kennedy’s connection to the real estate sector. Perhaps it was the House’s money that was powering Wylie Construction even in the current economic downturn.
Pono’s broad brown face appeared in the little mesh window in the door. He was holding up a cell phone.
Lei opened the door, and he handed it to her.
“Texeira. What the hell are you doing?” Marcella didn’t sound happy.
“Just a little interview of the ship’s purser. Caught the rat climbing off the ship. I’m recording the interview, but you’d better get here fast because he’s asked for his lawyer.”
“Son of a bitch!” Marcella exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me you caught someone?”
“Why should you have all the fun? Besides, finders keepers. He’s got a lot to say. He’s a credible witness, and he’s making our case against both that snooty bitch Magda Kennedy and the House. Now we’ll have two witnesses, with the Thai girl.” Lei couldn’t help the satisfaction that had crept into her voice.
“He got a name for the House? ’Cause it
’s hard to generate a federal arrest warrant without a name.”
“Let me get back in there and see. Did you get the message about the men?”
“Yeah, we already found them at the bottom of the ship behind a false wall. They had a tanning bed, a Bowflex, and a lot of pipes in the ceiling. They’re on their way to the station.”
“Do they know anything?”
“Most of the poor dudes can’t even speak English. Nothing good from them so far. Anyway, I’m on my way.” Marcella hung up.
Lei shut the phone and handed it back to Pono. “What’s up with the public defender?”
“It’s Fujimoto on call. He wasn’t happy getting out here on the weekend, but he’s on his way.”
“Crap. Okay.”
Lei went back in. Sat down. Gave Farrell her best narrow-eyed stare.
“Got a name for the House?”
“I want something in writing on my witness protection and immunity deal before I tell you anything more.” Farrell seemed to have used the break to find his backbone, and try as she might, Lei couldn’t get him to budge.
Public defender Al Fujimoto, Lieutenant Omura, Marcella, and Rogers all arrived, all black suits and badges, and relegated Lei and Stevens to the peanut gallery with Pono. Omura had the DA on the line and an immunity agreement and protection order faxed over in less time than Lei had ever seen. Marcella slapped the document down in front of the purser, who’d begun licking his lips compulsively, a nervous tic.
“We’ve got you what you want. Now give us what we want.”
“I’ve only ever heard him called the House, but I know his money guy on Oahu. He’s an accountant in Honolulu, and his name’s Ken Taketa. He must know everything about the House’s operation. He brings the cash on board and loads it in the safe for the delivery to Maui.”
He went on to describe in detail all he’d already given Lei and Stevens. Marcella came out of the interview with a signed statement.
“I forgive you for cutting me out on this witness, but we’re even from that Kaua`i thing, now and forever.” Marcella gave Lei a hug.
