Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral

by Dustin Stevens

  Kalani nodded, adding the new data to what she already knew. “So she left with half his money, he moved to the islands and became interested in stem cell research?”

  “Could be.”

  “Where is the son now?” Rip asked.

  “Doesn’t say,” Tseng answered, glancing over to the screen.

  Silence fell over the office.

  For the first few days, they had nothing more than mismatched facts and ideas. Not until they flipped their emphasis, moving from victims to motive did things start to make sense.

  “Where is Zall now?” Kalani asked.

  Tseng went back to the computer, the reflection on his face changing colors as he shifted from one screen to the next. “It lists a home address on Tantalus Drive, up above Punchbowl.”

  “What about the businesses?” Rip asked, glancing to Kalani and back to Tseng.

  The comment jogging her memory, Kalani handed the chief the list of names and telephone numbers Kimo had given them, Tseng accepting without comment. One at a time he entered them into the computer, checking each in turn.

  By the time he was done the frown on his face was even deeper than before, his stress beginning to increase.

  “I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

  “What?” Kalani asked.

  Tseng paused before turning the computer monitor to them. On it was a screenshot from Google Earth, an overhead view of a neighborhood.

  “All four corporations list the same address in Hawaii Kai, a location that is strictly residential.”

  Kalani’s eyebrows rose as she glanced over to Rip. “What do you think?”

  “I think, at this point, we have to go and check out both locations, the home on Tantalus, and the business listing in Hawaii Kai,” he replied, offering a deep sigh. “And as much as I hate to say it, we have to go tonight, no matter how ill prepared we are.”

  Kalani wasn’t sure she agreed with two surprise visits on short notice, but trusted Rip enough to know he had good reasoning for believing as much.

  “Why’s that?” Tseng asked.

  “Mary-Ann Harris,” Rip replied. “We know she was accepting campaign donations from him, and we know she was the conduit for getting information to the press.”

  “Assuming it was him,” Kalani inserted, careful to point out that while they did have a potential case against him, it was still mostly conjecture.

  “Assuming it was him,” Rip agreed, nodding his head for emphasis. “We also know she up and disappeared late last night, said she would be returning on Monday. Whatever it is these guys have planned, it’s probably happening soon.”

  The words made sense as Kalani fit them over what she knew. “That, or they knew we were getting close, and she was sent away to let things die down for a few days.”

  “Which again,” Rip added, “means we’re getting close enough to make someone uncomfortable.”

  Tseng waited until they were both done before shoving the mouse away and leaning back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest and scratched at his chin, his face scrunched up in thought.

  Even as Kalani sat and watched him work his ways through all the information, she knew there were boulder-sized holes in their case. At the same time, there was enough pointing at Thomas Zall to at least go have a look around.

  As they all chewed through the information, Tseng was the first to speaking, shaking his head from side to side. “Damn Randle to hell for sticking us in the middle of this.”

  Chapter Forty

  Ducks on a pond. That was the expression Thomas Zall’s father had used to describe maintaining sanity in the face of certain adversity. He would always tell his son it was okay for the feet to be churning under the surface, fighting to stay afloat, to push yourself in the direction you need to go. Just so long as all anybody saw was serenity above the water, everything would be okay.

  Those words came to Zall’s mind as he stood off to the side, watching as Dr. Saiki unpacked the stainless-steel suitcase, lining up one vial of clear liquid after another with precision. Beside each one he placed an enormous syringe, all with the plunger depressed, ready to be filled.

  The doctor was silent as he worked.

  Just a few feet away, William Zall lay in a specialized hospital bed his father had bought for him to ensure his comfort. By day the bed was raised to a 45-degree angle, allowing sunlight to pass over William, his face aimed out the window. Each evening, just after sundown, the bed was laid flat, allowing him to sleep comfortably.

  Neither of the movements was necessary, something Zall himself had instituted when they first moved into the house years before. Not once since they had arrived in Hawaii had his son even opened his eyes, a shell of a human kept alive by machines.

  Still, Zall had insisted the adjustments be made twice a day, a directive that nobody in the house dared object to.

  The incident that brought all this about was something Thomas Zall replayed in his mind constantly, even now, years later. It had started out like most any other late spring morning in New York, glorious sunshine flowing through the windows of their Upper East Side home.

  It was William’s idea to go sailing for the first run of the season. Despite a growing list of tasks that needed Zall’s attention, he relented, as he usually did, unable to tell his son no. His entire reason for buying the boat, a beautiful 70’ Jamaican sloop, just small enough for the two of them to handle, was so they could spend time together, isolated from the world.

  It was that isolation that led to the situation they were in now.

  The Sunday morning boat traffic was thin as they cast off, William working the mainsail, Zall at the wheel. They used the V-8 engine to motor out of the Hudson, waiting until they were in the Atlantic, before raising the sheets. Once they did, they let the strong North Atlantic winds press tight against the canvas, pushing them along the coastline.

  With a cooler of sandwiches and soft drinks, the sun splashing across the water around them, they couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. Many times over the years since, Thomas Zall had looked back at those last few moments on the deck of his boat as the last time in his life that he was truly happy.

