“Be ready,” I said calmly to his back. “Because I’m going to call you to testify on Monday.”
“Don’t,” he said, looking back at me from the doorframe. “You’ll be making a big strategic mistake, Corvelli. One you might not be able to come back from with this jury.”
I lifted the Hawaii Penal Code off the table and held it up in front of him.
“The only mistake,” I said, holding the heavy book, “would be you not telling the jury the truth on Monday.”
I opened the hollowed-out code book and allowed him a glance at the running microcassette recorder inside.
“Because, Detective, I have every goddamn word you just said on tape.”
Tatupu took a step toward me, eyes blazing, fingers curling into fists.“So help me, Counselor, if any harm comes to my family, you are going to wish you never even heard of these islands.”
CHAPTER 51
I ate four Percocet, then entered the jail, signed in, and asked to see Turi Ahina. During the wait, the pills kicked in, but I didn’t feel quite as good as I would have liked. That’s how it is with pills. It gets so that the anticipation is more exhilarating than the payoff.
Once Turi and I were safely sealed away from the world, I said, “Lying to me about Mindy Iokepa was a no-no.”
Turi shrugged his colossal shoulders. “You know why I did it, Mistah C.”
I stared at him. “Makes me wonder though.”
“Wonder ’bout what?”
“What else you’re lying to me about, Turi.”
Turi shook his head, shifted in his seat. He remained quiet for longer than I would have liked. “That’s it, Mistah C. I was just trying to protect Mindy and my keiki.”
In the last twenty-four hours my mind had been working overtime, running through scenarios in which I could truly fuck things up. The possible state prosecution for the murder of Alika Kapua still bothered me. But worse was the thought of harm coming to John Tatupu or a member of his family. After what I had done, that was something I knew I could never come back from, even though my first duty was to my client. Even though Tatupu had no right at all to withhold information that could potentially free an innocent man.
“I am about to put another man’s life on the line to save yours, Turi. So I need to know the truth.”
“I told you all the truth awready, eh?” he shouted at me. “What you think, Mistah C?”
For a few moments the room fell quiet. I eyed Turi the way I might eye a prospective juror during jury selection. I wanted to read his mind, to know exactly what he was thinking. Whether he was telling me the truth or manipulating me, feeding me lies.
I decided to come right out with it. “I think that maybe Doris Ledford really only heard two shots. I think that maybe there was no third bullet, and no navy Honda Civic with a bullet hole in it.”
Turi didn’t flinch. His good eye remained locked on my face.
“I think maybe Masonet really did order a hit, only it wasn’t on you, it was on Kanoa Bristol. In that case, of course, Kanoa Bristol wouldn’t have been the assassin; it would have been the other way around.”
Turi still didn’t flinch even as I accused him of being a cold-blooded killer.
“And I think maybe that five thousand dollars you had wasn’t for Mindy, it was yours. Your payment for assassinating Kanoa Bristol, a dirty cop who had decided to come clean and corroborate another cop’s story.”
Turi said nothing, just stared at me with that one good eye, the other still hiding behind a bandage.
“Tell me, Turi, is it just a coincidence that Mindy Iokepa and Karen and Brian Haak are Facebook friends? Or is that how Mindy found this random Honda Civic standing behind Karen’s mother and Max Guffman?”
Turi backed his chair away a few feet, the metal legs screeching.
“Tell me, Turi, did you contact Tam after we left his bar in Chinatown? Did you tell him that this whole jet thing was a scam devised by the feds?” I punched the table and said through gritted teeth, “Tell me the truth, goddamnit!”
Turi said in a low voice, “The truth is, you paranoid, Mistah C. And I know why, eh? I can see it in your eyes. I seen it at the trial. Before that even. You high, brah. You always high. What you on, eh? Oxy? Vicodin? Percocet?”
I suddenly felt smaller than the room we were sitting in. My heart raced, my jaw exercised on its own. “You lied to me about Mindy,” I said again, almost in defense of myself.
