by Tyler Colins
“He worked as a construction estimator at the demolition company for eight months.”
“Given he may be a traitor, I wonder if the guy played both sides of the fence back then,” Linda mused aloud.
“We need to do some serious digging into Colt's Picolo days,” I stated.
“Accessing in-depth details may be difficult. You don't want to set off any red flags: they may alert Coltrane.”
“Thanks for the caveat. We'll be careful. Now, what do you have on Kent?”
“The man must consume energy drinks hourly; he's like a Mexican jumping bean. I began following him after he left work yesterday. He went to a gym near his house for ninety minutes, grabbed a burger, stopped at a bar to meet a pal for a quick beer, and took a drive to Pearl City, where he entered a shabby single-family home for fifteen minutes before returning to Aiea. After following him home, I stood sentry until eleven, when the lights went out.”
“Do we know whose home that was?” Linda asked eagerly.
“The missing Coco Peterson's. I returned at ten this morning and talked to a couple of neighbors. According to Mrs. Parsons, part-time diving instructor and cat owner – ten at last count – the only people to stop by were two Jehovah's Witnesses, a Boy Scout, and the postman. Mr. Justin, a retired water-slide tester, saw a light on around midnight on two occasions.”
“But he didn't see anyone?”
“Nope. As soon as he stepped onto the lanai, the light went off.”
“Figures,” Linda sighed.
“Right now, Winche's still in the office. I'll call tomorrow with another rundown. If you want me to continue after that, let me know.” He disconnected as Rey entered.
“Wow,” I breathed. “You look stunning.”
“Ya think?” She twirled on wedge sandals. A matching bag and black form-fitting capris with a silky orchid-themed blouse completed the ensemble. “Good luck at Colt's tonight. Okay, my dears, I'm off to get this party started. I'll keep the guy out as late as possible.” She blew kisses.
“Hey, Miss Sunshine,” I called after.
She turned at the door.
“He may have been in Picolo's pocket once upon a time.”
An eyebrow curved like a Roman arch while Clara Bow lips curled into a Snidely Whiplash smile.
* * *
“Can you believe we actually got in?” Linda whispered, closing the door to Colt's condo with an elbow. She passed one of two pairs of purple latex gloves and slipped into hers.
“People, even young nerdy security guards like Heath, tend to hold a certain reverence for religious persons,” I said softly, slipping mine on.
Locating a switch behind a brass coat stand, I turned on track lighting that ran the length of a mirrored wall. It provided spotlight-bright illumination.
The 700-square-foot condo was sparsely but expensively furnished. A glass-top dining room table with four acrylic ghost chairs stood in one corner while a white leather sofa and matching love seat rested in the other. A sizeable white-and-black shag area rug covered a third of a white-oak hardwood floor. Even the artwork lacked warmth or feeling: six large oil paintings depicted exaggerated geometric shapes in various shades of gray and white, and muted red.
“Clean and cold,” Linda murmured.
“And barely used. It seems more for show,” I murmured in return.
“Where shall we start, Sister Sixto?”
I squeezed her shoulder and, glancing at a stark silver clock behind a small bar with a glacier finish, gestured ahead. “You take the high road and I'll take the low. We've got thirty minutes.” In half an hour, Gail would be in the lobby to provide an impromptu distraction so that we could return the master key without Heath having [hopefully] been any wiser.
Like gazelles, we leapt ahead – Linda into the kitchen and I into the bedroom. It, like the living room, was predominantly white. Two alabaster nightstands sat alongside a king-size bed, which served as a coordinating piece to an elegant hardwood armoire.
I peered under the bed, ran hands between and under the mattresses, and then moved to the nightstands. One small drawer held tissues, condoms, and a tablet with a foldable Bluetooth keyboard; the other contained three spy novels, a dog-eared address book, and two packages of mint gum. There were no tucked-away business cards, photos, or documents of any kind. The names in the address book would be of little merit I suspected; someone with Colt's background and training (and probable delinquency) would not keep important/notorious contacts readily accessible.
