“I’m just trying to avoid having to subpoena you at trial,” I said affably. “We can do this in front of a judge, but frankly, I don’t want to waste your time, or mine.”
Guffman sighed. “Her name is Meredith. Meredith Yancy.”
I smiled casually, said, “See? That’s about all I need. And your first name?”
“Max.”
“Well, thanks, Max. I appreciate your assistance.” We turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, was anyone else in your home that night?”
“I live alone.”
“I see. And what kind of car do you own?”
Guffman hesitated, searched Flan’s eyes, then mine. “I don’t own a car. I take the bus.”
“Where do you work?”
“I work from home. I’m a marketing consultant for companies on the Web.”
“Did you know Detective Bristol?”
Guffman shook his head. “Just in passing.”
I made a show of looking over at his garage. He followed my eyes but didn’t say anything.
I reached into my pocket and fished out a business card. “If you hear anything or remember anything that might be relevant to this case, would you do me a favor and give me a call?”
“Sure.”
Guffman snatched the card from my hand, turned, and closed the door before I could say another word.
I turned to Flan. “What do you think?”
“I think I’d like to have a quick look in his garage.”
CHAPTER 26
No Honda Civic sat in Max Guffman’s garage, but it sure as hell had room for one. Everything in the garage was neatly stacked on the sides to allow space for a car, and oil stains dotted the floor. Which suggested Max Guffman was lying.
Hawaii has no statewide Department of Motor Vehicles, so we checked with the county. No vehicle was registered in Max Guffman’s name. Not now and not ever. But he did have a driver’s license, and it had been renewed only last year.
Flan and I drove back to Pearl City later in the day, after most people had returned home from work, and canvassed the area, asking if anyone was familiar with a navy Honda Civic with a Jesus fish on the bumper and a KEIKI ON BOARD sticker attached to the rear window. Not one person answered yes.
And I didn’t believe a single one of them.
“Why would the car have been parked in the street instead of in the driveway?” Jake asked when Flan and I returned to the office. Since he’d gone dry, Jake had been putting in odd hours, but not wanting to head home alone was something I understood all too well.
“Maybe his lady friend—this Meredith Yancy—was visiting him and not the other way around,” I suggested. “Maybe her car was in the garage.”
Jake swiveled his chair to gaze out the conference room windows. “What about the ear-witness?”
The ear-witness, one Mrs. Doris Ledford, was a seventy-two-year-old widow who told police she heard two gunshots then “ran” to the window, only to see an obese man bolting from the scene.
“Mrs. Ledford didn’t answer the door,” Flan said. “Her neighbor across the street said she flew to Arizona a couple weeks ago to see her grandkids. The neighbor didn’t know when she’d be back.”
“My bet is she won’t be back in Hawaii until jury selection,” I said.
Jake sighed and swiveled his chair back around to face us. “That leaves finding the Honda Civic.”
I turned to Flan. “Make a list and check every repair shop on the island. It’s a longshot, because if the HPD went to these lengths to cover this up, then they’re going to know how to keep a mechanic who does bodywork quiet. But we’ve got to try. Bring a wad of cash, and if you get any bites, wave the bills in front of them.”
“Your best bet may be the junkyard,” Jake said.
“Are you volunteering?”
“Hell, no.”
“Then I guess you’ve got that one, too, Flan.”
“Where are we with the governor?” Jake asked.
I stood from my chair, suddenly anxious. “Iryna Kupchenko told us that the victim was pregnant. And that Wade Omphrey was the father. That closes the issue on motive. But the feds are clearly hanging back until they can lock down Lok Sun. But if news of Oksana Sutin’s pregnancy leaks, Omphrey’s opponent isn’t going to need the Pharmacist behind bars to beat the governor in November.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Pretty much back where we started. Iryna Kupchenko suggested that someone was paying Oksana Sutin to lie down with the governor, and if that’s true, we need to find out whom. That means finding out exactly where these girls came from, who brought them here, and who is now renting them out as party favors.”
