“She means to bury it.”
“Volcano bury it, I think. There’s not much time.”
“Then there’s not much I can do about that.”
Chawlie nodded. “As you said, you just have to trust sometimes.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Yes,” he said. “Chawlie never want John Caine to take himself seriously. All these thoughts, all these proclamations. You need a woman, my friend. Someone to take your mind off of tomorrow.”
“Angelica’s gone.”
“You go now. You’ll find her when you return to the Royal Hawaiian. Chawlie asked her to move out this afternoon, but told her to return after I had spoken with her. And with you. She will make this night one you can remember for a long time.”
I nodded. It might have to suffice. I was not too proud to feel grateful that Angelica would be there to comfort me with her sleek, warm body and the talents that made me smile. She was the pleasant diversion to keep me from dwelling in the dark regions I might be tempted to visit if I spent the night alone.
“Thank you, Chawlie.”
“Hurry, John Caine,” he said, smiling.
37
You feel okay?” Tala leaned across the table and straightened my tie. I didn’t think it needed it. It just seemed an easy way for her to show concern.
“Fine,” I said.
“You sleep well last night?”
“Yep.” The truth was that I hadn’t slept until early this morning, and then my old friend the nightmare had awakened me, this time with a surprise visit from Ricky Lee. Between Angelica and the Vietnamese warrior with Ricky Lee’s face, I had managed to get in an hour’s sleep. Maybe less.
“We’re scheduled fourth,” she said, ignoring my curt reply. “That means we’re up around ten o’clock. We’ll have to be there when they call the cases, but then we’ll just have to cool our heels until the other hearings are done. It’ll be a breeze. You’ve done it before.”
I nodded and took another sip of Starbucks’s best, wishing I didn’t have to claim experience for such things. Felix sat on a banquette across the room, watching people come in and out. He’d been castigated by Daniel for shirking his duties, so he watched me now, even though my biggest threat came from the criminal justice system.
“The heart of the prosecution’s case is that someone died while you were in the commission of a felony,” she said. “Self-defense is not only a right in this country, it is a duty. And self-defense against a shooter of unarmed people in a public place is becoming less of a crime than it is something to admire. Unfortunately, they’re not so progressive in California.
“And they can’t really get you for self-defense, either. Their whole case is based on your holster. There’s no gun. Your prints aren’t on the shells. They can only presume that they were your cartridges. They can only presume that you had a gun, or that you fired it—there were no paraffin tests taken of your hands so they cannot prove that you even fired a gun. Did you know that? Your doctors would not let the cops have access to you until it was too late—for them.
“Anyway, that’s not good enough. They can presume all they want, but only on their own time. The prosecution can’t just presume away a man’s liberty. They have to prove it. I think I can make those mainland suede-shoe snake oil salesmen eat their words. At worst you committed a misdemeanor by discharging a firearm within the city limits. But we’re not going to argue that. We don’t have to. At best, you saved two people’s lives at the risk of your own. Witness the hole in your back. They don’t have a case. They’ll fold.”
It was pleasant listening to her passionate speech. I knew she was partially trying to make me feel better and partially practicing her presentation before the judge. We both knew she was logically and maybe even legally flawless. And we both knew she was fighting a losing battle. The state of California wanted me in prison, and they would not rest until they got me into their jurisdiction. Fortunately, the only way they could get me was to use the system, their system, and fortunately their system was geared toward protecting my rights.
I’d had some second thoughts about the liberal court system since being charged with murder. Depending on how this whole thing shook out, I might be inclined to change my mind about the laxity of judges. So far they’d been kind to me.
So far.
“Kimo will testify on your behalf once we get to the character phase of the hearing. Daniel will testify what you did for him. He’s going to show off his scar. An emergency room physician will testify as to your condition and to the condition of Daniel when you both came into the hospital. Those are your witnesses. They’ll take about an hour. The prosecution will present the police officer who will swear that he saw you fire a weapon, and a lab technician who dug out .45-caliber shells from the parapet of the roof from across the street.” She smiled a huge, toothy smile. “I read the report. Do you know how many bullets they recovered from the shooting scene?”
“Not a clue.”
“Sixty-seven. Do you know how many of them were .45 caliber?”
“Eight.”
“How did you know that?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
She glanced around the coffee shop. “Remind me not to ask you that question on the stand, okay? You’re right. Eight. All the others were 9mm, fired from six different guns. All eight .45-caliber slugs were found in a small circle in the parapet wall, lodged in the framing. Eight .45-caliber shell casings were found near where the police officer saw you fire a pistol. But you don’t have to explain anything. You didn’t fire a pistol. Nobody can prove that you had one. All they can do is guess that you had one based on the presence of an empty holster on your belt.”
“Isn’t that bad enough?”
“I hope they use the holster. It’s covered with blood. Your blood and Daniel’s blood. That will put the prosecution on the defensive, trying to explain your blood on the holster, along with Daniel’s blood, when they cannot produce your supposed firearm.”
“Sounds okay.”
