I hadn’t seen the sun since I’d come here. Tomorrow or the next day I would be in court. Hopefully, the courtroom would have windows. This was my ultimate punishment. More than the deprivation of my liberties, tossing me into a hole in the ground away from a gentle sun and my rainbows was a slow death.
So I lay down on the thin green pad that I used as a mattress and read the Advertiser and the Bulletin and tried to avoid any mention of my name.
“They’re in the wire!”
I look at the man as he push me into the wall, holding me there, pinning me with the long bayonet, I never before seen such hatred on anyone’s face.
I awoke quietly and lay still, my body bathed in sweat, disoriented and unsure of my whereabouts, unaware of the line between dream and reality. I consciously controlled my breathing, panting quietly and shallowly, not daring to make more noise than was necessary. I did not remember if I had screamed. The cell had an eerie light at all hours of the day and night, so the time didn’t matter. Down here there was no dawn and no sunset, no day and no night. The place was always in dim light, like a barely remembered dream.
My nightmare began to feel like an old friend compared to my current reality. At least back then I could run away. Maybe not far, but I could move beyond this three-pace room. Here I had no choices to make. Here all the reality I could find was in four cold walls, a low concrete ceiling and a hard, sterile floor. Nothing else exited. Not here. Outside, people were walking the beaches, celebrating life, making love, fighting with their spouses, taking exams, earning their daily wage.
My breath no longer came in shallow pants, and I found I could take a deep breath and feel the calming influence of that simple action. As long as I could breathe I still held some hope that there must be a way out of this. I had Chawlie on my side, and Tala Sufai, and Kimo. There were cracks in the prosecution’s case that Tala would turn into chasms. I scolded myself because I knew there had been warning signs, demanding introspection. I might get out of here, and I might have another chance to discover what was important in life, and what was not.
God knew I had the time to think about it.
The door opened and I sat up.
A guard motioned for me to come with him.
“You’re a popular guy today, Caine,” said the jailer with a wry grin. He was not a bad sort. Aside from the fact that he would prevent me from leaving, I found I could not dislike him. “Your attorney’s here.”
I stood up, stretched my back—that concrete mattress was about as firm as they had, I supposed—and followed the guard. If Tala was here it was because she had news.
Introspection could wait.
27
You’ve read the newspapers?” Tala carried the same edition of the local paper I had back in my cell. She was clearly unhappy, the implication that whatever she had read had been responsible for her current disposition.
“I haven’t had the time.”
“Well, maybe between your hair appointment and aerobics class, you might squeeze in a minute or two to take a look. I need to know if they printed the truth.”
“Now I’m curious.”
“I took you at face value, Caine. Referred by Kimo’s grandmother, I thought you were just some retired Navy stiff who augmented his pension with odds and ends. If half of what the Advertiser wrote is true my job is going to be twice as difficult. Now I’m beginning to understand why the DA filed on you. With your background …” She hesitated, staring at me through the mesh. Looking at those angry eyes I was almost glad I was behind the screen.
“With your background,” she continued, “I began to understand why law enforcement has a hard-on for you. District attorneys seldom bring charges for cases they don’t think they can win. It’s as much a political decision as a legal one. Normally—for normal people—a case like this would have been an automatic non-filer.” She shook her head, as if trying to deny the reality.
“But when I read that you killed eight people last year on Kauai—”
“It was self-defense.”
“Don’t interrupt me. It’s rude. You killed eight people last year. And before that you were somehow involved in a dozen murders in California and Mexico, and—” She held up her hand before I could speak. “And you killed that snuff film producer before that. Some say you executed him and dumped his body at sea. You did all that and got away with it. You literally walked away from more killings than Charles Manson. You were a free man. You got a free ride for all of it. And then you flew to San Francisco, carrying a concealed weapon, and shot it out on the street like it was the OK Corral. You didn’t ask permission. You just assumed that you could get away with it again.”
“It was self-defense, Tala.”
“All of them? That’s a stretch.”
“It’s all true. I was outnumbered, my life was in danger.”
“Wyatt Earp was a deputy marshal when he shot it out with the Clantons in Tombstone. And he was indicted for murder. He had to leave the Arizona Territory. He never went back.”
“I believe there were political implications.”
“You’re going to have to explain many of your actions, Caine.”
“You weren’t there.”
“You going to say that to the judge? The jury? You weren’t there? That’s your defense?”
“It will take some time to explain.”
“The Advertiser is calling you a hired killer, an assassin with a lot of blood on your hands. Is that what you are?”
I raised my hands in surrender.
“Where were you when Howard Hayes died?”
“Is that your defense for Donna? Blame me?”
“Professional ethics forbid it, seeing as you’re also my client. But it’s a fascinating concept.”
“What are you saying?”
“You are a liability to your own survival. I am now convinced that the California DA might have a decent case. Your background will hang you if they can get it in, and they’ll find a way to get it in, regardless of what the rules of evidence and the United States Supreme Court have to say about it. Any good attorney could sneak this in, get it in front of the jury.”
