by Neal, Toby
Lei held her breath, waiting for argument from the other agents, but even Waxman nodded and said, “I’m sure Rezents is a different story.”
“Indeed he is. For one thing, the boy’s seventeen, almost legal age. Right now I’m waiting for Homeland to show me a provable connection between him and the explosives. It seems incredible he didn’t have a bigger role to play than Blackman, but as I said, there’s still no physical evidence tying him to any of the other vandalized sites or to the Smiley murder.” He slid his glasses on, blinked his eyes owlishly, and stood. “Just wanted to check in.”
“Thank you for keeping us up-to-date.” Waxman walked him to the door. After he escorted the attorney general out, he turned back to the agents. “I would say we’re on track to wrapping this thing up. Everyone get home and get some sleep. Tomorrow we meet with Homeland and go over the case in detail.”
Lei drove home in the dark to pick up Angel, hurrying to get to Tripler Hospital before visiting hours ended at eight. When she got to the adolescent unit, the nurse who admitted her told her Consuelo had had to be taken out of the dining room with the other kids. She’d cut her wrists—and had almost done some serious damage to herself, even with a plastic knife.
Lei found herself rubbing old scars of her own self-injury as she looked into the girl’s room through the wire-bisected window. She reached into her pocket for her metal talisman. Consuelo was on the bed, turned against the wall, her long black hair snarled over the back of the plain gray sweats she wore. The nurse unlocked the door, and Lei carried in a chair from the hall.
Angel squirmed inside Lei’s tucked-in shirt, and as soon as the nurse shut the door, she pulled the shirt out of her pants and let the little dog out, setting her on the cot with Consuelo. Angel clambered over the still form, snuffling and whimpering, licking the girl’s cheek until Consuelo’s eyes opened. She rolled over onto her back, her hands coming up to clasp the Chihuahua.
“Angel. Oh, thank God. I thought you’d died.” Consuelo’s tongue seemed thick, her eyes puffy and glazed with some kind of sedative, and Lei’s heart squeezed at the sight of the fragile wrists covered in taped gauze.
Nothing seemed to matter but the reunion between Consuelo and Angel, and the girl eventually sat up, clasping the tiny dog to her chest. Angel continued to lick anything she could get her tongue on, and right now it was Consuelo’s neck as the girl looked at Lei. “How did you get her in here?”
“My shirt.” Lei grinned. “She seemed to know something was up. She was really quiet until we got in here, and she smelled you.”
“Where are they keeping her?”
“I have her, actually. And I wanted to tell you, things are looking very good for you. I heard only two years in Ko’olau, therapy, and you get to finish high school.”
Consuelo lowered the fan of her long lashes, rubbing Angel’s belly. “Two years feels like forever.”
“I’ll keep Angel for you. You can have her back when you get out. I’ve checked, and the Smileys didn’t have any children or family who wanted her. If I hadn’t taken her, she’d have gone to the Humane Society.”
Consuelo looked up. Something new glimmered in those dulled dark eyes—Lei thought it might be hope. “Really? I can have her back?”
“That’s the plan,” Lei said stoutly. She’d already begun perusing ads for a cottage or ohana unit so Stevens could bring Keiki over, and she smiled to think of the big Rottweiler and the tiny teacup Chihuahua, with their matching markings, side by side. “What do you think of the therapy here?”
“Dr. Wilson’s all right. She’s the only one I’ve seen. But I think therapy’s lame.”
“I know you’re a Fight Club fan. Just think if Jack had been able to—well—realize sooner that he was also Tyler Durden.” Lei had rented the film and watched it twice, hoping to understand Consuelo’s take on it. “If he’d been able to be more his whole self, make smaller changes in his life, he wouldn’t have had to kill Tyler to keep him from taking over in the end. Jack really needed therapy, and all those visits to the cancer groups and such were him trying to get it without really getting it.”
Consuelo petted the little dog, long, slow strokes, and Angel went limp, eyes closed in bliss, draped over the girl’s leg. “I don’t know.”