“Yeah, brah. But not ’bout nothing else, yeah? The rest, it’s the demons in your mind tellin’ you these things ’bout me. Everything you just said, I don’t have the smarts for all that. Maybe some crazy motherfucker like Masonet, eh? But not me. Me, I’m a thug, Mistah C. You, you the one with the mind that works like that. You, Mistah C, you could be a thousand times the criminal I ever was. ’Cause you a million times smarter. And a million times meaner.”
* * *
I spent that entire night sitting up on my mattress in the living room, unable to sleep. I had just accused a man who’d saved my life of an elaborate plot against me. And I’d accused Mindy Iokepa, a helpless single mother caught in a hellish situation, of being in on it.
The sliding-glass door to my lanai remained open, and trade winds blew in from the sea. I was dressed in nothing but boxers, yet I was still sweating. Sweating and trembling and trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
I thought about the governor and whether he could have hired Lok Sun to murder Oksana Sutin. Did Omphrey know she was pregnant? Did he know she was a spy? Either was reason enough for him to off her.
Or was it whoever hired Oksana Sutin to spy on him in the first place? Could it have been his opponent John Biel or someone who worked for his campaign?
Could it have been Pamela Omphrey? After all, she’d admitted at the fundraiser to knowing about the affair.
It wasn’t my job to determine a client’s guilt or innocence. I wasn’t supposed to care. I asked for the truth from my clients only so that I could devise the best strategy to get them acquitted, guilty or not. My objective was supposed to remain the same in every case. Defend my client to the best of my ability. What was I doing, sitting up in the middle of the night, trying to discern truth from fiction?
Not long after I flipped my lights on that morning, I received a call from Jake. “Turn on the television, son.”
I stared at the spot in the living room where a television had once been. “Don’t have one, Jake.”
“Then go to the Internet.”
“Why?”
“Because they just pulled a woman’s body out of Lake Wilson in Wahiawa this morning. They haven’t identified her yet, but the description sounds a hell of a lot like Iryna Kupchenko.”
“A lake?”
My head felt dizzy with exhaustion, and the sharp pains rising in my gut did nothing to jerk my mind into motion. If the body was indeed Iryna Kupchenko’s, then I was directly responsible for her death. I came close to crying right there on the phone, almost screamed at the top of my lungs. I nearly broke down and begged Jake to take my place in court, to handle Tatupu’s direct examination.
But in the end, all I said aloud was “I didn’t even know Oahu had any lakes.”
CHAPTER 52
Judge Narita gazed out over the gallery and said firmly, “Is there anyone protecting and serving our island today?”
He was referring to the dark blue uniforms overflowing the courtroom. More silent witnesses than I could count, none of them cheering on our side, the side of right.
“This is not Aloha Stadium,” Narita continued. “If you would like to support your fallen comrade, you may do so with a select group of representatives, no more than six, I’d say. Having a gallery full of law enforcement may not be grounds for reversal on appeal, but I do believe it hinders the defendant’s chance of receiving a fair trial. So before I call the jury in, I would ask that all but six uniformed police officers leave. You have three minutes to decide amongst yourselves which six that will be.
If there are more than six officers remaining after those three minutes, I will clear the courtroom. Your three minutes begin now.”
Narita rapped the gavel, and behind us, chaos ensued.
I took the unexpected free time to turn to my client. I leaned toward him and said, “I apologize for my behavior yesterday. Sometimes I take the role of devil’s advocate a bit too seriously.”
Turi nodded. “No worries, Mistah C.” With his good eye, he glanced back toward the gallery, at the dozens of cops, any one of whom would gladly have put a bullet into his skull. “I just ask you one favor, yeah?”
“Anything.”
“If I get convicted and go to prison, brah, I need you to take care of Mindy and my keiki, eh? Specially if something happen to me on the inside.”
I bowed my head. “You can count on it, Turi. But I have a much different outcome in mind.”