She sat there looking at the newspaper in front of her, slowly shaking her head. “I can claim that you were the victim. The bullet that killed Jackie Chang came from the same gun that shot you. We can argue that you were a hero, saving Daniel Choy and Chawlie Choy from certain death at the risk of your own life. I mean, my God, you got shot yourself. But once they put your past on trial, parading one law enforcement officer after another in front of the jury, and all of them loving to see you burn, you’re sunk.”
She folded her hands in front of her and held my eyes with her own. “You ever see some old actor get an Oscar for a lukewarm performance, and you know that he got it for his entire career and not for just that one movie? Remember John Wayne in True Grit? That’s one example. Well, you’re up for a citation, boy, and it’s no honor. You have to remember that if you are convicted it won’t be for this one act in San Francisco, but because of your entire life of violence.”
She put on a pair of half-glasses and studied the newspaper. “The jury will not be sequestered, you know. If the DA is smart this will be in the San Francisco papers. Your jury pool will already be poisoned before you ever get to court. And judges read the paper, too. Some of them even like seeing their names in print.” Tala opened the newspaper and went to the second page, running her finger down the left part of the page until she came to what she was looking for.
“Do you recall an officer on our neighboring island of Kauai? Guy named Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Tyler told the Advertiser that you killed eight people last year and then fled the country. Is that true?”
“It was less than eight.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“Jesus Christ, Caine! Do you want me to debate the definition of ‘is’? Did you really kill seven people?”
“Six,” I said, recalling Margo’s last-second recovery, saving me by putting three bullets into Danny Fenn’s heart just before he put one through my head. I never knew if I had killed the captain of that boat that followed us. His body never turned up, but then again, neither did he. It would be better if I didn’t mention it.
“Six. Not eight. Six. Only six people? You’re sure?”
“Six.”
“What were they? Women and children? Cripples? Sick old people begging for euthanasia? Or did you bother to ask? Just got up one morning on the wrong side of the bed and said to yourself, ‘It seems like a good day to kill six people?’ If I’m going to represent you, I need to know these little details.”
“Where is this headed?”
“I’m trying to make up my mind whether or not to withdraw from this case. You’re not helping.”
“They were armed professional assassins. Ex-soldiers. They had been hired by the brother of Thompson, the serial killer I supposedly executed a few years ago. I was protecting a client in Kauai and these guys just started raining grenades on us from out of the blue. It was a miracle we both survived, but the only way we could survive was to kill every one of them. They had been promised a million dollars to bring back my head.”
That sobered her. She looked at me, her eyes wide. Then something changed behind her eyes. She transformed from a professional listener to a judicious thinker again. “Were these soldiers from Australia?”
“Ex-soldiers.”
She considered that.
“May I ask if you have personal knowledge of what happened to the man who hired these assassins?”
I shook my head.
“No, I may not ask? Or no, you have no knowledge?”
“Let’s not get into details.”
“God damn you, Caine, you might as well just plead guilty and get over with! And I’m not the one with the hard job. I’ve got to represent you at your extradition hearing. Your California attorney will have to explain all this to a jury. But I’ve got to get a judge to agree that California law does not apply here in Hawaii. We have no law equal to it, and so if I strictly argue the technical points we might have a chance. But only if the judge doesn’t read the papers.”
“Fat chance, huh?”
“Yeah. And the two cases are linked in the press, your San Francisco gunfight and the murder of Professor Hayes. Just like the press to get them both confused. Even the Wall Street Journal ran an article. Not about you, but about the Honolulu case. It’s got everything that sells: a scholastic scandal, murder, the implication of Spanish treasure, political and historical possibilities, and even a hint of sex, just dropped in by the reporters to keep the hoi polloi interested.”
“Nothing I can do about that.”
“Existentialist, aren’t we today? There’s nothing you can do about anything right now except help me try to save your neck. Kimo’s got his hands full running down the source of the story. Some of Donna’s files were posted on the Internet. Whoever’s doing it is using the same server in Sweden that puts out child pornography. They won’t reveal their clients to anyone; they’re very proud to be serving scumbags.
“We’re presuming that the reports on the Internet had been in Professor Hayes’s possession when he was murdered because they don’t cover the location of the site. Their publication has caused a minor uproar within the local Hawaiian community. There’s people hopping mad out there. Some of them don’t even know why they’re angry, they just know that they’re plain pissed off.”
“How’s Donna?”
“How’s Donna? Your neck is on the line and it’s ‘How’s Donna’? She’s fine, is how our Donna is. She wants to get back to the site. That volcano stopped erupting the morning you were brought here, so her sisters are working that new area she uncovered just before you both were arrested. There’s even more stuff back there, so it’s going to take more time.”
“So how is she?”
“She reads all day and works on her paper. In jail, out of jail, she works.”
