The voicemail had been just the start of an hour scripted by the devil himself. Duke had played the message for everyone to hear, a mixed bag of reactions erupted immediately.
The first came from Duke and Chief Tseng, putting their heads together to determine how credible the threat was and what they should do about it. Kalani and Rip watched in silence as they batted ideas around before disappearing, both calling for reinforcements and looking for the manager of the hotel.
The governor was next to react, true to form, missing the importance of the message, seizing only on the political ramifications of what he was hearing. Over and over again, he demanded that somebody find Mary-Ann Harris and bring her to him, convinced this was nothing more than a campaign tactic meant to smear him on his biggest fundraising night of the year.
At his hip, catering to his every word, was Hall, phone already out, dialing anybody he could think of who might be able to help. Together they left the room in a huff, Wong shrugging his shoulders and following behind them.
In the wake of the tantrum thrown by Randle, the sudden silence of the space seemed overwhelming.
“So, want to go check out those waves?” Rip asked. “I’ve got a couple of boards stowed away in the van.”
Under different circumstances, Kalani would have found the comment amusing. She might have even considered taking him up on it. Now, the words barely registered with her, attention focused on what took place a moment before.
“What just happened?” she asked aloud, her face pinched up in surprise. “Why would Mary-Ann Harris call the head of the governor’s security detail and tell him something was about to take place? She had to know that this would be taken seriously. If her goal was solely to mess with the event, she basically just committed political suicide.”
“She didn’t,” a voice said from the doorway, drawing both their attention to it. “She called me,” Kimo Mata said, walking into the room, his sandals slapping against the floor. “That was my phone Duke was holding.”
He stopped, nodding at Rip. “Kimo Mata, journalist.”
“You?” Rip asked, his eyebrows raised, bypassing any formal greeting in response. “Mary-Ann Harris called you with that information?”
“Yes, she did,” Kimo replied. “Same as she did a few days ago, when she brought me in and told me a body had been found on the mosaic at the capitol.”
Flashbulbs began firing off in Kalani’s mind as she stared at Kimo, trying to understand what she’d just been told. Since he had shown up at her house and confessed to knowing what was going on, she had been convinced there was a leak coming from their side. So convinced, she had come to a private meeting with the governor and all but accused him of having a mole on his staff.
Not once had she considered that there might be somebody from outside feeding him information.
“Wait,” Kalani said, turning her head in disbelief, hoping she wasn’t right. “Are you telling me the governor’s opponent is behind this? She’s the one leaving bodies all over the city? To frame him?”
Before Kimo had a chance to reply, a new voice shouted from the doorway, harsh and nonnegotiable. “You two, come with me.”
Chief Tseng was gone before any of the three even got a good look at him, his voice the only way they had of identifying who had issued the command. Kalani looked from Rip to Kimo, torn between wanting to find out everything Kimo knew and having to follow Tseng’s order.
Fortunately, Rip made the call for her.
“You’ll be around to finish this conversation later, right?” Rip asked, staring across at Kimo.
“If not, she knows how to find me,” Kimo said, nodding to Kalani as she and Rip headed for the door.
They caught up with Tseng halfway down the hallway, his pace near a jog as he beat a path for the escalators, phone pressed to his ear.
“What’s going on?” Kalani asked, fearing anything from a bomb threat to a mass shooting in the middle of Waikiki.
“Nothing here. A call just came in from patrol. We’ve got another body, matches the MO of the previous three.”
Kalani felt her insides churn as she cast a glance to Rip.
The previous 10 years had brought her to some truly ghastly scenes. In those days, though, her job was to secure the area and wait for the crime scene crew and detectives to show up. Now she was the crew and the detective, being forced into both roles without training in either, her psyche still not recovered from the shooting months before.
Given her pending decision about remaining on the force at all, the change in job description was one she could do without.
“Where?” Rip asked.
Tseng turned and gave them each a severe look before shifting to face forward, making sure nobody was within earshot. “Iolani Palace.”
The last of the ride down the escalator was in silence, Kalani running the information through her head, trying to imagine what must be waiting for them across town. The thought brought a sick feeling, followed immediately be anger.
Now, standing in front of the palace, she felt both even stronger.
Nothing in Hawaiian culture was more sacred than Iolani Palace. The only home to royalty in the United States, it stood in the shadow of the state capitol, a reminder of what once was, a hope to many for what one day could be again. There might have been more public locations on Oahu to leave a body if a spectacle was the end goal, but if making a point was the ultimate objective, there was no better place.
Forcing her mind to remain clear, to process what was before her, Kalani assessed what she was seeing. The first thing to be addressed was the darkness shrouding the grounds, which meant either the killer needed the cover for getting the body in undetected, or the message was a very specific one meant for the governor.
Or as best Kalani could figure, it was probably a combination of the two to draw even more attention to the crime.
