by Toby Neal
“I guess. And probably, functionally, there is a degree of that through families receiving end-of-life care.” Ken blew on his coffee. “I’m sure there’s a bigger dose of morphine than normal here and there that no one’s looking into. But legislating that? It just opens a door with potential for too much abuse.”
“I’m just sick, thinking about Betsy.” Lei stirred the remains of her chili. “Corby too. Why did he want to die? It’s so weird.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out. Glad we got involved with these cases—I think they’re going to get way too complicated for HPD to track.”
Lei was still thinking about a young athletic runner struck down with progressive paralysis. “I wish I’d never heard of ALS. I was better off not knowing about it.” Her hand trembled, and she reached up and held the pendant at her neck, rubbing it. “Think I need a cup of coffee too.”
“I’ll go call Waxman and check in.” Ken set a couple of bills on the table and stepped outside.
Lei waved the waitress over and ordered a coffee to go. She opened her wallet and spotted the fortune from her grandmother’s lap desk. Shape your destiny.
She turned it over, looked at the phone number written on the back in her grandmother’s precise handwriting.
Life was short. Maybe this was someone who had known her grandmother, someone special who could help Lei know Yumi a little more. On impulse, she took her phone out and punched the number in.
It rang. And rang. And rang. No voice mail came on the line, and she punched off, feeling deflated.
She took her coffee in the to-go cup and left cash on the table, pushing out through the glass doors to get on the road to the next DyingFriends member’s house.
Robert Castellejos had once been a tall man, but age and pain had bent him over. He was bowed with a tension that was evident in deep grooves beside his mouth and tightness around lashless, browless eyes. He served them tea, hot and sweet with honey from his own hives in the avocado orchard out back.
“Lost all my hair a month ago. Chemo.” He rubbed his shiny pate. There was a tremor in his hands that never quite went away. “DyingFriends is a godsend. I can just be real on there. No one knows how to talk to a dead man walking.” He gave a little bark of a laugh.
Ken began his spiel on what they were looking for when Lei’s phone toned. She looked down and saw it was the mysterious number from the back of the fortune. She held up a finger.
“Gotta take this.” She strode rapidly through the modest house and out onto the front porch. “Hello?”
“Hello.” A deep voice with a little bite to it. “Who is this?”
“You first. Who is this?”
“You called me. So you first.”
Lei frowned. He didn’t sound very friendly. “Okay. My name is Lei. I found this number in my grandmother’s things. I was calling to see if you knew her. Yumi Matsumoto.”
“Lei? Lei Texeira?”
A frisson of alarm shot through her at being recognized. “Yes,” she said cautiously.
“This is Marcus Kamuela. Why are you calling this number again?”
“Marcus! Is this your phone?”
“No. Please answer the question.” His voice was all cop.
Her brain raced. The phone must have been picked up somewhere in the course of a crime if Marcella’s boyfriend the detective had it. The less she said, the better. She decided to go on the offensive.
“Why do you have the phone if it’s not yours?”
“Police business. Answer the question, please.”
“I already did.”
A long pause. He must have decided to back off, because when he next spoke, his voice was conciliatory. “Lei. Listen, I was just surprised to have this phone ring and have it be someone I knew. So, you said something about the number and your grandmother?”
“You still haven’t told me why you have the phone.”
“Well, it’s a burner. And it was in the possession of a man who’s been murdered. So you can see why I need to find out why you were calling.”
Lei’s throat closed. She couldn’t think. A long moment went by, hissing in space, and she saw the ghost of Kwon laughing at her. Anything she said could make things worse.
She hung up on Marcus Kamuela with an abrupt punch of the button.
Somehow she got through the rest of the interview with Robert Castellejos, which was mostly over by the time she went back in. She accepted the jar of honey he insisted each of them take. “I’ve got a month or two to live, and it makes me happy to give this to you. Would you deprive a dying man of feeling happy?”
Throughout, she felt numb and terrified. Her muted phone vibrated repeatedly and angrily in her pocket.