I was pretty certain there'd be nothing of significance to be found, but never say never, right? Focused and resolute, I moved to the armoire … the closet … and the bathroom.
A half-full bottle of Tom Ford Oud Wood (the man had upscale tastes) rested on a glass shelf alongside a crystal soap dish with two fresh bars of Jack Black soap. Every toiletry a man might possess was to be found. Items not expected: a bottle of multivitamins and two of St. John's Wort. Interesting. Who'd have guessed he suffered from depression and/or anxiety?
“Any luck, Sis?”
Jumping, I whirled to find Linda leaning into the doorframe. “None. You?”
She sighed and crossed her arms. “Other than discovering Colt has a love of muesli, all things pickled, and salt-and-vinegar chips, no.”
I scanned the immaculate bathroom. “He's pretty OCD.”
“And then some. Everything in the kitchen is alphabetically arranged.”
I scanned again.
“What are you thinking?”
“It's not always possible – or convenient – to return to Kapolei. If this were my undercover home base and I needed to keep something significant or handy here, I'd hide it … neatly and discreetly.”
Linda checked her watch. “We have seven minutes.”
“Works for me.” As I dove into the task, Linda shot back into the living room.
“Gut, prove me right,” I beseeched softly, dropping to my knees and shoving my head and shoulders into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. I felt along the base of the sink, pipes and boards, and then pawed through packages of toilet paper, tissues, and toothpaste. Then I performed the search in reverse, just to be sure.
…Could it be? Yes. A flat box was duct-taped in an uppermost corner. Did I dare remove it?
“Two minutes,” Linda called softly.
To hell with it – oopsy – to heck with it. I pulled and yanked, and after tucking the find in a zipper pouch beneath my tunic, met Linda by the coat stand. Reaching for the light switch, I nodded to the door.
She opened it slightly. “Here's to Gail having some decent acting talent.” She winked and crossed herself.
* * *
“That was surprisingly simple,” Linda exclaimed as the two of us slipped into the back of a rented Volkswagen Jetta.
Gail climbed into the driver's seat. “The need-to-take-my-Digitalis routine came in handy.”
“You've used it before?” Linda loosened her veil as Gail pulled onto Kalakaua.
“A couple of times,” she grinned. “Where are we off to?”
“Colt's Kapolei house.”
She looked into the rearview mirror, astonished. “Another B&E?”
“Technically, what we just did wasn't B&E. We borrowed a key and returned it,” I said airily, slipping off the lightweight garment.
“Hey, no boob flashing. Are you trying to get us arrested?” Gail jested.
“I have on a tank top, not to worry.”
“Did you discover anything?”
“Yeah, the guy likes white and ultra modern,” Linda replied saltily.
I pulled out the box and played with the heavy, gummy tape until I could pry open the lid. “In the words of Cousin Reynalda: whoa Nelly.”
Linda leaned close and peered in. “Dang.”
“You want me to crane over while driving?” Gail asked pertly.
I held the box so she could easily view two small cell phones, replicas of the one Kent had found in Jimmy Picolo's Bisho
p Street office – moments before it was decimated.
* * *
“There's room in that box for four more cell phones. Assuming these serve as incendiary devices, one was used for Bishop Street and the other for Eddy's,” I said.
“If you're right, I wonder what the other two are intended for,” Gail said worriedly as we watched Colt's two-story townhouse.
At 7:30 p.m., the heavily-treed street was dim, but there was enough street lighting to see that the house, fencing and property, like the condo, were immaculate and predominantly white.
I removed binoculars from the duffel bag and smiled dryly. “Maybe he's planning on giving the rest as gifts.”
Linda chuckled and continued slipping on sneakers. “It's hard to imagine Colt bombing Picolo's office –”
“Are we absolutely sure he's responsible for the explosion?” Gail took the B&E kit I passed and eyed it with a frown.
“Not one-hundred percent,” I replied, recalling that night. AC/DC, Buddy's favorite band according to Kent, had announced the cell phone's presence. …Why her favorite band?