“The best part is that the police officer who saw you fire your gun is not a good witness. I took his deposition and he flunked, as far as I was concerned. And Daniel will testify that he saw the cop cowering facedown in the gutter, looking for cover, not looking at the shooting.”
“But Daniel wasn’t conscious all the time.”
“Let the prosecution prove that.”
I nodded. She had it covered. It wasn’t airtight, but it was better than I’d hoped.
“Am I to testify?”
“Oh, yes. You’re up for it, aren’t you?”
“I’ll do anything.”
“Then you testify last. I want you to tell your story. All of it, except for your firing a weapon. You don’t, by the way, own a .45-caliber firearm, do you?”
I thought for a moment, then said, “Not now.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“No.”
“That’s better. You’re still hesitating. That question will come up and you’d better get it right.”
“So what did I do?”
“You covered Chawlie and you dragged Daniel into cover. You did what you did with his neck wound, saving his life, and you got shot in the back for your efforts. That’s your story. That’s all you say.”
“You’re the boss.”
“I like the way you say that.” She squeezed my hands. “You’re going to be fine. I know you’ve been up against worse stuff than this. And don’t worry. I’ve got a feeling that California is outclassed in this one.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Tala smiled. “I hope so, too.” She looked at her watch. “Are you ready? Are you up for this?”
“Yep.”
“Then let’s go over there and watch the other cases. I want to get a feel for the judge and see what makes her tick, what ticks her off, and what pushes her buttons. That woman is the most important person in your life right now. You’ll only spend a
few hours with her, but they will be the most important hours you’ve ever spent with a stranger. Don’t you think it’s a good idea to get to know something about her?”
“Whatever you say,” I said.
“Come on,” she said, and then pointed to a large leather briefcase parked on the terrazzo next to her. “And your friend over there gets to carry the paperwork.”
It was as Tala said it would be. The judge heard the arguments and the witnesses on both sides and then said that she would render her judgment in writing in due course. Tala approached the bench for clarification and was told that Her Honor felt that she had to study the applicable case law, and she wished to consult with an expert in California criminal law. Tala seemed very pleased with herself, and nearly called it a victory. I was to remain free under the terms and conditions of my existing bond.
“It could have been worse,” said Tala, “but I think I know why Her Honor chose to draw this out. I devastated that cop on the stand. Did you see him sputter? He couldn’t testify if you fired a gun or played the ukulele. I’d love to have him on the stand in front of a jury.”
“You might get that chance,” I said.
“Not here, and I’m not licensed to practice in California. Someone else will have the pleasure.”
“If the judge rules that I’ll go to trial.”
She quit smiling. “She’ll rule. And you’ll go. There’s no question that California’s wishes will not be honored. The judge knows that politics are more important than the law. If she doesn’t, she’ll never get another criminal back from the mainland. She has to send you back, regardless of what Hawaiian law says. But she wanted to beard them a little, and so she’ll draw it out as long as she can.”
“That mean we’ve got a good case?”
“In Hawaii we’ve got an excellent case. In San Francisco, I’m not so sure. I am sure Chawlie will provide you with excellent counsel there.”
“Did you get me permission to leave the island?”
Tala produced the judge’s letter with a flourish. “I got it yesterday, while you were playing cops and robbers with Kimo.”
“So you knew the outcome already?”
She nodded. “The judge and I had a long, long talk.”
“So why did you make me sit there for two hours and watch the other cases.”
“I wanted you to understand that everybody in Hawaii is doing everything they can to keep you free. But it’s not going to be good enough. In the end you’ll have to go. I was hoping you would learn something in there that might help you when you actually go to trial in California. And I wanted you to see what you were up against, so it wouldn’t be so scary when you’re actually on trial.”
“I guess I thank you for that.”
“You’d better.”
“So I can fly to Hawaii?”
“Donna Wong is in town, along with David. They’ve come back for supplies. You can fly back with them tonight.”
“I can really go?”
“You’re a free man. Enjoy it. At least for the moment.”
38
So by one o’clock on a picture-perfect Hawaiian afternoon I was a relatively free man, relatively free to go where I pleased, within the usual limitations. The only cloud on my personal horizon was the certain knowledge that the state of California could recall my freedom at any given moment.
But that was somewhere in the future. My very able attorney had secured for me a few more days of freedom. I would not mope around my suite at the Royal Hawaiian and waste them.
Not knowing where anybody was, I went walking on the beach, Caine’s solution. Everything seemed to be getting better at once. Angelica had helped me over a problem that would have become a big one in my own mind (unless they sent me to prison for the rest of my life). My wounds were healing. My strength and endurance, which had fled, seemed to be hovering just beyond reach. Once they took that stent out of me I was sure I could resurrect the old body within six months.
I sat on the crown of a sandy beach and watched the tourists play in the gentle surf. The sea and sky were nearly an identical shade of pale blue. Out beyond the reef, a catamaran with shocking pink sails slid effortlessly across the surface of the ocean.
I realized that I had come to a major life decision point and had sailed across it as effortlessly as the catamaran skimmed the surface of the sea.
Where had all that new-found wisdom gone?
I grinned, shading my eyes against the afternoon sun. I would continue to grow older. I’d just never grow up.