Chapter Thirteen
Ken drove as they headed back toward Honolulu. Their last interview had ended them up near Sunset Beach on the North Shore, so they’d done a complete circle around the island. The wide-open fields between Haleiwa and the downtown Prince Kuhio Federal Building where their offices were located gave Lei’s dry, gritty eyes somewhere to rest. She leaned her head against the doorframe and watched the bowl of sky and sea of green flow by.
“What’s going on with you?” Ken asked, darting a glance over at her. “Something’s wrong.”
She’d never told her partner about the debacle with Kwon. “Nothing. It’s just these dying people. So depressing.”
“You got that right. Rich or poor, doesn’t seem to matter. Everyone is alone in the end.”
Lei looked over at him, concerned by an odd note in his voice. “You won’t be alone. I would never let that happen.”
“You’ll be off with Stevens. Probably raising a family. I’ll still be working. Hopefully I’ll go down on the job.” His jaw was bunched as his hands squeezed and released the wheel.
“You’re thinking you’re never going to find someone to love. You will.” Lei didn’t know how she knew, but she did. “You might have to come out of the closet, though.”
“You don’t know what’s at stake. It would kill my parents.”
“I’m sure that’s what Corby thought too, but I think his mother, at least, would have wanted the truth.” She looked over at her partner. Maybe unburdening herself to him, sharing her fears, would lighten his. She was tired of keeping secrets from someone so close. Ken, in spite of his sometimes-rigid adherence to protocol, was someone she knew she could trust. “Okay. I’m going to tell you with something big, and you’re going to have to believe me.”
“Lei, you’re not a good liar.” His grin was a flash that made his face startlingly handsome. “I’ll be able to tell.”
“Well, this situation began a long time ago. Remember I told you I was abused as a kid? It was sexual abuse. The doer was my mom’s boyfriend, a guy named Kwon. She was an addict, and he moved in on us after my father was popped for dealing.”
Ken frowned. “Wow. I knew you had it rough, but that’s quite a story.”
“Yeah. Prepped me for a job in law enforcement. Anyway, Kwon raped and abused me over a period of six months when I was nine. After he left, my mom died of an overdose. I still don’t know if she meant to or not.” Old pain made Lei’s hand steal up to rub the white-gold pendant hanging around her neck. “After I became a cop, I found Kwon. He was in prison for pedophilia.”
“At least they got him. So often, they don’t.” Ken glanced at her, frowning.
She filled him in on her confrontation with Kwon, his murder. “It’s Kamuela’s case. He’s getting nowhere with it, but the guy’s like a dog with a bone. I’m afraid something will connect me to Kwon and that day.”
“Jesus. And I mean it as a prayer.”
“Yeah. So then I decide I need to find out who murdered him so I can stay ahead of it. Kwon had a lot of people with motive after him. My dad thought maybe my grandfather Soga Matsumoto had something to do with it, so I got over myself and reconnected with him. Which has been good, until he gave me this box of my grandmother’s things. And today I
called a number I found in the box.”
“Yeah?” he prompted when she wound down into a long silence.
“Today I called the number. No answer. Then my phone rings and it’s Kamuela. Says my number came up on a murder victim’s phone.”
“Shit,” Ken said. They’d entered the maze of freeways that marked the edge of the city. “You don’t know whose phone it was, then.”
“No.”
“So you don’t know if there’s any connection to Kwon. All you know is you found a number in your grandmother’s things, you called it, and it’s the phone of a murder vic.”
“Right.”
“Not good,” Ken said. “But not necessarily anything to do with Kwon.”
“I know. Kamuela’s not going to believe I didn’t know anything about it. Especially with the source of the number. It’s on a fortune that says ‘shape your destiny.’” She fumbled it out of her wallet, held it up. “I hung up on him, but I know I have to talk to him, explain.” Lei’s stomach knotted. “I can’t be telling Waxman all this. Another skeleton in my closet, like the Changs.”