“Tell her I hope she’s fine.”
“I’ll give her the message.” She leaned back and looked at me through the wire mesh, staring at me as if I were some wild animal that deserved to be caged. “I’m not mad at you, Caine. Not really. I just don’t like to be surprised by what I read in the papers. I try to run a professional shop. I like to know my clients. I didn’t know that you were a mass murderer when I took you on.”
“Will this affect the possibility of bail?”
“Not really. You were never charged in any of those deaths, so previous adjudication will prove helpful. They were arguably self-defense. You have some community leaders who will stand up for you. You have an impressive military record, and you have the history of standing up and taking whatever the state throws at you after one of these episodes. I can even understand that time after Kauai. From what Kimo tells me, you didn’t run just for yourself, you were protecting your client. That’s a plus in my book, not a negative.”
“You’re still my attorney?”
“Oh, yeah. You do this well on the stand tomorrow and we’ll be fine.”
My brain stumbled, tripping over the multiple implications. “You want to go over that one more time?”
“This was a test, Caine. You didn’t get angry, you didn’t collapse, you answered my questions under pressure. And with some grace. I wanted to see how you acted when the heat was on. I think you’ll do fine for your hearing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“A bail hearing. I’m trying to get you out on bail so I can string your extradition hearing along. With luck, we might delay it for weeks.”
“Is that good news?”
“You like living in this hole?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll bring you a suit. You do own a suit?”
“Aboard Olympia, off Hawaii.”
She nodded to herself, considering the implications. “Okay, what size?”
“Forty-six long. Pants thirty-four, thirty-four.”
“You’re sure?”
“Haven’t changed for decades.”
“I think you’ll look good in gray. It’ll go with your jailhouse pallor.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled at me, her eyes warm and expressive, a far cry from how she had looked at me earlier. “I’ll try to get you out of here, John. I can’t completely protect you from California, but I’ll make them bleed a little when they get here, and I can lay the groundwork for your defense over there. Just do what you did today and don’t worry. I’m a damned good lawyer and I’m smarter than the average bear, and we’ll make those suede-shoe California boys think twice about trying to drag one of our kama’ainas back to California just because he was trying to protect himself and his friends from getting gunned down in the street. Their street.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“It may be only a bail hearing, but our focus is to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”
She gathered her papers and stood up, her arms full. “Oh by the way, Wyatt Earp came to California and was busted for carrying a concealed weapon. In Alameda, in fact, just south of where you had your troubles. They fined him fifty dollars, which back in those days was a lot of money. He left the Bay Area after that. Never went back. I don’t think the place agreed with him.”
She paused on her way out, looking back at me and smiling in a maternal kind of way.
“If you get out of this, and I hope that you will, you had better think of old Wyatt the next time you return to the Bay Area. It apparently didn’t agree with you any more than it agreed with him.”
28
Then hearing seemed pro forma. Tala had done her spadework prior to stepping into the courtroom. The prosecution was local and listless, as if this were a favor for a distant and demanding cousin. California was not directly represented. The hearing had been set so fast they could not react, and so they had reluctantly agreed to let a local prosecutor s
tand in for them.
The judge was a tiny blond haole woman with a no-nonsense attitude and the air of a harried schoolteacher. We were on the docket with two dozen other cases. When the bailiff announced “People of California versus John Caine,” we assembled before the judge. I felt no particular terror at this stage of the proceedings. The experience so far, aside from my time spent in durance vile, had merely made me feel like a kid sent to the principal’s office.
Tala explained why bail was in the best interests of the State of Hawaii, the prosecution had no objection to my immediate release if I handed over my pistol permit and passport, and everyone rested, waiting for the judge’s decision.
I could see the fine and invisible hand of Chawlie somewhere in the proceedings. But only the bailiff was Chinese. Everyone else was something else.
It apparently didn’t matter.
The judge levied a fifty-thousand-dollar bail, which Tala immediately put up in cash. She also handed over my pistol permit and my passport; the realization that Kimo had been in charge of the documents while I was in jail explained how Tala had so instantly acquired them. I was told that I could not leave Oahu without written permission from the court, but that was my only restriction. Before I could thank the judge we were hustled out of the courtroom, the bailiff called for another criminal to stand before the bar of justice, and I was a free man.
Relatively speaking.
Tala, Felix and I walked from the courthouse into a brilliant Honolulu afternoon. The day was so pretty and the sky so blue it seemed punishment enough just to have been inside.
“You still have a hearing on the extradition matter, and it won’t be as easy as this one,” said Tala, as we strolled along a jacaranda-shaded boulevard. We ambled toward the Sunset Grill, one of those clean, dependable restaurants within walking distance of the courthouse that did a quiet but steady business on a weekday afternoon. “The judge had been inundated by requests for bail from members of the Honolulu Police Department. Your cooperation on another case was cited as the reason, along with your public spiritedness, and your sterling character.”
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