“And just how do you plan on doing that?”
“By having another chat with Iryna Kupchenko.”
CHAPTER 27
When I got home that evening, I was exhausted. I went to the mailbox, retrieved a handful of envelopes, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. As usual, Grey Skies greeted me immediately. I bent low, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from my neck down my back, and ran my hand through his long soft fur. I listened to him purr, then checked his food dish. Empty as usual. Skies was a big eater and he was always ready for a fresh dish of Science Diet by the time I arrived home from work. I fed him, then fed myself four Percocet and a small loaf of taro bread.
I sat on my mattress with a bottle of Longboard and flipped through the mail. An invitation from my law school alma mater for a ten-year reunion went right into the trash. Seven thousand miles seemed a bit far for a few hours of drinks with old friends. Letters from two separate school lenders followed. Then I found an unusual five-by-seven-inch manila envelope in my hand. I checked the envelope for a postmark but there was none. No return address. Whoever left this envelope dropped it right into my mailbox.
When I opened the envelope, I found a single DVD with no writing on it. I turned it over in my hand, staring at the spot where my TV had been. Then I remembered someone telling me that I could watch DVDs on my laptop computer. So that’s what I did.
With the laptop sitting on the granite counter in my kitchen, I popped the disc in. I listened to the disc spin and whir and waited until an image appeared on-screen.
The image was grainy, as though captured by a hidden camera. I swallowed hard when I recognized the wet bar in Oksana Sutin’s apartment.
I heard a man’s voice offscreen. “Can I pour you a snifter of brandy?” Omphrey’s voice. A few moments later Omphrey himself appeared on-screen. Just a glimpse of his profile, then he turned his back to the camera to pour the drink.
“No, Wade,” a heavily accented young woman’s voice called from offscreen. “No brandy. I can’t take alcohol, remember? Just tea.”
The governor slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. “That’s right. No problem, honey. I’ll gladly make you some tea. Go take your shower. Your tea will be ready by the time you get out.”
There was a time lapse. I stared intently at the computer screen until my eyes burned fiercely. Pain inched up my neck. For nearly sixty seconds no people were visible, no words were spoken off camera.
Then a scream.
I jumped as though I were in a theater as Oksana Sutin literally fell into the scene. Dressed in the same sheer nightie I’d seen her in that night at the crime scene.
On the floor, her face and neck stiffened first, then her arms and legs began to spasm. The spasms grew continuously worse, but Oksana remained awake and alert, shrieking loudly and incessantly.
My own body trembled in its entirety, but I couldn’t look away from the screen. I stood motionless, on the verge of sick, my head suddenly pounding like a piledriver at a construction site.
Oksana’s body jackknifed back and forth for what seemed an eternity, every muscle violently contracting simultaneously. It was easily the most gruesome thing I’d ever seen. The screams were far worse than any I’d ever heard emanate from a horror movie.
My legs suddenly t
hreatened to collapse beneath me. I was sweating profusely and felt faint. But I gripped the granite countertop and somehow willed myself to remain conscious.
At least until Oksana Sutin stopped screaming.
Some several minutes later the shrieking finally ceased. Oksana’s dead eyes stared at me through the computer screen, her face forever frozen in a grimace.
I remained in front of the computer screen for a long time, staring back into Oksana’s eyes. Wishing they would blink, hoping they would close.
Knowing they never would.
CHAPTER 28
I didn’t mention the DVD when I arrived at the office the next day. On my way to Honolulu, I had stopped at the Kapolei branch of the Bank of Hawaii, where I kept a safety-deposit box for just such things. For evidence I didn’t yet know what to do with.
Flan caught me as soon as I walked through reception. “I spoke with Meredith Yancy this morning.”
I listened but the fog in my head wasn’t yet ready to lift.
“She corroborated Guffman’s story, said they were together at her apartment in Waipahu the entire night of the shooting. But get this—she opened the door carrying a keiki. Her fifteen-month-old grandson, Kyle.”