  To his eternal horror, Zall wasn’t there when the accident occurred. He had gone into the cabin to use the head. When he returned his son was sprawled out on the wet deck, his eyes closed, a gash opened on the back of his head. Blood had gushed from the wound, mixing with the seawater washing across the polished wood.

  Those few moments were ones Zall had relived millions of times, emerging from the darkness below, stepping into the sunshine, only to have everything he cared about in the world ripped from him in a moment.

  He rushed to his son’s side and tried to revive him, dragging his limp body back to the stern bench, trying in vain to revive him.

  There was no response.

  In the four years since, there had been no response.

  It took the Coast Guard over half an hour to arrive. By the time they did, William’s skin was growing clammy, his pulse falling away to almost nothing. Zall himself was hysterical as the corpsmen worked on William. It took three of them to prepare him for transport, flying them both to the city while the rest of crew secured the sloop and towed it back to port.

  To Zall’s knowledge, nobody had ever set foot on it again.

  The worst part of all, the part that still tortured Zall every time he looked at his son, was the random nature of it.

  It wasn’t that a single accident had sent his wife into a state of despondency that she never recovered from, destroying their marriage, causing her to file a lawsuit against him that almost took his freedom.

  It wasn’t survivor’s guilt, screaming into the night sky, wanting to know why his son was taken and he wasn’t.

  It wasn’t remorse for all that had happened in the time since, all of the effort, the time, the money, the lengths employed to try to correct the world around him.

  It was having to live with the fact that one
moment he and his son were sharing a joke, a corny pun about sailing, and the next, William was gone forever. There was no rogue wave that caused the fall. No rough seas or unexplained weather that brought it on. Somehow in the six minutes he was below deck, his son, an able sailor with years of experience, slipped, fell, and was never the same again.

  The road to this point had been a long one. Zall knew most of what he had done to get there was inexcusable, things that would earn him a nonstop ticket to Hell, but he didn’t much care. If there was a chance, however remote, that this could bring his son back, preserve the family legacy, right a tiny bit of a cosmic wrong, then it was worth it.

  Every last bit of it.

  “Are you ready to begin, sir?” Saiki asked.

  The sound of his voice pulled Zall back to the present, away from the sad story he had witnessed untold times before.

  “Yes,” Zall whispered softly. “Yes, we are.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  It was agreed with much apprehension that the group would have to split. There was no way to visit a house in Hawaii Kai and then a home atop Tantalus without tipping off Zall. Already, they were working against the near certainty that he had gone underground, much the same as Mary-Ann Harris. Giving him even the slightest tip that they were coming would make that a virtual lock. He would disappear and finding him again would become a question of if, not when.

  It was decided that Kalani and Rip would go to Zall’s home together. Tseng would take Sturgis and Li with him to the other location, the hope being that a coordinated strike would give them the best chance of actually catching Zall. While there wasn’t enough hard evidence to bring charges, there was plenty to justify holding him for questioning.

  At the very least, they could keep him until Monday, when Mary-Ann Harris was said to be back in town. At that time, they could put them both in the same room and hash things out, but before that could happen, they had to bring Zall in and ensure he didn’t have a chance to warn her.

  Neither group was especially thrilled with the plan, both wishing to arrive with a much larger force. The reality, though, was they had a ton of conjecture and nothing concrete. They had been warned by the governor to keep things quiet, something that would prove impossible if they stormed the home of one of Honolulu’s wealthiest residents with an army of cops.

  Compounding things was the problem of time. Assembling teams and preparing them required hours they didn’t have. Instead, the two groups would go in under the auspice of bringing in Zall for a friendly talk.

  Whether or not that would work was anybody’s guess.

  Forty minutes later, Walter Tseng had swapped his shorts and sandals for jeans and running shoes, but still wore the same t-shirt as he sat behind the wheel of his SUV three blocks away from the targeted house.

  A scowl on his face, he watched in his rearview mirror as a pair of headlights approached and pulled to a stop behind him. A moment later they blinked out, and two silhouettes emerged, walking to the passenger side of his car and climbing in.

  Taking the front seat was Jake Sturgis, swinging his bulk into the leather chair and slamming the door shut behind him.

  His partner, Clayton Li, took the back seat. Different in every way from Sturgis, Li was in his mid-30s, his hair still dark and thick. Routinely scoring on the higher end of the department fitness reports, he had a short, compact build and made not a sound as he moved onto the seat and nodded to Tseng.

  “What the hell are we doing here?” Sturgis growled, staring at Tseng, making no attempt to hide the disdain on his face. “You know this is our night off.”

  Tseng allowed a beat to pass, still watching the street. He didn’t bother to look over at Sturgis, checking the street before starting the engine and slowly rolling forward. “Thank you for coming. There aren’t many people on the force that I can call in on this.”

  “There aren’t many...” Sturgis began to protest before cutting himself off, a mocking smile on his face. “Oh, this is about that mess at the beach the other night, isn’t it?”