Lei pushed up her sleeve, extended her arm to Consuelo. Thin white lines of old scar tissue, stacks of them, marked the pale skin of her inner wrists, marching up to her elbow.
“I know what pain feels like. I know what cutting does. And I know what therapy can do. Dr. Wilson was my therapist, too, back in the day.” Consuelo’s eyes widened as Lei pushed up her other sleeve and showed her the other arm. “I know what it is to want to die and also to want to live. I never want to go back to this. I go to therapy when I need to, so I’ll never cut again.”
“Wow. That’s really messed up.” And for the first time, Consuelo sounded like just another sixteen-year-old.
Lei rolled her plain white FBI shirtsleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs. “You’re the first person I’ve ever showed these to, other than my boyfriend. Give Dr. Wilson a chance, and just know Angel will be waiting for you when you get out. We’ll visit as often as we can.”
“Okay. But please don’t go yet.”
Lei stayed until the nurse came back and caught them with Angel. Lei’s pleas got the dog admitted to the visiting list subject to Dr. Wilson’s approval, which Lei was sure would be granted.
When they left, Consuelo smiled and waved goodbye.
Chapter 28
Lei scooped up saimin noodles with her chopsticks at the noodle house her grandfather had chosen. He sat across from her, slicing chicken katsu with a knife and fork before picking it up with chopsticks, dipping the thin, deep-fried chicken strip into sauce and bringing it to his mouth.
Soga Matsumoto was a small, wiry man with buzz-cut silver hair and a square face that still hinted at handsome. His hands were gnarled with arthritis and spotted from the sun. Lei could see calluses in their palms and a rim of dirt he’d failed to scrub out from under a fingernail.
Conversation had been stilted, interspersed with covert observations of each other. Lei kept looking for something about him she recognized, anything that would remind her of herself or of the memories she had of her mother, but with his hooded eyes, lids sagging in a smooth fold over diamond-bright darkness, deep grooves beside his narrow mouth, nothing about him looked or felt familiar.
“Do you garden?” She gestured with her chopsticks to his hands.
“Yes. In fact, I’d like to show you the garden. I have bonsai trees. I sell them to a nursery. Sometime, maybe, you can come see.”
“That sounds nice.” Lei chased more noodles around. “Do we have any other family here I should know?”
“I have a sister. She has some grandkids around your age. But I think they’ve gone to the Mainland.” Another precise cut of the katsu. “What are you doing for the holidays?”
Lei sensed there was a world of thought in the casually phrased question. “Actually, my dad and Aunty Rosario are coming over. Maybe we can all get together.”
“Maybe.” He chewed deliberately, swallowed. “I told you I was thinking about what you told me before, about the Kwon murder. I think you should stay out of it, let sleeping dogs lie.”
Lei was surprised he brought it up. “That’s what I’ve been doing—but I worry it will come back on me. Now I’m starting to want to know who did it—not just to clear myself but to solve it.”
“Leave it alone. That’s all,” Soga repeated, clipping off the end of the sentence in a way that told her he wasn’t going to say more. “On Memorial Day we have a lantern-lighting ceremony to remember the ones we’ve lost. We set the lanterns floating down on the ocean in Waikiki. I will be lighting one for your grandmother and your mother. It’s in the spring, but I wonder if you’d like to come.”
“Of course,” Lei said, still wondering about his earlier comments. Surely this dignified older man who gr
ew bonsai trees and made paper lanterns wasn’t Kwon’s shooter. “The festival sounds great.” She’d seen pictures of the annual festival—thousands of paper lanterns floating on the sea, a tapestry of light, until they eventually burned out and were retrieved. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful. I would love to remember them that way. I have a friend I’d like to make a lantern for.” Mary Gomes, her friend on the Big Island killed some years ago, would always be in her heart.
Her grandfather told her he was a volunteer with the Shinnyo Buddhist temple that organized the event, and for months in advance he helped rebuild and repair the lanterns from the year before as well as making new ones. They discussed making the lanterns, and he invited her to come volunteer. They set a time for Lei to see his bonsai nursery, and when Lei left the run-down little noodle house, she felt as close to happy as she’d been since moving to Honolulu.