“Looks like whoever did this cut the power to the grounds,” Rip said. “Had to have been done right at dusk. Any time before that, visitors would have still been touring. After that, somebody would have noticed the whole place suddenly going dark.”
Kalani hadn’t walked it through in her mind far enough to reach that point, but the observation made sense. She grunted her agreement as they reached the front of the building.
Over the years, she had been by the palace enough times to know exactly what it looked like. Gray stone with a series of arches that opened to porches surrounding the grand, two-story building, it truly looked regal from any direction.
Most of that was barely visible now, though, as they made their way to the foot of the front stairs and stopped.
A pair of HPD officers in black uniforms stood waiting for them, a red glow stick attached to one of their waists the only indication they were even there. Kalani slid a thin Maglite from her back pocket and clicked it on, extracted her badge and held it to the light.
“Lewis and Ripowski?” the man on the right asked, his voice betraying a local lilt.
“That’s us,” Kalani replied. “Chief Tseng tell you we were coming?”
“Said to secure the scene and then hand it over to you guys,” his partner said.
“Who found the body?” Rip asked.
“We did,” the man on the right said. “We round here a couple times a night anyway, but when we noticed the power was out, we came to take a closer look. Found her up at the top of the stairs.”
A small wince slid out of his partner at the last few words, drawing even more dread from Kalani at what lay just feet away. She couldn’t yet smell the blood or hear any flies buzzing, but she knew both would be hitting her soon.
“Any word on the power outage?” Kalani asked. “What caused it? Anybody coming to fix it?”
The sound of items shifting on a loaded police utility belt met their ears, most likely from one or both of them shaking their heads in the dark.
“Chief said to leave it down for the night,” the partner said. “Told us it would make it
easier for you guys.”
“Easier...right,” Rip muttered, shaking his head.
“Alright guys, thanks a lot,” Kalani said, sensing that they wanted to be no closer than necessary and that Rip was already getting agitated with the situation they found themselves in. “And we’re really sorry about this. Trust us, handling it this way isn’t our idea.”
“Hey, no complaint here, you get up there, you’ll see why we’re all too happy to step aside on this one.”
Two minutes later, Kalani saw exactly what he meant.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The passing of her husband had two distinct impacts on Mary-Ann Harris’s life.
On the professional front, it had provided an opportunity for her to finally step out of the shadows. It allowed her to no longer simply be the woman who never wore the same outfit twice and always had her hair and makeup in place. No longer was she the soldier’s wife, or the mayor’s wife, or sometimes simply and wife.
In a matter of just a few shorts years she became someone who had graduated top of her class from Vassar, held a master’s degree in business administration from Villanova, came from a blue-blood east coast family who supported the Kennedy and Clinton administrations, was a staunch supporter of the Obama regime.
Lauded for her poise in the wake of her husband’s passing, and for her ability to stand behind the microphone and give a compelling speech, she was ushered forward within the state’s Democratic Party, a suitable fill-in for the gaping hole a heart attack had created in island politics.
Somehow, at the age of 52, Mary-Ann was more successful and working harder than she had in the previous 15 years combined.
And loving every minute of it.
The effect on her personal life was another story entirely. As much as a soldier’s widow made for a compelling read, as great as her accomplishments made her feel, her private life left much to be desired.
Tucked away on the second floor of the home she had shared with her husband for two decades, Mary-Ann Harris sat in bed with her reading glasses on the tip her nose, staring down at the latest Lee Child novel. She read with bemused detachment the adventures of Jack Reacher, a character known for being the Goliath with a heart of gold.
The sound of her cellphone ringing on the nightstand beside her shattered the silence of the house and jolted her back to the real world. A quick glance at the digital readout on the alarm clock showed the time was nudging toward midnight, well beyond acceptable calling hours for her staff.
Cocking her head to the phone, she saw the number on caller ID, no name attached. Even so, she recognized who it belonged to instantly, despite having used it only a couple of times.
The realization did nothing to slow her heartbeat as she closed the book and set it aside, sliding her glasses from her nose.
“Good evening,” she said, weariness and resignation, in her tone.
“Good evening,” Thomas Zall replied, his voice containing equal parts annoyance and condescension. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Of course not. What can I do for you, Mr. Zall?”
“Where are you?” Zall asked, a sense of urgency now in his tone.
Mary-Ann’s brow furrowed as she replied, “I’m at home, as most people are at this hour.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’ll have a car there for you within 20 minutes.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate. “What? Now?”
“Yes,” Zall answered. “And bring an overnight bag. A couple of night’s worth should suffice.”
Her jaw fell.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, much less for a couple of nights.”
She could hear an angry sigh come across the line, followed by a voice with a clear edge to it. “I didn’t say we were going anywhere. I just think it would be best if you were away for a couple of days.”
Instantly, all shock fled from Mary-Ann, followed by an overwhelming sense of dread. For days now she had feared such a directive was coming, questioning that very afternoon whether or not she should even call Kimo Mata.