Fifteen minutes later the jury was seated, and I had called the next defense witness. Detective John Tatupu sat in the witness stand just as he had in my last two homicide trials, only this time he was my witness, a witness for the defense.
“Good morning, Detective.”
“Counselor.”
I didn’t waste any time. I walked the detective through his long, winding career with the Honolulu Police Department, slowing only to focus on his years in Homicide and his abrupt transfer earlier this year to Auto Theft.
Then together, cop and defense attorney, we entered the abyss.
Tatupu testified at length to what he had witnessed over the past several years within the department. He had discovered drugs and money recovered from raids missing from the evidence locker. Observed officers within several divisions, including the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, receive envelopes filled with cash from businesspeople and known drug dealers. Overheard plans for off-duty officers to carry contraband to the islands from Mexico and the US mainland. He had seen officers offer prostitutes, drug dealers, even perpetrators of domestic violence, leniency in exchange for sexual favors.
Tatupu testified that he had taken his complaints first to Internal Affairs then to Chief of Police Patrick McClusky but received no satisfaction. He’d been warned by more than one officer to mind his business or risk losing his badge, or worse.
I repeatedly glanced in the direction of the prosecution table. Throughout my direct examination of John Tatupu, Dapper Don had plenty of opportunities to rise and object, on the grounds of hearsay in particular. But instead of rising and offering objections, Dapper Don sat riveted, listening to Tatupu as he set the entire Honolulu Police Department on fire.
“Let’s turn specifically to the Narcotics Intelligence Unit,” I said. “Did you know Detective Kanoa Bristol personally?”
“I did.”
“Did you ever witness Detective Bristol engage in any of the illicit behaviors you mentioned earlier?”
“I did. In May of 2007, I witnessed Detective Bristol accept an envelope filled with what looked like large bills from a known ice dealer in Makaha.”
“How did you happen to be in Makaha during that time?”
“I was investigating a fatal stabbing at the apartment complex in which this known drug dealer lived.”
“Did you confront Detective Bristol following this transaction?”
“I did not.”
“Why not?”
“Because by this time I had already witnessed similar events take place and I had brought these issues to both Internal Affairs and Chief McClusky, and I was essentially told by each to mind my own business and stick to investigating homicides. And I had already been physically threatened by a member of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit.”
“You were threatened by whom specifically?”
“Detective Ray Irvine.”
Tatupu went on to say that he witnessed Detective Bristol accept cash again in March and December of 2008, July of 2009, and February and November of 2010. In July of 2011, Tatupu witnessed Bristol receiving oral sex from a known prostitute in a parked motor vehicle on Monsarrat Avenue across from the zoo.
When Tatupu said this, Bristol’s wife, Dana, stood up, cursed at the witness, and exited the courtroom.
During Tatupu’s testimony, I watched the twelve jurors and three alternates. They seemed jaded, and I feared the gravity of what the detective was testifying to wasn’t getting through. We had started the trial with raw violence, and now they were hearing about envelopes and blow jobs and Internal Affairs investigations that never happened. I needed to turn the dial, return them to the world of gunshots and bullet holes and dead bodies.
“In your capacity as a detective in the Homicide division,” I said, “did you ever investigate the murder of anyone associated with a gang known to compete with the syndicate known as the Masonet Organization?”
“All the time.”
Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to, Kevin.
“During any such investigation did you ever suspect members of the Honolulu Police Department, including the officers of the Narcotics Intelligence Unit, to be involved?”
Tatupu took a deep breath, then repeated, “All the time.”
At that moment I revered John Tatupu even more for staying on the job all these years. I couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult it must have been for him investigating homicides on this island. I instantly forgave him his mistakes in the Gianforte investigation and fully understood his reluctance to testify here at the trial of Turi Ahina. John Tatupu was an extraordinary man, but a man just the same. A man once charged with the impossible task of solving the most heinous of crimes on an island gripped by corruption.
