Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral

by Dustin Stevens

  “If we could correct some of those things, or at least figure out a way to minimize the effects, we could potentially be affecting thousands of lives every year, far more than that if you think of all the young boys playing in high schools across the country. And that’s just football. Toss in hockey, soccer, boxing, even surfing here in Hawaii. The numbers add up fast.”

  Kalani and Rip contemplated what she said, running the figures in their mind. Just in her own amateur athletic career, Kalani had received a concussion playing field hockey, the result of a stick to the head that left her sensitive to light for days afterward. She couldn’t even bear to imagine what NFL linebackers must endure on a weekly basis.

  “But you mentioned that it was very hush-hush,” Kalani said. “If nobody knew about it, how could they be angry?”

  “I’m sorry, I should have clarified that to say there was nothing said publicly about it. As he is prone to do, though, there was no way the governor was going to let something like this go by without making sure some potential donors were aware of his actions.”

  Just like that, Watari had handed them an even bigger piece of the puzzle than anything they could have hoped for.

  Motive.

  Kalani’s mind raced as she strung things together, from the targeting of pregnant women to the precise placement of their bodies once they were stripped of their babies. Somebody had a lot of hopes on the research being conducted and had not taken kindly to the funding being pulled.

  “Have any of those donors come forward and tried to resuscitate the program?” Kalani asked.

  “That, I don’t know,” Watari said, lifting her hands, the bracelets on her wrist rattling against each other. “That’s above my pay grade. I wouldn’t be surprised, though, given some of the grumblings I’ve heard behind closed doors about our being shut down.”

  Kalani could barely contain herself, ready to sprint from the room and begin digging on the new lead they’d been given, finally gaining traction once they started looking in the right direction.

  But she still had more questions to ask.

  “Doctor, in your opinion, could the theft of three fetuses be for the purpose of conducting independent stem cell research?”

  Another look of horror passed over Watari’s face.

  “It would be highly, highly unethical,” she began, the words coming out slow and measured as she considered the question, simultaneously being repulsed by it. “At this time, there isn’t a facility in the country studying human fetal stem cells.”

  “Human?” Rip asked, beating Kalani to it by just a split second.

  Watari nodded. “Here, and in most laboratories, we use mice cells. They are much easier to obtain and work with, free of any moral implications. A few years ago, the FDA legalized using human cells for research, but the only place in the country that ever tried was in Atlanta, and they shut down last winter.”

  “So that’s it?” Kalani asked. “Nobody is working with them at all now, despite everything we hear in the news?”

  “Pretty much,” Watari said, resignation on her face. “There was talk of a group in Sweden still doing some things. I had heard of a guy in Japan making a run at it, but otherwise, nothing. The court of public opinion ruled against it.”

  Kalani nodded. If somebody in the state had a personal interest in the research being conducted by the university, they would take its closure quite seriously, especially given the absence of any other work on it in the world. It would provide more than enough cause for the vicious murders, especially with the election just months away.

  “Let’s just say, hypothetically,” Kalani began, thinking out loud. She knew it was against protocol, especially in the presence of a civilian expert, but the circumstances and the heinous nature of the crimes far outweighed decorum. “That some group was angry that this facility was shut down and wanted to take up the research on their own. How would they go about it?”

  The question raised Watari’s eyebrows, giving the impression that she had never seriously considered the prospect.

  “Depends how hung up they were on the ethics. If they wanted to go by the book, they would apply for a permit through the FDA, obtain mice to harvest stem cells, and begin working.”

  “And if they weren’t concerned about that at all?” Kalani asked, leaning forward, realizing the small of her back had grown damp against the chair behind her.

  Watari pressed her lips together, as if not wanting to release the words that were just behind them. “Then they would probably start gathering human stem cells from wherever they could. Abortion clinics, baby teeth, and, yes, pregnant women.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  For the second time in as many days, a meeting was called for three of the most unlikely allies in Honolulu.

  Kalani’s first reaction at leaving Watari’s office was to contact Tseng. In one fell swoop they had just been given an entirely new direction, matching motive to both the ritualistic killings of pregnant women and the targeted disposal of placing the bodies where the governor would be implicated. In addition, they had also been handed the key to another ongoing investigation in a throwaway comment, a clue too big for either Kalani or Rip to miss.

  Upon pulling her phone out, though, her thoughts of contacting Tseng were cut short, interrupted by a half dozen missed calls from Kimo Mata. The last was time stamped just six minutes earlier, punctuated with the text message - Call me ASAP. Very important.

  Blowing through the lobby, Kalani pressed the phone to her ear, bypassing her voicemail and calling Kimo directly. The line was snatched up halfway through the first ring, the voice on the other side breathless.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, concern more than irritation in his voice.

  “We’ve been in a meeting at JABSOM, what’s going on?”

  “JABSOM?” Kimo asked. “You guys alright?”

  “More than alright. We just got some crucial information.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Kimo replied. “I’m near you now. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

  It only took him seven.