“What have you done?”
“I think it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
There were so many things she could say to the man, so many accusations she wanted to level at him, but the fact was, she had agreed to his plan, and it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to do it.
She knew when she entered the race for the governor’s chair she was facing an uphill battle, one that had only been achieved a single time in history. Still, the backing of a few key party officials, long since disenfranchised from Randle, had made her think it was possible. When Zall had come and presented his plan to her, it seemed so feasible, such a small role for her to play that would almost guarantee her success.
Now, it was far past any of that. The man had made a mess of things, and he had potentially torpedoed her career before it even began. What had started with her just making a few phone calls could soon be casting her back to the sidelines.
She only hoped it wouldn’t be taking her someplace even worse.
“Where am I going?” she asked, her voice sounding far away, even in her own ears.
“Nowhere in particular,” Zall said. “You will be on my boat for the weekend. Tell your staff you aren’t feeling well and need to recharge, be back and ready to go on Monday.”
Her eyes still closed, Mary-Ann ran through her schedule for the weekend, picturing her date book in her mind. “I have an event in Kapolei on Sunday.”
“But you won’t be feeling well,” Zall countered. “And at this stage of the campaign, nothing can be more important than your health, right?”
The inside of Mary-Ann’s mouth was dry as she tried to work her tongue around it in an attempt to get some saliva moving. “Will it be over in a few days? Or are you just trying to get rid of me for a while?”
There was more silence on the line, punctuated by a second sigh.
“One begets the other,” Zall said, speaking slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “To answer your first question, the hard part, the part you have been attached to, will be done this weekend. In fact, it is already done.
“As to the second, you not being around in the immediate aftermath should make it easier for both sides until things calm down.”
The answer was what Mary-Ann had been expecting. “You realize at some point my contact might take all this to the police? And if he does, they will come asking me how I knew what I did.”
“I suspect, based on the events at this evening’s gala, he already has,” Zall said. “Which is why my driver will be there for you in what is now 10 minutes.”
Once more Mary-Ann glanced at the clock, the numbers growing ever closer to midnight.
“And when they do?” Mary-Ann asked.
“Just get on the boat,” Zall said, his voice detached. “When you return, it will be taken care of.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The swipe of Vick’s Vapor Rub under her nose did nothing to lessen the odor for Kalani. The metallic, sharp scent of blood still managed to work its way into her nostrils, turning her stomach.
The problem wasn’t so much with the scent itself. The body was still warm, free of any desiccating flesh or bug larvae. There was no heat-induced bloating or gases bulging beneath the skin.
The problem was her psychosomatic response to it. Two days before, she’d let Tseng and Rip handle the bodies, keeping herself busy just far enough away to be out of range. Now, up close to it, she couldn’t help but let the scent pull her back.
When she’d awoken on the concrete sidewalk that night, it was just moments before backup finally showed, but a long five minutes before the paramedics arrived. For that length of time, a full 300 seconds that she counted off in her mind, she’d been forced to lie flat, her blood and Ben’s painting the area around her. It created a smell so strong she doubted she would ever forget it.
Beside her, Rip worked with uncanny efficiency, his dress
shirt rolled to the elbows, blood stains dotting the front of it and smearing down onto his slacks. His jaw set, he worked in near silence, Kalani picking up that he no more wanted to be dealing with the scene than she did.
Her own time on the force had provided precious few contacts with such things, having worked as many scenes in the last few days as she had in as many years. She could only guess how many he had been forced to cover in his career.
“You ready?” Rip asked, finishing the last of his assessments.
Kalani finished arranging the black polyethylene bag waiting to accept the body. “Yeah.”
She wrapped her hands around the ankles and together they lifted the girl from the steps and into the bag, positioning her thin body before pulling the flaps up around her. Starting at the bottom, Kalani tugged the zipper a few feet before handing it off to Rip, the blood-stained gloves covering his hands clasping the brass tag and pulling it the rest of the way.
This young woman looked to be a teenager, a girl of Korean descent with smooth skin and a pretty face, and just like the others, most likely on the verge of giving birth. The single gold band on her left hand meant that somewhere on the opposite side of the Pacific, someone was anxiously awaiting word from her, ready to meet his new child for the first time.
Watching the zipper slide shut over the girl’s face, Kalani knew that no matter what the reason for her murder, whether it be a personal slight, political gain, or any of 1,000 things in between, it wasn’t good enough. Nothing was. Not for what they’d done to her, or the previous three, or Rip, or even herself.
In the end they might get whoever was behind this, but they would never be able to get justice for these crimes.
Drawing Kalani from her thoughts, a pair of headlights pierced the darkness to their right. As they drew closer, the shape of a police SUV came into view, stray bits of light from the street nearby reflecting off the windows. It came to a stop, the engine left running while a pair of men climbed out.
Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral Page 17