How, I wondered, do you begin to solve murders, how do you begin to control violence, when all the usual suspects wear guns and badges and dark blue uniforms, and every witness you discover is determined to remain deathly silent?
CHAPTER 53
“If they come after me, Corvelli, I come after you.”
John Tatupu spoke these words in my ear once he was finally released from the witness stand late in the afternoon.
Once the courtroom cleared out, Jake and I gathered our things, walked down the hallway, and stepped into the empty Lawyers Room.
“Tatupu was right,” Jake said immediately. “His testimony alone isn’t going to prove enough. At the end of the day the jury might want to pat Turi on the back for shooting Bristol, but they’re not going to acquit him of Bristol’s murder.”
I turned on my cell phone and punched in Audra’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail.
“I fucked up,” I said, running my hand through my hair, which was damp with sweat. “I should have went with a straight defense. Explained away the five grand in Turi’s pocket with Mindy Iokepa, hammered away on the fact that there was no gunshot residue on Turi’s hands or clothes, carved up the eyewitness, and brought in a dietitian to explain to the jury how many obese men live on Oahu.” I rested my elbows on the folding table and dropped my head in my hands. “I’m a terrible fucking lawyer.”
“You’re an excellent lawyer who employed a terrible fucking strategy by forgetting that trials aren’t about getting to the truth.”
Jake was right. Somehow in the months since Erin’s suicide I’d grown a conscience with respect to my moves in the courtroom, and it was going to kill my client. What the hell had I been thinking?
“All we have left,” I said, “is Max Guffman and our own ballistics expert, who can’t really say much of anything at this point unless it’s framed in a hypothetical.”
“What about putting Turi on the stand?”
“I can’t. If I put him on the stand, we have to talk about the gun, and that opens the door to the gun’s history and the bullets found in Alika Kapua.”
Jake was flipping through his yellow legal pad. “Let’s not forget who this trial is really about.” He tapped a page where he’d written one name in large letters across the center. “The man who either ordered Kanoa Bristol to execute Turi Ahina or at the ve
ry least was the reason behind Bristol’s murder attempt.”
M A S O N E T
Strangely enough, just seeing the name helped me retain focus. “You’re right, Jake. It’s all about Masonet. I have to start at the beginning. After the raid on the Tiki Room but before the shooting.”
“Where does that put you?”
I hesitated, a rotten feeling filling my gut. “Chinatown,” I muttered.
I stared at the page with the single name and thought about my next step: returning to the bar where the feds’ plan to capture Masonet went awry. I had to confront the giant, Lian, and Tam himself. Find out who Tam relayed Turi’s message to. I had to trace that message all the way up to Masonet himself.
And if Masonet hadn’t yet left the island …
Maybe he could be captured before Turi’s case was given to the jury.
I stared at Jake’s page, envisioning myself back in Chinatown with Scott and his Walther.
M A S O N E T.
The letters began to move on the page.
T E N O S A M
10
O
S A M
“Son of a bitch.”
Jake looked up from the folding table. “What is it?”
“A number, a letter, and a name.”
I jotted them down and slid the legal pad across the table back to Jake, cursing myself for not seeing it sooner.
“So?” he said.
“So that’s the code if you want to score a high-priced harlot in Honolulu.”
“You mean…”
“Yeah. Orlando Masonet is behind the Eastern European sex trade here in the islands.”
It made perfect sense. The night of the shooting in Pearl City, Audra told me the feds suspected that, in addition to the manufacture and sale of ice, Masonet controlled the four G’s in the islands: girls, gambling, guns, and ganja.
“What does that mean for Turi?” Jake said.
I thought about it. “Maybe nothing. But what it means for me is that I don’t have to go back to a deadly dive bar in Chinatown to try to track down Masonet. What I have to do is head on down to Waikiki and pay a long overdue visit to Gavin Dengler.”
Last Lawyer Standing Page 19