This case was getting interesting. “You’ve discussed this with her?”
“Yes.” Sachi Hammond seemed relieved. “We’ve talked a couple of times. She’s the only other person who thinks this man is an imposter. Takeo is—was—a very private person. Up until he vanished, he was a relentless Facebook user but he never posted much about his day-to-day activities. He posted slogans, you know, the feel-good stuff a lot of people post. He was proud of his cooking classes. It was a big deal for him to try new things. I encouraged him. The new guy just took a class yesterday judging by the new posts, which have begun cropping up again. But that’s all. I’m telling you, this man is a phony, and I think, a killer.”
I nodded. “And you want me to prove it.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’m intrigued. I’ll bite. May I ask, who sent you to me?”
She smiled for the first time. “A mutual friend. Noni Kolima.”
I returned her smile, but it was fake. I reeled through the Rolodex in my mind. The name was familiar but I couldn’t recall how I knew it.
“Could we get started right away?”
“Of course.” I opened my top drawer and extracted a contract.
She read through it. “You require a three-thousand dollar cash retainer.” She reached into her purse. “Here’s five.” She pushed a slim envelope toward me then scrawled her signature on the agreement. The envelope didn’t look bulky enough to contain five grand. “All present and correct, I assure you.” Once again, she seemed to be reading my mind. It was spooky.
As if on cue, a small puppy face peeped out of the purse opening.
“Well, well, well,” I said. “Miss Susie, I presume?”
Sachi laughed. “Yes, this is Susie.”
Her cell phone rang, and she dipped into her purse once more, checking the readout. “It’s Bobby. He needs me to pick him up from the airport. He just got in from L.A.” She pulled a face. “His boxer just lost the middleweight world championship two nights ago. He’s going to be in a foul mood.”
As she stood, she handed me a folded piece of paper. “Here are my details. My address, Takeo’s address, my cell phone number, and his. By the way, somebody cleared his inbox and the phone rings, but I haven’t left a message.” She frowned. “We contacted each other with a series of codes. I made a note of them on the page in case you need them. I also gave you both of our social media links.”
“I’ll call you at six o’clock to give you an update.” I said.
“Please don’t leave messages on my cell phone. If you don’t reach me in person, there’s a number at the bottom of the page. It’s a burner cell phone for you and me to stay in touch.” She handed me one more item. A champagne glass in a baggie.
“This is a sample of Takeo’s fingerprints. Oh, I’ve also given you Amy Jaeger’s number. She knows I’m worried about Takeo, but only as a friend and fellow volunteer.” Her cell phone chirped. “Gotta run.”
I stared after her. Several things bothered me about the case. First, if she and Bobby rarely spoke, why was she picking him up at the airport? I opened the envelope and saw five crisp, thousand dollar bills. I’d never seen anything like them before except on drug busts. But what really got to me more than anything was I remembered who Noni Kolima was. And if she was the same person Sachi Hammond was talking about, then we had a problem because the Noni Kolima I knew was dead.
And had been for twenty-eight years.
I had a lot to do on this investigation and I was more excited than I’d been in weeks. Before anything else though, I needed to make sure the money she gave me was real. I checked in my top drawer for the counterfeit detector pen I was certain I’d put in there. Then remembered I didn’t have one. Not that I thought the cash was fake but better safe than sorry. Before I left for the bank, I went online and Googled “Takeo Watanabe.” I found his Facebook page, which was set to semi-private. I was able to see some things, such as the fact that he belonged to a vegan cooking club on the site and that he had joined two years ago.
His photo was not of himself but of a bowl of noodles. Interesting. Next, I looked up Bobby Hammond. Man, he was handsome, and just the kind of guy I’d go for, which meant he was a total doucheweed. He had a sullen look to his olive complexion and dark eyes. His hair had been shorn to the scalp and he had a huge grin. A cocky mofo to be sure. His Facebook avatar was a photo of him and Sachi. She looked ecstatic in the image, so I assumed it had been taken in happier times. His profile had been set to public, so I was able to discover the photo had been taken at their wedding, along with many others in his album.
Bobby’s timeline was filled with boxing photos. The only reference I could find to Sachi was a birthday greeting the previous month. “Happy birthday to my gorgeous bride.” There was a photo of the two of them at one of the outdoor tables at House Without a Key. Outwardly at least, he was keeping up the pretense of a happily married man. I made a mental note to come back and take a closer look at his posts.
