Silversword

by Charles Knief

  “Yo.”

  “Can you and David run the boat?”

  “What?”

  “Can you and—”

  “I heard what you said. Why?”

  I pointed out to sea. “Remember what Chawlie told me?”

  He nodded. “They’re coming for you?”

  “I have that feeling.”

  “Charles can run it.”

  “Then he’s captain if I get dragged off of here.”

  “He’s a kid.”

  “So were you once. And so,” I said, “was I.”

  The police launch came alongside and we caught their lines, hauled them in and secured the boat to Olympia. Two slim young men leaped aboard, followed by Charles’s father. Kimo looked at me, a sad expression on his moon face, and I knew that what he had to do really hurt him this time.

  “Caine,” he said, nodding.

  “Hello, Kimo.”

  “I’ve got the sad duty to arrest you on a warrant from California. The grand jury returned a bill of indictment against you for that woman in San Francisco. It’s murder. First degree.” He shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. “They were going to send the extradition team from Honolulu, but I said that I’d take you in. It’s better, yah?”

  “I suppose I’m grateful.”

  “Do I have to cuff you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Now I got one more piece of bad news. Where’s Donna Wong?”

  “Underwater at the moment.”

  He looked as if he didn’t understand. I pointed up toward the mountain. “She’s got some work to finish, and she thinks time is about to run out.”

  “How long she been down there?”

  “Half hour, forty-five minutes.”

  He nodded.

  “Got some coffee? Gonna be a long night.”

  Together we waited for the divers to return. Kimo said little. His two local escorts said nothing. They seemed content to sit on the railing of my boat and give me intimidating looks. To them I was a murder suspect, one of the bad guys.

  I watched the two cops, a kaleidoscope of images spinning through my head. Arrested. Charged. Indicted. For the murder of a woman that everyone knew I did not kill. Not even the prosecution claimed that I killed her. Most knew that I would have protected her if I had had the chance. Jail, prison, other horrors loomed. But for some strangely articulated California law and the tenacious determination of one San Francisco detective who wanted to charge somebody with something, I would not be in this situation. It had been tough before. But now it would be painful.

  And it might be a long, long time before I would again see a night as lovely as this one.

  Charles was the first diver to reach the surface. He smiled broadly when he saw his father. As soon as he crawled out of his fins and tanks he ran to the man and gave him a wet bear hug. When he realized that Kimo had come here to arrest me he backed away and stood mute.

  Donna and David returned next. She stopped still when she saw Kimo, her fear a cold blanket.

  “Donna, would you like to dress in something warm?” he said to her, a friend asking a friend something innocuous, yet the question sounded threatening when it came from someone in authority.

  “What? I don’t understand?”

  “You’ve got to come with me, girl. Your professor’s gone and got himself killed.”

  “What … does that have to do with me?”

  “You were there. Or close enough. People saw you. And you told me so, yourself. So we need to speak with you back in Honolulu about what happened that morning.”

  She stared at him, rooted to the deck by her fear.

  “Do you understand me, Donna?”

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “You are under arrest for the murder of Howard Murdock Hayes. You have the right to … to …” He mumbled the required Miranda warnings. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney, but don’t worry about it because I already called her before I left. And don’t tell me nothing. I don’t want to hear it.”

  She nearly smiled. “Am I under arrest now?”

  “You and Mr. Caine. Both of you. I’m bringing back two murder suspects, and both of them friends.” He sighed. “Get dressed, girl. We’ll wait.”

  “But …” She pointed toward the mountain.

  “Get dressed, Donna,” he said gently. “Don’t make this any worse than it already is. Tutu Mae and Neolani both won’t speak to me. I don’t like it, either. But better it’s me than somebody else. Believe it.”

  She blinked rapidly and went below, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Go put on some shoes, Caine, and lose the watch and your knife and all that other stuff you carry. Just bring some cash money. You’ll be all right.”

  “My attorney—”

  “I already called Chawlie. He’ll have somebody meet us at the jail on Beretania. They’ll be there when we arrive.”

  “You called Chawlie?”

  Kimo nodded. “Figured he already knew about it, but it didn’t hurt to call. Gave him a schedule.”

  “Charles?” I asked.

  The boy looked at me, not quite registering the significance of the events swirling around him. “You’re in charge of the boat. Stay as long as you can. Donna’s sisters will do the diving now. And David. You’re not to go into the water. I need your experience handling Olympia so you can take them home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’re not just a gopher any more. Now you’re the captain.”

  “Dad?” Charles looked at his father.

  “It’s okay, son,” said Kimo.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mr. Caine needs your help now. He’s depending on you.”

  “What about Donna?”

  “She’s only a suspect. But I’ve got to take her in.”

  “It’s not right.”

  Kimo nodded. “I know, son. But it’s what I got to do.”