My cellular telephone rang. I unclipped it and pushed the SEND button, recognizing Donna Wong’s cellular number.
“Hello!”
“Mr. Caine,” said David Klein’s voice. “It’s Donna! She’s been kidnapped!”
“Where are you?” I found myself standing, having no memory of rising from my sandy perch.
“We had just stopped at the bank in Pearl City to get some money from the ATM when three guys swarmed us. They took her.”
“Call the police.”
“They’re already here. I didn’t know what else to do but call you after that.”
“You okay?”
He hesitated, then said, “Yeah.”
“Which bank, and where?”
He told me. I knew it, just on the perimeter of the Pearl City Shopping Center.
“I’ll catch a cab. I can be there in twenty minutes. Maybe less.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“Call Kimo.” I was already moving inland, toward Kalakaua where I would find a taxi stand.
“He’s here. I called him first.”
I nodded, realizing that I had been third in the equation. At least he had called me before he sent his Christmas cards.
“I’ll be there, David. We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”
And with those platitudes uttered, I had done all I could. I hit the END button and began shuffling toward Waikiki’s main drag, looking for transportation.
39
It took almost the whole twenty minutes to reach Aiea. When I reached the bank the place was ablaze with flashing lights. When I saw two City ambulances I started to worry. One wagon screamed past as we drove in. Somebody had been damaged, and seriously.
I paid the cabby and started toward the scene. A motorcycle officer stopped me; I pointed toward Kimo, who motioned for me to come, and the motor cop let me through the tape barrier.
Kimo stood with a rugged-looking haole detective whom I recognized from the Greek drug case several years before. Jim Husing had been working undercover then, mining the lucrative drug trade between Asia and California and Hawaii, getting more than his share of good cases. He had been a manhunter, and a damned good one. And when I had found myself in over my head he had backed me up, saving my life. I had already managed to get myself shot in the leg. Jim and his partner kept me alive.
“Jim,” I said, acknowledging his presence.
He nodded, probably wondering how I got myself involved in a kidnapping.
“What happened?” I asked.
Husing looked to Kimo, and then to me.
“It’s okay,” said Kimo. “He’s family.”
Husing looked doubtful but he said, “Do you know Donna Wong?”
“She’s my client.”
“She’s been kidnapped.”
I didn’t like the way Husing said it. Matter-of-fact, as if he were describing a computer part. “What happened?”
“Her boyfriend, David Fein—”
“Klein. David Klein.”
“David Klein, her boyfriend, gave us a description of three attackers. Probably another one driving the car. He got the car, too, the license and everything. Two broken arms, broken teeth, a possible concussion, and he gets the license and a pretty fair description. Must be some kind of rocket scientist.”
“He is.”
Husing looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “That kid?”
“He’s at Berkeley, studying physi
cs. Smarter than all of us put together.”
Husing looked dubious.
“So how is he? Broken arms. As in two? Possible concussion. That doesn’t sound good.”
“He’ll be okay. He’ll be in a lot of pain for a couple of weeks. But he’ll be fine. Nothing permanent.”
“He tried to defend Donna?”
“Yeah, but there were two big guys and one little guy. The little guy had a pair of sai, Chinese fighting irons. Very good with them, too, from what I hear. He’s the one who did the damage. The others were mere muscle. Big, dumb and slow.”
I glanced at Kimo. He nodded his understanding. David Klein had either run into Ricky Lee or he’d found his doppelganger.
“And he saw the license plates?”
“Not that they’ll do any good. They were false plates. Hawaiian Homelands. Sometimes the firebrands put them on their car, refuse to pay homage to the state of Hawaii. Call it illegal. We’ve always got a beef going with those types, one way or the other. They put their own license plates on their cars. They carry their own insurance, although I’ve never heard of anybody collecting when they hit one—”
“You’re saying this car had Hawaiian plates?”
“That’s what he described.”
“Hawaiian Homelands,” said Kimo softly.
“And the car?”
“White Toyota, Klein didn’t know the model or the year, but it he said it was an old one. Early eighties. It had a light blue interior. And it was ratty.”
“Ratty?”
“Like they never cleaned it inside. Full of fast-food wrappers and stale potato chips.”
“Kimo,” I said. “One of the guys Donna saw at Hayes’s house the day he was murdered was a slender Chinese male. That mystery man matches Ricky Lee’s description.”
Kimo almost smiled. “And he matches the fellow here. And then there’s the sai.”
Husing had led David through the scenario several times before the ambulance took him away. David and Donna had withdrawn two hundred dollars from the ATM and were walking across the parking lot toward her truck when the Toyota pulled in front of them and three men got out. Two were young and Polynesian, and the third man was a slender Chinese male David swore he had not seen before. One of the Polynesians struck David with his fist, knocking him to the ground. The other one pulled Donna into the back seat. David got up and attacked them. The little Chinese male pulled the fighting irons from his waistband and broke both of David’s arms near the wrist. He clobbered him on the head for insurance and David fell to the pavement. When it seemed certain that David wouldn’t get up again, they all jumped into the Toyota and drove off.
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