I shut down the computer, stuck it in my laptop bag, slid the contract and the notes Sachi gave me into a pocket of the bag then locked the office. I wasn’t worried about somebody coming and not finding me. It was too much to hope that I’d land two clients in one day.
Any passerby would have to ask somebody else about zom zoms.
Outside, I felt like a kid being let out of school. Born and raised on the island of O’ahu, I’d known Waikīkī well in my school days, college, and later as a beat cop, but transferred to Kaua‘i. I hardly recognized Kalakaua Avenue now. Upstairs in the old Beachcomber tower, I had a small one-bedroom apartment I’d rented from a friend of Charlie’s. It wasn’t bad, but weekend nights, the noise level from the tourists was deafening. Located right opposite the Cheesecake Factory—my new, lethal obsession—and my least favorite place, Jimmy Buffet’s aggressively loud Margaritaville, I got out of the office and away from the noise as soon as the sun started to set.
It still took some getting used to seeing all the big, fancy stores that had nothing to do with Hawai‘i. I moved down the street to hit the bank and remembered it wasn’t there anymore. There used to be one at International Marketplace but it was a construction site now, empty except for the massive banyan tree and another small one behind it. Not much seemed to be happening, except a lot of noise. The project was taking for damned ever to complete. I sped over to the First Hawaiian Bank on Luxury Row and raced inside.
One of the tellers took my notes, held them for a moment, an odd look on his face. He ran them through a counting machine, swept a counterfeit pen across them and stared at me. “They’re real. I gave her this money myself.”
I gaped at him. “She came in here? That’s a huge coincidence.”
He shrugged. “Small island, I guess. She ordered them about a month ago.” He stared at the notes so long, I felt compelled to tug them from his grip. “I remember this transaction because we don’t usually give out thousand dollar notes.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to come in and check.”
He smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” He sighed and fiddled with his wedding ring in a distracted way. “I keep hoping she’ll come back.”
I returned to the hotel where I kept my car in the maze called the parking lot, and drove off to the police station on Beretania. The constant and massive construction along Kalakaua and Ala Moana Boulevards was irritating and slowed the already impossible traffic congestion. I still couldn’t get used to Foodland being gone from Ala Moana center. I needed a gift for my cousin, Kathy, since I was about to call in a huge favor. Several, actually. I drove up to King Street and headed to the Foodland there. I found parking instantly and began to think it was my lucky day. Inside the store, I wondered what I should give her as a baby gift. I saw a display for diapers. Yeah. That was the ticket. Babies went through a lot of those. I bought a big bag of them and zipped on through the checkout.
A few minutes later, I was on my way to the Beretania Street police department. I went over my to-do list in my mind and parked in one of the massive structures lined with meters designed to swallow up every last dime you’ve earned. Sauntering over to the station, I admired the emerald green lawn around the station and the other important buildings, such as the court house.
At the entrance, I went through the security check and didn’t mind the gentle ribbing from some of the guys. They liked to make fun of me. I was surprised any of them remembered me, and it made me feel good when they said, “Welcome home, big guy.”
Inside, I took the elevator down to the basement where my cousin, Kathy, worked in the crime lab. She was in her cubicle and looked up at me. Her happy expression faltered after she saw the diapers.
“Put them with the others,” she instructed, a sour look on her face.
I was shocked to see a stash of them under her L-shaped desk. She was fuming, and I wondered if she’d get angry if I asked for the favor I needed.
“How’s the baby?” I glanced around the walls of her cubicle. I remembered he was a boy but couldn’t recall his name.
“Thanks for asking. He’s great. May I ask why you brought diapers? Why does everyone give me diapers? You think I got a poopy baby or something?”
“No,” I said, embarrassed by her tirade. “I’m just a bad shopper. Sorry, cuz.”
She simmered down a little. “You can take me to lunch.”
“What, now?”
“No. Right after I do whatever favor it is that you want.”
“Okay. Any place you want.” I can see my five grand disappearing faster than you can say zom zoms.
“Auntie Pasto’s.”
I stifled a groan. I liked the food, and it was close to the station, but the restaurant had a chronic problem with getting orders out quickly.
“Okay.” I adopted a game face.
“What do you need?” She turned to her computer.
“I’m looking for a missing man. I need to pull up any background info we have on him and ah, can we request his cell phone records?”
“We, huh? Well, we can do both. I assume this on the QT and you’re not going through official channels for his phone records.”