  Heat rose to Tseng’s cheeks. He had no problem bringing in Li, but Sturgis was someone he would have rather left behind. The precarious position the governor had put him in by demanding secrecy didn’t give him much choice. He couldn’t very well approach the house alone, no matter how safe it appeared. He also couldn’t call on one detective and ask him to keep it a secret from his partner.

  “I don’t have time to give you the entire back story right now,” Tseng said, which wasn’t entirely the truth, but all he was going to give. Sturgis had already gone to the media with the department’s dirty laundry and he wasn’t going to have him the chance to do it again.

  Looking into the rearview mirror, he added, “Our investigation has shown that this particular address may be directly related to those murders, as well as your case involving the theft of children’s teeth.”

  In the backseat Li’s eyebrows went up at the statement, but he remained silent.

  “Our case?” Sturgis spat, still staring across at the chief, walking a fine line between intrigued and insubordinate. “We’ve seen nothing that would point us this way. And who was doing the investigating? Lewis and her hired hand?”

  The veins on the back of Tseng’s hands bulged as he squeezed the steering wheel. He aimed his truck at the driveway on the end of the street, the overhead image from Google Earth still fresh in his mind.

  “Just stay quiet,” Tseng hissed, dropping his window and pressing the call button on the speaker at the entrance.

  The request was met by static before a male voice, sounding irritated and a little anxious, asked, “What do you want?”

  The overt hostility of the question fell in line with what Tseng expected, an unofficial confirmation that they were in the right place. Lifting his badge, he flashed it at the small camera positioned above the call button and said, “HPD, open up. We have some questions for Thomas Zall.”

  Again, static erupted over the speaker before a second voice, this one a bit more articulate, with less animosity, said, “Come back with a warrant.”

  A second confirmation.

  Tseng glanced into the rearview mirror, watching as Li coiled himself, his right hand already reaching for his hip. Feeling the same sense of caution, Tseng slid his hand up along his thigh, tapping his Glock. “We’re not here to search anything. We’re just here to talk.”

  Sitting in silence, they waited as no response came. Tseng depressed the call button again. “Hello? Hey, you in there?”

  Once more there was a pause, followed by the first voice. He said just two words, but they were issued as a direct challenge, his intentions unmistakable.

  “Go away.”

  Tseng glanced across at Sturgis, who for the first time seemed to be at a loss for words.

  “Listen, I’m not sure who I’m speaking to,” Tseng said, hearing his own voice rise, “but this is Thomas Tseng, Chief of Police for the Honolulu Police Department.”

  It was the last word Tseng got out, cut off by the sound of metal pinging against metal. Steam began to rise from the hood, followed by the hiss of the radiator.

  “Are they shooting at us?” Sturgis asked, his hand pawing at his waist, his body pressed back in his seat, threatening to snap it in half.

  Adrenaline rushed through Tseng as he watched the white mist rise in front of him. His body went rigid, every nerve on fire as a third shot rang out, caroming off the hood of the car, slamming into the windshield.

  “What the hell?” Li yelled from the backseat, drawing his weapon.

  Tseng had to make a decision. He could drop the gear shift into reverse and flee from the attack, call for backup, and storm the place. Doing so would alert Zall, allow whoever was behind the gate to regroup and hunker down, and though he found himself caring less and less, incur the wrath of the governor for making it a public spectacle.

  Most important, doing so allowed people at the other location to plan an attack, potentially han
ging Kalani and Rip out to dry.

  It was the kind of choice nobody should ever have to make.

  “Hold on,” he muttered, stomping the gas pedal down, aiming the nose of the SUV at the gate in front of them.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Growing up as the child of a migrant worker, Danilo Cruz wasn’t accustomed to having a lot of material possessions. The first 12 years of his life, everything he owned could be stuffed inside a pillowcase. More than once he was awoken in the middle of the night and forced to do just that, tossing it over his shoulder and fleeing into the darkness.

  While not an idyllic childhood, it imparted certain lessons he carried with him even now. The first was to never have anything that he couldn’t leave behind at a moment’s notice. As much as he loved his new truck, there would be no qualms about parting with it if need be.

  Second, it had showed him the upside of traveling light. There was no need to buy a home, lots of clothes, furniture, knick-knacks. He was capable of living a meager life.

  The thought filled his mind as he carried his second box of possessions into the guest house and dropped it on the bed, everything he owned in the world now sitting in the driveway outside or inside the boxes before him.

  There was no way to know how long he would be staying in the guest house, and no need to continue paying rent on a room he wasn’t using, so he told his landlord he was leaving. If his stay ended up being shorter than expected, he could find another place easily enough.

  For the time being, Danilo was quite content where he was. While he didn’t relish the idea of Zall being able to look in on him whenever he chose, he had been in the man’s employ long enough to know that it wouldn’t be an issue. The only reason he had lasted for so long, when many of his colleagues had fallen by the wayside, was because he got things done. Provided that continued, there would be no need for Zall to ever come calling.

  Besides, it was hard to argue with the fact that it was by far the nicest home he had ever stayed in.