“Keiki on board,” I said.
“Exactly. Her daughter and son-in-law are both military, living in Mililani. I asked her if she and Max got to spend a lot of time with her grandson, and she said, ‘Oh, yes. Max and I always take him to the beach.’ Then I asked her if she had a car, and she got real quiet. She said no, she doesn’t have a driver’s license. I checked with the county and she was telling the truth.”
“So Max is the one taking her and Kyle to the beach.”
Flan nodded. “In his Honda Civic, I think. After I saw Meredith Yancy this morning, I drove back to Pearl City and broke into Guffman’s garage again. And guess what I found in one of the boxes?”
“What?”
Flan reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of plastic meant to look like metal.
I took it from him and studied it. “A Jesus fish.”
* * *
A few minutes later the conference room door opened and Jake stepped out, leading an old man by the wrist. I took a good look at him. The old man closely resembled Flan, but appeared every bit as dead as Oksana Sutin did in the video I endured last night. I shivered again just thinking about it.
“Kevin,” Flan said, “I’d like you to meet my dad, Miles Flanagan.”
“A pleasure,” I said.
Miles stuck out his hand, and I hesitated.
“Don’t worry, lad,” he said. “Natural causes ain’t contagious.”
I took his hand, and it felt like loose bones in a Ziploc bag. “How was your flight?”
“I would’ve been more comfortable traveling in a coffin.”
“Ah, you flew coach.”
“Damn right I did. How’s an old man like me gonna fly first-class? I got two daughters who ran out on me and a wife who went and died on me. All I have left is my son, Ryan, here, and he’s a victim of the devil herself.”
I nodded, smiled a little. “Victoria.”
“Oh, don’t get me started on that cunt, lad. Ryan here married her ’cause he had his head up his ass. Thought he’d won himself a fucking trophy.” Miles shook his head from side to side, exercising the flesh on his throat. “Marry ugly I always say. I did.”
Flan frowned. “Dad!”
“No, it’s the truth, Ryan, and you damn well know it. Your mother, she was a saint, but she broke more mirrors than Hurricane Katrina.”
I kept myself from laughing.
Miles continued, “But at least she treated me right. Forty-four years and never once a word about divorce. Never once threatened to take away my kids.” He turned to Ryan. “But yours, that Victoria. She may have had the tits and ass of a Greek goddess, but she was every bit as evil and mean as Hades himself. And if I had the strength back in New Orleans, I’d have put her in the ground and buried her so deep that even fucking BP couldn’t have found her.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately Jake stepped in. “Well, it was a tremendous pleasure meeting with you, Mr. Flanagan. Your son promised to take me over to Nanakuli to visit you once you get settled in.”
“It’s a fucking death house, that place,” Miles said.
“Yes, well,” Jake said, “we’ll all be heading there someday.” He looked from Flan to me and smiled. “Some of us sooner than others.”
CHAPTER 29
The governor was dressed in a bright blue aloha shirt with yellow flowers, a lei draped around his thick neck. When I sat across from him at the conference table, he clenched his teeth and told me I’d better make this quick. “I have to return to the festival. I’m scheduled to begin a speech in less than an hour.”
“Fine,” I told him. “Let’s get right to it then. Oksana Sutin was pregnant.”
“Excuse me?”
“With your child.”
Omphrey seemed to deflate, the headful of steam released in one great sigh. “Who told you this?”
We were alone in the conference room, Jason Yi sitting just outside in reception. I’d told the governor no more games, no more aides. Yi wasn’t the governor’s wife and he could testify against him if called by the prosecution.
“A confidante who lived in Oksana’s building,” I said.
“What is her name?”
I ignored the question. “She said that you and Oksana were exclusive for the few months you were together. But she suggested someone was paying Oksana nonetheless.”
“That’s complete bullshit.”
“Then what was her source of income? How did she manage the rent in Diamond Head?”