“Ready, ladies?” Gail passed fresh latex gloves.
“Yeah – uh, no.” I nodded to a black Honda CR-V that was pulling up before a shrub-lined townhouse next to Colt's. “It appears we have company.”
A tall slim male in dark clothes and a long baggy hoodie that obscured a turned-down face ambled to Colt's front door and rang the bell. When no one answered after the third ring, he hastened back to the car.
“I can't make out the license plate,” Gail grumbled.
“We're too far,” I acknowledged. “Maybe we should follow.”
“Leave the following to me,” a raspy voice advised through the open window.
Linda and I flinched while Gail whipped out a Beretta and aimed … at Petey May.
Chapter Thirty-One
“I hope you know how to use that thing,” he said crisply.
“Count on it.” Gail aimed for his face.
“He's on our side,” I advised hastily and, once she lowered the gun, made introductions.
Peter slipped into the passenger's seat.
“Shouldn't you be following?” Linda demanded, motioning the car far down the road.
“I'm guessing that Winch is heading home.”
“That's Kent Winche?” Gail asked sharply as we peered at disappearing taillights.
“After he left the gym, he met a guy named Walter Fowle at the corner, grabbed keys for that Honda, and got in. I checked and it belongs to Fowle.”
“He obviously didn't want to be seen arriving in his flashy vintage sportscar or without concealing his face.” Linda eyed Petey. “How can you be sure he's headed home?”
“I said I'm guessing,” he said with a cheery smile. “You asked me to tail him for a couple of days, so I did, but if you want me to continue, I will.” He motioned Colt's place. “What brings you here, dare I ask?”
“We were planning on checking it out.”
“As in trespassing?” he asked wryly.
“As in entering without an invite,” Gail responded flippantly.
He scanned her face and then looked back to the townhouse. “Someone with this guy's background will have alarms, as well as tricks to keep tabs on people entering 'without an invite'. There'd likely be webcams and built-in mikes to listen for intruders – er, sorry, uninvited guests. And I'd expect computers and digital devices to be either locked down or encrypted.”
Linda and I gazed at each other with oh-oh expressions.
Petey looked from my dismayed face to Linda's distressed one and whistled softly. “My dear ladies, allow me to provide a couple of common-sense reminders. One, it's illegal to enter someone's home without them knowing. Two, further to my previous comments: Coltrane will not only know someone's been snooping, he'll know it's you. Oh, how about a third one? You could be arrested.”
Linda, Gail and I shared guilty gazes and sheepish smiles.
“Moving on,” I said with forced brightness. Pulling out my cell, I made a call. “What's our good friend Mr. Winche up to? … Really? Game of Thrones and a couple of beers? Sounds like a nice, quiet evening. No, nothing, just checking in. …Yup, all's fine here. Let's touch base in a day or two.”
“Aww.” Linda smiled cynically. “The lad's having a quiet night.”
“So he claims,” I said dryly. “But he might have wanted to ensure there were no car or street sounds in the background.”
“Do you want me to continue following the guy?” Petey asked.
I looked at Linda and she nodded. “You'll luck in better than us.”
“You did pretty good,” he smiled encouragingly. “You discovered the guy has a relation to a potential traitor.”
“That's too weird.” Linda frowned. “I don't see Kent threatening homeland security or being into drug dealing, or anything of major illegal consequence, so how did he and Colt hook up?”
I had to agree. “But we do have one link: the cell phones.”
“You mean the bombs,” Linda said.
“Bombs?” Petey asked warily.
We told him about the Bishop Street incident and Eddy Galazie's flat.
“It appears that the two conspired to blow the office up,” Gail told Petey. “Either Kent brought it with him that night or Colt planted it earlier.”
“Kent can easily get into the office at any time, courtesy of Henrietta Bicce, the EA. And Colt has the agent-slash-spy talents to access it whenever he chooses, so either scenario is possible,” I acknowledged.
Gail's brow puckered. “The question now is: why?”