“What do you mean? The Chang crime family?”
“Yeah. We have history—my dad killed the Chang family head in prison. Self-defense, but that didn’t stop them from trying to take him out over the years—and one of their sons came after me too.”
“Your life is kind of a crime soap opera, you know.”
“I know, right?” She smiled at Ken. “Even though we scooped up a lot of organized crime connections in that big case on Maui, the Changs managed to wiggle out of any prosecution. I’ve been dreading a case that brings that old history out to bite my ass, like this Kwon thing is threatening to.”
“Nothing could be further from organized crime thugs specializing in gambling and drugs than an online suicide club. This case is a lot of things, but it’s not dangerous to anyone but the already dying.”
“I know. I’m just so freaked out about it all, with Kamuela breathing down my neck. Feels like those skeletons want to come out of the closet and dance. Wreck my career, wreck my life.” Lei pinched her leg through her pants.
“I’ll help you. We’ll keep it on the down low. For all you know, it’s a coincidence that your grandmother had the number in her belongings. That’s all you know right now.”
“You’re right.” Lei sighed. “I’m paranoid. I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“I’m glad you told me. Imagine how much worse it would be if you had to keep sneaking around, lying to me while you tried to deal with it yourself.”
“Stevens knows, but he can’t help me over here.” She reached over, touched his arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“I’m just glad you did. Big thing to carry and get through alone.”
Lei felt affection suffuse her, an unfamiliar feeling that made her eyes prickle with tears. She had people who loved her—and better yet, people she’d let herself love back. Ken had just joined that select group.
Back at the Bureau, Lei contacted Ang and the three of them converged on Waxman’s office to brief him on the activities of the day. Lei looked out the window, where late-afternoon sun sparkled on the ocean and poufs of cumulous cloud scudded across the bowl of sky. All of it was tinted gray by bulletproof glass. She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to the call she needed to make to Kamuela, how it could make her a suspect and stress her friendship with Marcella.
What a mess.
“Agent Texeira!” Waxman’s voice snapped her head around. She’d tuned out Ang and Ken’s summary of their findings so far. “What are your thoughts here?”
“The situations of the DyingFriends members we visited are terrible,” Lei said, thinking fast. “The site seems to be providing some much-needed support and interaction for them. So far, no hint of any wrongdoing.”
Ang cleared her throat. “Actually, while you guys were canvassing, I was burrowing around in the site and planting suicidal threads under my identity. I got a ping on it just before I came here. An email from a masked location.” She’d printed the email and looked down to read it.
“’Dear ShastaM, you have been invited to a deeper level of commitment and sharing on DyingFriends. If you accept this invitation, you commit to keep all interactions and communications confidential.’”
Ang looked up. “I accepted. I’m waiting for a confirmation link that will take me into this deeper level. This could be the door we’re looking for.”
Lei didn’t envy Ang her role impersonating a dying person, making virtual conversation and trying to lure the administrator out of the shadows—doing techie things on a computer all day. Once again she was glad of the diversity of roles within the FBI.
“Good.” Waxman steepled his fingers, pale blue eyes tracking them. “So to summarize: We are looking for a group or individual practicing assisted suicide. The people who are participating are so far already dying. Have you come across any garden-variety depressed people so far? Not dying?”
“No, sir. The ones we’ve visited so far were definitely dying,” Lei said, remembering each face with a tiny internal shudder.
“I have come across people in the chat rooms who call themselves ‘existentially dying,’” Ang said. “The parameters of the site are such that actually having a life-endangering disease or condition is part of joining. But these people found a way around that. They have their own subgroups.”
“Okay. So when I account to my district director, I know what he’s going to ask me. Is this case the best use of the FBI’s time and resources? Is there a crime worth pursuing, that we can prosecute, being committed by an individual or individuals we can bring to trial?” Waxman narrowed his eyes.