He might not look familiar, but on some level she knew him, and it was going to be interesting to get to know her neglected Japanese heritage a little bit.
She had family here, on Oahu.
Lei had asked that Ken sit in on her administrative conference with SAC Waxman, and it was allowed, to her relief. She took comfort from Ken’s quiet strength beside her as he faced Waxman with her. The branch chief sat across from them in the conference room, Lei’s file open in front and a pair of square steel reading glasses resting on his blade of a nose.
“I assume you know why we’re here.” Waxman looked at her over the glasses. Not for the first time, she noticed the cold intelligence of his gaze.
“I have some idea, yes, sir.” Lei had returned to the office after lunch with her grandfather to find a message summoning her.
“Now that things are settling on the case, I need to do some cleanup. I’m officially notifying you of two negative reviews in your personnel file.” Waxman showed her the Notice of Administrative Conference notice, holding it up. “You can ask for a union representative to attend this meeting, or waive that right.”
“I waive that right,” Lei said, steadying her voice. She slid her hand into her pocket to touch the white-gold disc.
“Sign here, then.” Waxman pushed the paper and an FBI ballpoint over to her. She picked up the pen and signed the paper, her hands prickling with sweat. She pushed the paper back to him. “Okay, on to the notes in your file. The first one is here: unprofessional representation of the FBI to the media. Initial that you have been informed. You may appeal the particulars of the note if you disagree.”
Lei scanned the paragraph documenting her bungled interview with Watanabe, with a side note about disclosing confidential information—namely that the unsub was armed. She initialed the box beside the write-up, and Waxman went on.
“The other corrective note is for failing to follow Bureau protocols on an investigation.” Lei scanned two paragraphs there, documenting incidents of lack of communication, unauthorized interview of a witness/victim (her visit to the Smileys on the day of the bombing) unauthorized exit of an aircraft while in motion (jumping out of the helicopter), and unsanctioned disclosures to a suspect (content of her talks with Consuelo).
Of the details of these, the only one she felt was unfair was the disclosures to Consuelo—she’d been mandated to get information from the girl, but not allowed to give Consuelo any—and hadn’t been informed of that.
Her hand paused by the initial box as she considered appealing that one—and then she signed.
If Waxman knew she was not only still visiting Consuelo, but she was holding the girl’s dog for her, he’d add another whole paragraph on conduct unbecoming an FBI agent.
“Good. I’m glad you aren’t fighting me on this.” Waxman pulled the documents back and put them in the folder.
“Sir, I think we should strike the part about disclosures to a witness,” Ken said. “You told her to get information out of Consuelo Aguilar, and you provided no direction how you wanted that done.”
“Ken.” Waxman removed his glasses and made a steeple of his fingers. “I didn’t let you sit in on the meeting as her union advocate. I let you sit in so you could bear some responsibility for the actions this young, green agent I assigned to you to has committed under your guidance. I think I’m going light on Texeira. One more note in her file—and I could easily generate one—and she’d be out of the Bureau for good since she’s in her first year as an agent. I’m going light on her because I see what you see—Lei Texeira has talent as an investigator. Good instincts.”
“So could you add a note in her file to that effect?” Ken asked, his face as serious as Lei had ever seen it. “I think she’s more than earned that, even if the methods have been a little unconventional.”
Waxman stared at them both for a long moment, then put his glasses back on. “All right.” He used the ballpoint to write, “Lei Texeira possesses the physical courage, initiative, and perseverance necessary in a federal agent as evidenced by her effective work resulting in the capture of the Smiley Bandit.”
Lei initialed the box beside the handwritten note, her heart swelling with gratitude toward Ken. She sneaked a glance at him and could have sworn he winked, but it was gone before she could be sure.
“Agent Texeira, you’re on probation for another sixty days. You’ll be assisting Greg at the front desk and the other agents in whatever capacity they see fit, including coffee. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lei said, and shook his dry, cool hand before they left the room.
Back at their cubicle, she turned to Ken. “Thanks, partner.”
“It was nothing.” He flapped a hand.