  25

  We will fight extradition, of course,” said Tala Sufai, sitting across the stainless steel counter. We were separated by a heavy gauge steel mesh covering the opening between us, and by her freedom to get up and walk away from this place. I would remain, my desires no longer important. Now they were more basic. Like living and breathing, and making it through each single day, one at a time.

  I had been underground for four days. I’d had regular visits from Daniel and Tala. Even Gilbert had come once, bringing small white cardboard boxes of dim sum, most of which I shared with the jailers. Chawlie had sent doctors and nurses to give me regular checkups. And Tala was only one of the attorneys assigned to my case. If it hadn’t been for the circumstances, I would have been honored by all of the attention.

  “You still have some rights, you know,” she continued. “They just can’t ship you off to another state without a hearing. And we can make it cost them.”

  “But I’m still in jail,” I said, thinking about the low concrete bed, the stainless steel toilet, and the steel door with the tiny window opening into the underground passageway. My temporary living quarters were in the basement jail of the Honolulu police station. I hadn’t seen the sun since Kimo had driven me into the underground garage and locked me in.

  “Bail will be set and your friend will meet it. Normally they would keep you here—or at Halawa Prison—until your hearing, but in this case the judge will allow bail.” She looked at me, a smile gracing her handsome face.

  “You sound sure of yourself.”

  “It’s been arranged.” Tala smiled at me and put one large palm onto the screen, as if she wanted to pet me. “This is a serious case, John, but we will fight it here. If they get you to California, well … it’s a first-degree murder charge. The district attorney alleges special circumstances. Your life is in jeopardy. It’s not that you killed anybody. From what I understand you actually saved lives. But the law does not distinguish. A woman died. An innocent. You participated, they claim, in a gun batt
le that was the proximate cause of her death. The State alleges that you committed a felony that either directly or indirectly led to her death. Therefore under the law, you should pay for her death.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You shot back. With intent. The formal charge is felony assault with intent to kill. In California, there is the modifier, ‘With the use of a firearm,’ that makes it worse and qualifies you for the additional penalties. The police officer on the street there—not even a real cop, but a reserve officer, out on parade duty—he is their star witness. He claims he saw you with a gun in your hand and that he saw you fire that gun at the sniper.”

  “That’s self-defense.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. That may be the way we’re going to present it. The trick is to get a judge over here to look at it that way.”

  “And so I’m the bad guy?”

  “According to the law in California. Fortunately, since Hawaii does not have capital punishment, California will not ask for the death penalty. Only life without parole.”

  I shook my head, feeling drained. “They don’t have a weapon.”

  “Part circumstantial evidence, part eyewitness. You wore a holster on your belt when you were brought into the emergency room. That implies that you had a gun in your possession, even though they can’t produce the gun. It also argues premeditation. The prosecution has the holster, bloodstained and ugly. The fact that it’s your blood is unimportant. It’s a grisly piece of evidence. How a jury will react to it is another consideration. Since it is your blood, the prosecution might not want to offer it as evidence. If they do I’ll make them sorry that they did. I almost hope that they will.

  “And there is an eyewitness who will swear that you had a gun in your hand. All of which they will have to bring over here to satisfy a judge in Hawaii before they can try you in California. Hawaii does not have such a law, and I’m going to work hard on that part of our case. Judges don’t like to challenge the efficacy of other states’ statutes or regulations. There is a chance that the judge might see things my way. You never know.

  “But don’t get your hopes up.

  “Not every extradition request is honored. Sometimes a local judge may feel that the prosecution from the other state may be a little overzealous. Let’s hope this is one of those times.”

  She mopped her forehead with a white handkerchief. I thought it chilly down here in the bowels of the police station, but Tala apparently felt more heat than I did, as if all of the pressure was on her.

  “In the meantime, we’ll know what they have through discovery. That’s our best and first line of defense at this stage. We will know what they know, and then we’ll find how to beat them.”

  “What about Donna?”

  “According to the prosecution you are a potential witness in her case. I have no idea what they have as yet because they haven’t released any of their information to me. But they’ll have to do so soon. I think they’re still pawing through the traces right now, and they’ll find out that she could not have killed Professor Hayes.”

  “I worry for her. The timing could not have been worse.”

  “You’ve got problems enough without worrying about her.”

  “She’s my client, too. I have to worry about her.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “How soon can you get me out of here?”

  “I made no guarantees, but I might know where I can find a judge who agrees with my position that you are Mr. Upstanding Citizen, despite all evidence to the contrary, and I’ll get you released on bail by tomorrow. Maybe the day after. You’ll have to surrender your passport and sign some papers, but you should be free.”

  “Even in a capital case?”

  “There is no precedent for this in Hawaii. Normally murder is murder. Except the D.A. in San Francisco wants to put the guy in prison who saved two people. Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I did not mean to be impolitic. The point is that there is no law in Hawaii like the one in California. Here it is not a crime. Here it would have been self-defense. So you never know how the judge will rule.

  “Hopefully, we’ll get one that hates California.”

  “Easy to do.”

  “You have reason to feel that way.”