* * *
At midnight, Linda and I were seated with “the kids” on a copper-colored modular sectional sofa in the large L-shaped living room of her and Rey's twelfth-floor condo. We'd dropped Gail at her Kuilei Street condo building in the Moiliili area after she and Petey had joined us for spicy wings and lite beers at Dave & Buster's.
Our two pals had discovered mutual interests – bowling, pizza, hiking and trekking, and strudel (who'd have guessed the P.I. had a thing for layered fruit-filled pastry?) – and by the time chocolate cake arrived, had developed an obvious interest in each other.
We'd just finished typing case notes when Rey waltzed in, a yellow plumeria lei suspended from her neck. Bonzo and Button scampered across the room. Laughing, she dropped her bag on the long kitchen counter, kissed Button on the nose, and scooped up Bonzo. “Silly-billy boo-boo.”
I exchanged a blithe smile with Linda and she merrily asked, “Great date?”
“It was fun, I have to admit,” she replied gaily, settling into the corner of the sofa. “Who's going to share their evening events first?”
“You are,” Linda and I replied in unison.
She grinned and started patting Bonzo as he snuggled his fuzzy bunny face into her neck. “The sail was fabulous, thanks to an awesome sunset and nummy Mai-Tais.”
When land-bound once again, the couple had strolled along Kalakaua, dropped into The Cheesecake Factory for coffee and salted-caramel cheesecake, and then stopped at the Sheraton for brandies. All in all: a pleasant if not innocuous evening.
“He did ask the same question about the Picolo case four times four different ways – how were we faring in the quest to prove Buddy Feuer innocent, did we have any concrete ideas as to who the killer was, did we think we'd be bringing closure soon, and what strategies did we have in place for bringing the killer to justice.”
Linda leaned forward eagerly. “What did you disclose?”
“Nothing he wouldn't have come across in the news or that wouldn't have been obvious P.I. 'strategies'. But I did throw in one little tidbit to see if it might spur him into action.”
Linda and I eyed each other anxiously.
“Look, we can wait for him to decide to take action, which could be weeks from now, if ever, or we can trick him into doing something.” She patted Bonzo's head affectionately and placed him beside Button.
“S
he's got a point,” I said to Linda and she nodded. “What was the tidbit?”
“That we believed a couple of company embezzlers were behind the murders – to keep their dark secrets hush-hush.”
I liked the idea of throwing a curveball. Would Colt catch it?
Rising, she got her bag and pulled out two photos. One showed her and Colt before a colorful catamaran, with Diamond Head in the background. The other was of Colt. Telling him she wanted a solo pic for her dresser, he was more than tickled to pose – and pay – for a second one.
“Let's flash Mr. Coltrane around, starting with Emilio. He's been around a long time, so he may have noticed Colt back when.” She looked from her best friend to me. “So ladies, do you have something to blow me away, like the blustery breezes on the ocean very nearly did this evening?”
Linda offered an impish grin. “This'll blow you away – off your feet and on your ass.”
* * *
The three of us met Emilio for lunch Thursday at a small Hawaiian restaurant not far from the plant. Over Kahlua pork, we showed him Colt's photo.
After staring at it for a full moment, the thickset gent nodded. “I think … yes. Colt Colter. You couldn't easily forget that odd name. He had platinum blond hair back then and was even more muscular, like he did daily weightlifting. He worked for Balz, the demolition company. Jimmy had fired his financial staff, so – on lengthy loan from the plant, as it were – I'd also been working there at the time. Colt would drop by the department with estimates and budgets fairly regularly.”
“Do you think you can dig into old financial records to see if anything unusual transpired back then?” I asked, hopeful. “Maybe you can search for surplus payments to Colt Colter, or suspicious contracts bearing his name, or anything that seems out of the ordinary.”
“I'll give it my best shot,” he promised. “Do you think he's Jimmy's killer?”
“If he's not the killer, then he knows who is,” Linda stated briskly.
“I'm thinking we should show the photo to George Franken … and Kent, too.”
Linda and I regarded Rey inquisitively as Emilio tucked into steamed cabbage.