The three of them looked at one another. Ken finally answered. “This is going to be one of those shades-of-gray cases, sir. It’s criminal to assist in another person’s suicide as the law stands. In the case of Corby Hale, his death was at worst a murder and at least an unnecessary suicide. The boy had AIDS but could have lived a normal life span with proper care and medication, which his family would have provided. Alfred Shimaoka still had up to six months to live—granted, painful and unpleasant, but still life he was entitled to.” Ken steepled his fingers, unconsciously imitating Waxman. “I don’t think we have enough information yet to say if it’s a good use of the FBI’s time and resources. I do know that this is a case that crosses state lines, may have a ripple effect and cause other sites to spring up, and at least once has resulted in a premature or unnecessary death: Corby Alexander Hale the third, a senator’s son.”
Waxman smiled, sat back. “Good. I wanted to hear our rationale articulated. I think we need to get to the heart of this site, who’s behind it—and that person or persons are whom we will bring to trial. Dismissed.”
Out in the hall, Lei glanced at Ken, relieved the meeting was over but apprehensive about where she was going next—to meet Marcus Kamuela. “I’m going to take off a little early. Got some personal business.”
“It’s Friday, so I won’t see you until Monday. Want me to come with you?” His eyes told her he knew what that business was.
“No, but thanks for asking. I’ll call you.”
Lei walked away and heard Ang. “What was that about?”
She didn’t hear Ken answer, but she knew he’d keep her secret. That’s what friends and partners did—and maybe someday she could add Sophie Ang to that handful of friends.
Chapter Fourteen
Lei had arranged to meet Kamuela at the dog park. Keiki was feeling frisky, at least as frisky as a middle-aged Rottweiler ever got. The sight of the big black dog lumbering and snorting with the tiny matching Chihuahua bouncing beside her as they played gave Lei a much-needed lift—that and looking out across the yellow arc of beach at the radiant sunset beginning, piercing the clouds over the ocean with golden arrow rays.
She closed her eyes, tipped her head back, did a couple of relaxation breaths, letting the freshness of a tiny breeze off the wate
r ruffle the curls on her forehead, wicking the sweat from the run down off the mesh athletic shirt she wore. She longed for Stevens with a sudden hungry fierceness, wishing for his solid, calm strength beside her, his arms around her.
“Hey, Lei.” Marcus Kamuela’s deep voice. Her eyes snapped open. She sat upright as Marcella’s boyfriend, with his intimidating physical presence, sat beside her on the bench. “You were a million miles away.”
“Yeah, just thinking about our latest case,” she lied, feeling her cheeks heat up with that awful blush she’d struggled with all her life. “Long day.”
“Yeah, well, imagine being me at the scene of a homicide, picking up the vic’s phone, calling the last number, and having it be you.”
“Freaky it was a homicide.” Lei’s heart had jumped to trip-hammer speed. Stay calm, she reminded herself. You don’t know anything yet. “I kind of freaked out talking to you today. I was in the middle of a witness interview when I took your call, and the personal business was throwing me off. I apologize for hanging up on you. I knew I needed to talk in person to explain.”
Kamuela had a handsome Hawaiian face with classic features: broad brow, wide nose, full chiseled lips. Those lips were set in a line, and there was another one between his angled black brows. He hunched big shoulders. “I’m meeting you here and not at the station because you’re an FBI agent and a former cop and my girlfriend’s best friend. I really don’t want this to be something I have to bring you in for, but you hanging up on me didn’t help.”
“I know. So here’s the deal.” She sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, giving him a lot of eye contact. “My grandfather gave me a box of my grandmother’s things last night. That number was written on the back of a fortune cookie slip. On impulse, I called it. I’ve been trying to find out more about her because she’s dead and I never got to meet her.”
“Fortune cookie,” Marcus repeated, incredulity in his tone.
“Yeah.” She’d brought the slip of paper, already in a small paper evidence bag. She handed it to him. “The number’s in her handwriting. I included samples for analysis if you want that. Didn’t seal the bag because I knew you’d want to look.”