“I told you, we never discussed those things. For me to do so would be to open a door that can’t always be closed.”
“What do you mean?”
Omphrey drew a deep breath. “The mistress of a powerful man, Mr. Corvelli. More often than not, they want things. Once you start giving, you can’t stop. And eventually, someone follows the money and you’re exposed.”
“So that’s why you never asked—”
“Exactly. Rule one, never discuss money. Rule two, never discuss your wife.”
I regarded him as I sat back in my chair and crossed my right leg over the left. “Rule three, kill them when they become inconvenient.”
Omphrey’s mouth opened wide but no sound emanated from his throat.
“I received a package in my mailbox last night, Governor. It contained a DVD, two scenes apparently captured by a hidden camera in Oksana’s apartment.”
Omphrey remained silent.
“In the first scene, you’re standing in front of her wet bar, asking if you could pour her some brandy. She reminds you she can’t drink and asks instead for some tea. You tell her to go ahead and take a shower while you make the tea. Then you reach into your pocket and fish out a small brown vial, which, if this case goes to trial, will be said to contain strychnine.”
“What the hell are you saying!”
“In the second scene,” I said calmly, “which it will be suggested occurs just a couple weeks later when you were in Washington, DC, Oksana falls to the floor and goes into violent convulsions. When the convulsions finally stop, Oksana Sutin is dead.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said in an apparent panic. “I’m being set up.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Governor.”
“What do you mean? What other explanation is there?”
“First off, did you know Oksana was pregnant?”
“Of course not.”
“Yet you knew she couldn’t drink.”
“She’d been sick. She was taking antibiotics.”
I leaned forward. “Let’s put the pregnancy aside for the moment. The tea you prepared for her that night, describe it.”
“Black tea, very strong. The leaves came in a bag like the coffee beans you buy at Starbucks or in a supermarket.”
Sweat budded on the governor’s ample upper lip. “It wasn’t poison,” he finally said. “It was cocaine.”
“Who did you get the coke from?”
“From Oksana.”
“You said directly to Special Agent Slauson that Oksana didn’t dabble in drugs.”
“She didn’t,” the governor said in a huff. “I did.” A brief pause. “I do. And Oksana procured the cocaine for me from one of her friends.”
Had Scott and I not seen Iryna Kupchenko pull out a similar vial to do a fist bump or two before she left to meet her client, I wouldn’t have believed Governor Omphrey. But as it was, I did. At least about the cocaine. I didn’t tell the governor that Iryna said Oksana Sutin used cocaine every day up until the time she found out she was pregnant with Omphrey’s child.
“I’m fucked,” Omphrey said, seemingly on the verge of tears. “My life is over.”
“These things can be explained away at trial, if it even comes to that.”
“Fuck trial. This fucking disc you found is going to be released to the press, and it’s enough to end my political career and my marriage. It has me in Oksana’s apartment, obviously for an affair. And it shows me pulling a vial of blow from my pocket.”
I reached behind me and tried to loosen the unyielding tendons in the back of my neck. With the governor’s drug use already on the table, I was tempted to reach into my own pocket and pull out the bottle of Percocet. I could crush a half dozen, and Wade and I could have ourselves a little pity party and wash away our troubles in a narcotic haze.
“If you are being set up, Governor, which this evidence does suggest, then I think it’s time to consider who might be behind this.”
Omphrey gaped. “Who the hell do you think is behind this? My opponent. That fucking scum-sucking bottom-feeder would kill his own mother to take my office from me.”
The governor’s challenger, whom I’d voted for in the primary and would vote for again in the general election, was John Biel, a candidate running on such issues as Hawaii’s declining education resulting from budget cuts, the governor’s failure to lower taxes on working families, his vetoing of the civil unions bill passed by the state legislature, and of course the environment. I couldn’t quite envision the sixty-four-year-old candidate murdering pregnant prostitutes with strychnine to frame an incumbent.
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