  “You’ll need an investigator on the Wong case. I’m already working for her.”

  “You want to investigate her case while you’re out on bond?”

  I nodded.

  “Terrific.” Tala closed her eyes. “Just terrific. But okay. You got it. It’s crazy enough to appeal to me. I like it.” She got up, leaving me sitting there, handcuffed to the other side of the screen. “Sit tight, Caine. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll have you out of here in a day or so.”

  “I’ll stay here. Promise.” I raised my right hand, rattling the chain.

  She smiled. “You do that, John. And quit worrying.”

  “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  Tala nodded her understanding.

  “Do some push-ups,” she said.

  26

  Inmates call it “Hang Time.” I’d never thought of it before, but that’s exactly what it was: not living, but hanging. In suspended animation.

  Hanging in a hole in the ground, in a concrete room three paces each direction, ten feet square, with a concrete bench that doubled as a bed, a stainless steel toilet and a drain in the floor, was like being shelved. There was a lot of waiting, watching the television camera in the ceiling, the one that watched dispassionately as I slept, or paced, or used the toilet. An accused murderer, I had no privacy. As a guest of the City and County of Honolulu, my movements were monitored, restricted, and chaperoned on the rare excursion from my cell. I was a prisoner, a commodity to be housed.

  Daniel came every day. Tala was busy, he reported when she didn’t make the visit. Trying to get me out. Working the system.

  She was preparing for my hearing.

  Daniel’s voice would probably never heal. The bullet that grazed his vocal chords had given him a permanent whisper, along with a red wandering scar across his neck from the bullet wound and the tear that I had inadvertently caused. To some people that would have been a tragedy, an occasion for scarves and plastic surgeries. But with Daniel I could tell that he liked it. He was young, and it provided additional menace to his already threatening countenance. He wore an open silk shirt, the top buttons exposed to better show off his trophy, a reminder of the day when he and Chawlie had almost joined their ancestors.

  As Chawlie’s top lieutenant, Daniel sat outside the jail while I remained inside, something that I was sure the local cops found amusing.

  “Howzit?” he asked, the question a quiet growl.

  “No problems,” I responded, keeping it simple. Daniel may very well be Chawlie’s most brilliant son, or nephew, or whatever he is to the old outlaw, but he prefers to keep his verbal intercourse within narrow limits. In that way he is very much the young Chawlie, the one I had first met years ago.

  “How’s that lady attorney working out?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “We had that other one for you. Big-time defense guy. You want this broad?”

  “I’ve seen her in action. I trust her.”

  He nodded, his eyes shinning pebbles regarding me through the wire mesh.

  “People say you’re gonna have to go to California.”

  “I suppose it’s true.” I knew that Daniel meant Chawlie when he referred solely to the generic.

  “People say you should be all right, though. Not to worry.”

  “What have I got to worry about?”

  That made him smile, although it could have been gas. The corners of his mouth rose and fell in a fraction of a second, returning his face to its normal condition, empty of expression.

  “You made the papers.” He handed copies of the Star Bulletin and the Honolulu Advertiser to the guard, who searched them and slipped the papers under th
e mesh.

  “I’ll read them later,” I told him.

  “There’s a television reporter who wants to interview you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Tell him no.”

  I nodded. Too much coverage could be detrimental to my friendship with Chawlie. Daniel’s mission was to convey Chawlie’s displeasure, should the reporter actually put my face on television.

  Not that they would. I have a face, as they say, for radio.

  “You need anything?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” He stood up, the interview over. Daniel’s mission was over. He got the information he had sought, and he delivered the message he had been sent to deliver. Daniel never asked questions out of sentimentality or concern. I had no idea if he liked me or not and it didn’t matter. I had no idea if I liked him, either. But I had saved his life, and the life of his patron, and that did matter to both of them.

  I watched him walk away, a big man, not tall, but broad, carrying himself in such a manner as to convey a greater height and weight than he possessed. It was a practiced walk. Some would call it macho or pretentious. But there was nothing macho about him, if you look at the original intent of the word. Daniel was merely tough and deadly, and he literally was the prince of the kingdom. Like the princes of old, who stayed that way because they were the toughest in the land, not merely because of their birthright, he would have to fight for the throne once the king had passed. Every day he had to prove himself anew, rewarding friends and allies, punishing or eliminating enemies and rivals.

  “Let’s go,” said the guard.

  We walked down the long, harshly lit concrete corridor to my cell. Cameras buried in the ceiling followed me everywhere. The place smelled of disinfectant that almost blocked the odor of urine. Somewhere in the block someone pounded on a steel door and screamed a continuous unintelligible wail, a protest, I was sure, to the forces that had conspired to confine him here. My door was a solid steel affair set in an iron frame poured into the concrete wall of my cell. Only a tough plastic window, nearly opaque from prior guests’ ravaging attentions, provided me with an impaired view of the corridor. It was my only view of the world outside of my four walls.