  Sliding into the lot, he hopped out and ran to meet them.

  “Wow! What a day.”

  “Yeah?” Kalani asked.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Rip added.

  Kimo looked at each of them in turn, a smile growing on his face. “You first, then I’ll fill you in on what I know.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kalani began. “Earlier today I went back to Tripler to meet with the ME. Pretty much what we figured last night. Girl was very clean, and very pregnant.”

  “So no connection to the previous two at all?” Kimo inserted.

  “None,” Kalani said, shaking her head. “So, taking our conversation from last night into account, I flipped the script, asked the ME what she thought three unborn babies would represent to someone.

  “Her response? Stem cells.”

  Kimo looked back at the buildings behind them. “JABSOM. Got it.”

  “Yep,” Kalani said, glancing over as well. “Chief Tseng got on the phone and put us in touch with a Dr. Watari here, leading stem cell expert in the state.”

  Kimo pursed his lips, trying to place the name. “Never heard of him.”

  “Her,” Kalani corrected, “and the reason for that is for the last three years she’s been working on a top-secret project studying stem cells. She didn’t get into too much detail, but I do know it was tasked with examining brain injuries.”

  Kalani opened her mouth to continue but paused, seeing a look of realization flash over Kimo’s face.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Kimo said, bringing both hands up and rubbing them over his face. “Please, continue, we’ll get to it in a minute.”

  Kalani left a look in place just long enough to relay she wasn’t sure what his reaction meant before pushing forward.

  “Anyway, this thing was kept way off the books per direct orders from the governor. Ironclad confidentiality, no t
alking to anybody.”

  “The governor?” Kimo asked, his smile fading a bit. “What’s his angle in this?”

  “Controlling the purse strings,” Rip said, jumping in for the first time. “He set the whole thing up using discretionary funding, but this year didn’t feel the need to put it into his budget.”

  “Whole thing goes up in smoke on July 1st,” Kalani finished.

  “Oh, shit,” Kimo said. “Bet that pissed some people off.”

  “Sure did,” Kalani said. “Who those people might be, we’re not sure, but now we at least know to start looking for them.”

  “Also,” Rip said, “care to guess what else she mentioned as a suitable source of stem cells? Besides fetuses?”

  Kimo’s face fell blank as he glanced back to Rip. “What’s that?”

  “Baby teeth,” Rip said, Kalani noticing for the first time a hint of triumph. Things were beginning to fall into place, and like her, he was starting to get excited, no longer playing catch up.

  “Baby teeth?” Kimo said, his face twisting up in confusion before it hit him. “Baby teeth. The thing Sturgis is working on?”

  “Very same,” Kalani said. She could have done without the mention of Sturgis’s name, though she wasn’t about to let that show. Odds were, she would soon need his help, as he was one of the few people aware of what was going on. Conceited ass or not, he was numbers, something they might desperately need later on.

  “Alright, your turn. What have you got?” Rip asked.

  Kalani shifted her attention back to Kimo. The meeting with Watari had been so exciting, so full of new information, she had almost forgotten that Kimo had spent the day digging.

  Judging by the missed calls, whatever he had was good. She only hoped it would support what they had just found, giving them something clear to pursue.

  “After we talked last night,” Kimo said, “I lay awake and thought about your point that this has to be political. After rolling it around for a while, I came to two conclusions. One, you were right. Two, political motivations usually start and end with financing.

  “I first pulled the official campaign contributions for both candidates, quite honestly not expecting to find much. I started with Harris, went through and flagged every person, company, and organization that had maxed out at $6,000, then did the same for Randle. Care to guess what I found?”

  “A lot of people with too much money on their hands?” Rip asked.

  “Besides that,” Kimo said, brushing aside the comment. “Four different companies maxed out contributions to both candidates.”

  Kalani ventured a glance over to Rip, who looked just as confused as she did. In her time on the force she had had very little contact with political campaigns, but what she was being told seemed odd to her. People tended to support one candidate or another. If they didn’t like either one, they waited until the general election and supported the party itself. Maxing out to both sides in a competitive primary made little sense.

  “But why would companies do that?” she asked. “To curry favor with whoever wins?”

  “Wait,” Kimo said, holding up a finger, “you didn’t let me get to the best part.” He paused for his big reveal, “All four companies are shell corporations owned by the same guy.”

  The information was unusual for sure, someone going to extreme measures just to donate to a primary election. Still, she could sense that there was more to come.

  “You’re sure of this?” she asked.

  “Very,” Kimo replied. “That’s where I was when you called, running this stuff down. As far as I - or the girl I sweet talked at the Department of Commerce and Consumer Affairs - can tell, they exist on paper only. None of them import or export anything. None of them have done any business or hired a single employee.”

  Kalani understood the information was important, she just couldn’t figure out how it all fit together. But she knew that if Kimo kept going, eventually, a piece would be revealed that would make it all fit together.