“It wasn’t nothing. Waxman’s a hardass, but he even eked out a compliment because you asked him to. I know I’ve been a pain, but I want you to know I’ve enjoyed working with you and learned a lot from it.”
“We’ll work together again. In the meantime, can you get me some coffee?” He kept his face deadpan.
“Sure.” She kept hers the same. “Cream or sugar?”
“With a side of humble pie.” This time he definitely winked.
“I deserve it,” Lei said. “Anyway. Thanks again.”
“I’ll take cream in my coffee,” he said to her retreating back.
Three weeks later, Lei woke up in her new rental cottage and swung her legs out of bed. She’d hung her Glock in its holster from the scrollwork headboard where it was near to hand. Her phone was neatly plugged into the charger and rested on the bedside table along with the white-gold disc and her shiny FBI badge. She’d already bought a set of carpeted doggie stairs, and Angel hopped self-importantly down from the ratty beach towel at the foot of the bed where she slept.
Everything was in its place and finally ready.
Lei felt anticipation hum along her veins. Stevens was bringing Keiki home today. She got into the shower. Keiki brought good into her life, and she couldn’t wait to see her dog again—and Stevens, too, however briefly.
Lathering up her curls, she mulled over the results of her administrative meeting with Waxman. Lei was still officially on probation, with Ken appointed her babysitter, and had been spending a lot of time running background checks and helping Greg in the reception booth.
Homeland Security had interviewed her about her visit to the Smiley house prior to the bombing, and her disclosures had resulted in an investigation as to her purpose in visiting the estate and even accusations that she might be a rogue agent who’d had something to do with the explosion.
Fortunately, that nonsense had eventually died down, but it hadn’t been pleasant while it lasted. The whole series of events had left her in a tenuous position at the Bureau, and she shuddered to think of what Waxman would make of her secretly keeping Angel and the weekly visits to Consuelo, now beginning her sentence at Ko’olau Youth Correctional Center.
But at the moment, she didn’t even care—Keiki was all that mattered. She turned off the shower, got out and dressed, indecisive—regular jeans? Or the nice skinny black ones? It
was Saturday and she didn’t have work, so she pulled on the black ones and a tight black tank that showed off her arms. She scrunched Curl Tamer into her curls. A whisk of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss, and she was ready. The doorbell set in the outer gate buzzed.
Stevens and Keiki were here.
Chapter 29
Lei opened the door and stepped out onto the little porch. She held Angel tucked under her arm as Stevens unlatched the gate of the six-foot privacy fence that ran around the yard.
“Hey, girl!” Lei greeted the big Rottweiler whose leash he held. Angel’s ruff rose against her arm, and the little dog emitted a series of high, aggressive yaps.
“This is her territory,” Lei said as they approached. “They have to get used to each other.” She set the Chihuahua on the ground and went forward to greet Keiki, whose hind end was doing a hula as the big dog whimpered with happiness.
Lei knelt, and Keiki sat. Stevens unclipped the leash, and Lei rubbed the dog’s wide chest and submitted to a few tongue swipes, embracing the dog’s sturdy neck, inhaling her scent—the Rottie smelled of coconut dog shampoo. Stevens must have washed her for the occasion.
Beside them, Angel barked so hard she flew up off the ground on rigid legs—“Riff! Riff! Riff!”
“I don’t know if they’re going to get along,” Stevens said.
“Give them a minute,” Lei said. Keiki stood back up, walked over to the hysterical Chihuahua, and leaned down to sniff her. The tiny dog’s ears flattened, her tail sank, and she ran behind Lei. Lei ordered Keiki to lie down to expose her belly to Angel’s sniffing investigation, submitting patiently to this inferior creature’s curiosity with a snort—a big-dog version of an eye roll.
Mutual sniffing achieved, the two dogs walked off to scent mark the yard.
“Thanks for bringing her back.” Lei was unsure of how to proceed—hug him? Shake hands? Awkward standing, hands in pockets as they watched the dogs, might have continued if she hadn’t gestured to the iron security door. It was the first thing she’d installed upon moving in. “Come in. Let me give you a beer, at least.”