  “Tax returns?” she asked.

  “None,” Kimo replied, “because all four were formed in January, all within 10 days of each other.”

  Kalani’s eyes lit up as she glanced over at Rip. “January. After the budget came out.”

  “Yup,” Rip agreed, his attention still aimed at Kimo. “Who owns the companies?”

  The same cocksure smile returned to Kimo’s face, the look of triumph Kalani had recognized earlier. She couldn’t help but think the final morsel of information was coming, the last bit that would force things into place.

  “A guy named Thomas Zall,” Kimo said, “who I’m guessing you’ve never heard of. I sure hadn’t, and with good reason. The guy has been a ghost since arriving here a couple years ago.”

  He paused again, excited about his discovery. “After a boating accident in New York.”

  The air slid from Kalani’s lungs. She had been right. All it took was one single piece of information for everything to make sense. The timing, the motivations, the political tie-ins.

  “And he suffered some form of injury?” Kalani asked.

  “Him? No,” Kimo replied, “but his son was left in a vegetative state.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The first call had gone to Tseng, requesting a meeting at his office. His initial response was to ask if it could wait until the next day, Kalani able to hear the sound of children yelling as they splashed in a pool. As much as she hated to interrupt his afternoon, she told him there was just no way to postpone. Time was critical.

  The second question was to ask if they could meet him at his home, relaying that he was hosting a barbecue for some of his neighbors. There was dread in his voice, though Kalani couldn’t tell if that was from not wanting to meet with them or not wanting to endure the wrath of his wife if he left.

  Either way, she declined again.

  The last thing she mentioned was that he should have Sturgis and Li both on standby, as there was a good chance she had information directly relating to their case as well. To that Tseng muttered some sort of response, the words too much of a garbled mess to decipher.

  Standing in the parking lot of the med school, the three debated whether to bring Kimo with them to the meeting, ultimately opting against it. While they wouldn’t hide the role he had played in aiding them, they hadn’t asked permission to involve him, and there was no need to make him an issue.

  Rip and Kalani were seated on the front steps when Tseng arrived, both sitting in silence, chewing on all they’d just learned. After fumbling along for days, having a windfall of information hit them was almost too much to process. Again and again, Kalani ran it back through her mind, making sure the pieces fit the way she thought they did, that in their haste they hadn’t overlooked something critical. As badly as she wanted this to be over, to stop having innocent young women turn up butchered, their unborn children ripped away, it had to be done right.

  While this was the kind of case that could catapult her back into the life if she chose, it was also one that could take the choice away from her if she wasn’t careful. She had never heard of Thomas Zall, but everything Kimo relayed about the man indicated he wasn’t someone to attack publicly. If they went after him, they had to make sure they had a case. If they were wrong, he would exert his substantial influence to bury them.

  “Sorry for pulling you away from your family,” Kalani said as the chief reached the stairs, noting his t-shirt and shorts, the rubber sandals on his feet. His hair was semi-combed, windblown from a day by the pool, and he carried the faint scent of charcoal smoke as he passed.

  “You kidding?” he grumbled, jerking open the front door. “My wife planned this weeks ago. The last thing I wanted to be doing was playing nice to neighbors with all this going on.”

  Tseng opened his office door and stepped around his desk, allowing Kalani and Rip to enter behind him.

  “Alright, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  Starting with the scene workup the
previous night, Kalani ran through all they had uncovered in the preceding hours. She rattled off everything Dr. Watari had told them, how they believed it all fit together, and supported it with what Kimo had found.

  Tseng listened throughout in silence. Without responding in any way, he reached out and shook the mouse on his desk, calling his computer to life. A moment later, the glow of the screen illuminated his face, Kalani and Rip both watching as he began typing. Just as fast, he stopped, reading the screen before him.

  “Thomas Prescott Zall was born in 1953 in Hoboken, New Jersey to parents Charles and Irene Zall. He was educated at Princeton and Columbia Business School before following in his father’s footsteps to finance.”

  He rattled off the information with a detached tone, his gaze never moving as he read from the screen.

  “In 1989 he married Marilyn Wanston, and six years later they had a child together, a son named William Prescott Zall.

  “Says here he specialized in healthcare stocks before moving into the tech sector, riding the dotcom boom to quite a fortune before going into venture capital. Lived in New York City until 2009, at which point he and his son, 14-year-old William, were in a sailing accident. Although an investigation occurred, he was eventually acquitted of all charges, though he did lose his wife and two years of his life in the process.”

  Once more he paused, glancing over to them. “This was all part of the file NYPD put together on him regarding the case. Apparently, because it was just the two of them, and the son was left with massive brain damage, there was no evidence for criminal charges.”

  “The state tried to prosecute for a sailing accident?” Rip asked, his voice relaying his surprise.

  “The mother,” Tseng said, shaking his head. “She pressed charges for reckless endangerment and criminal negligence. Like I said, though, insufficient evidence.”