“Not at this time. If I suspect foul play, I will report his disappearance, I promise.” I noticed a photograph of a Desert Eagle, the weapon, not the bird, tacked on the wall of her cubicle. Right next to photos of her and her hubby and the baby. What the heck is his name? William? Warren?
“Nice gun,” I said.
Kathy’s face turned dreamy. “We never get weapons like this. We had a shooting death at Tally’s restaurant.”
“Hey, if I was forced to eat there I’d go postal, too.”
She shook her head. “Oh, you. I was so excited when I found the weapon.”
“Where was it?”
“In the men’s toilet, shoved into the garbage bin.”
“Good work. And you’re right. We never get weapons like this. If you watched the TV series Hawai‘i Five-O however, you’d be forgiven for thinking everyone carries Uzis on the streets of Waikīkī.” As far as I could recall, I’d only ever come across one Desert Eagle in the course of police work. Those fifty-caliber guns mean business.
“Gimme your deets.”
“The subject’s name is Takeo Watanabe.”
“That’s a nice French name.”
I grinned, glad to know that motherhood hadn’t robbed Kathy of her sense of humor.
“Address?”
I gave it to her. She turned to me. “The cell phone records will be here in seventy-two hours. I’ll let you know as soon as I have them.” She fixed me with a penetrating stare. “You know this is going to take more than diapers and a plate of pasta, right?”
“What else do you want?”
“Baby sitting. Friday night and then again two weeks later.”
“Sheesh. You drive a hard bargain.”
She smiled. She’d always been a tough girl, even when we were kids. She stood and waved me into her seat. “Have at it. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to noodle around. I’ll go make myself a cup of coffee. You need to print anything out, the printer’s over there.” She pointed to a corner of the office and left the cubicle.
I dive-bombed her computer and began my background check on Takeo Watanabe. He had no arrests I could find, no criminal activity sprang out at me, but he’d moved around a lot. I went back over the last ten years, and he appeared to move every two years. He’d traveled from California to Nevada, then to Arizona before settling in Hawai‘i. He’d lived in the islands for four years, and his previous address had been in Kīhei, Maui. I printed off everything, then ran a criminal record. Nothing.
Doing a credit check was illegal but I did it anyway. He had several revolving credit card balances. One of them was taking a real hammering, and he’d been late on the last payment, which had dinged his credit enormously. It didn’t take much these days. I thought this was a huge red flag since the installment had been due during the time he’d disappeared but had been paid two weeks ago. It was still too late to keep his credit score high.
Again, I took a copy of the report and I swung over to the Honolulu land titles section. He’d bought the Mānoa Valley house two years ago. It appeared he’d been renting in Maui since that residence was owned by a couple with the last name of Alvarenga. Probably Portuguese.
Out of curiosity, I checked on Sachi Hammond’s house. It was listed in both her name and Bobby’s. Ouch. I had a sneaky suspicion he’d make her sell it if they got divorced. Why, oh why did she put him on the title? Then again, maybe she’d been forced to do it in order to save her family home. I hoped he wasn’t going to make her sell the place once they got divorced.
I pulled up the police report on the domestic dispute between the Hammonds over a year ago. It was pretty much as she had told me, though there were photos on file of her with finger marks around her neck. I printed the report then Googled Takeo and was surprised to find virtually nothing on him apart from what I’d already found. I wanted to noodle around his Facebook profile and look at his posts. I’d ask Sachi if she’d give me her login information so I could do it. There were no LinkedIn listings for him. Again, nothing. How did this guy make ends meet? What did he do all day in that big expensive house?
I made a list of people to speak to including the Alvarengas in Maui, and Amy Jaeger.
“You done?” Kathy asked at my elbow.
“Yep. I need to get hold of case photos.”
She made a note of the case number, went off, and returned with a sealed bag of police Polaroids.
“You’d better give me something within twenty-four hours to substantiate my doing this for you.”
“Will do.” I hope. I studied the seven photos, shocked to find they were worse than the police report implied. Bobby Hammond had given his wife a severe beating. Her facial contusions were frightening, and it looked like he’d tried to strangle her. I took photocopies of everything.
“Spouse declines pressing charges,” the notes said. Yeah. She didn’t want that slime bag to end up with a blemished reputation.
“Cool. I called ahead to Auntie Pasto’s. They’ve got orders of meatballs and spaghetti and garlic bread coming up.”
“Awesome.” I was starving. We made our way to my car and since Beretania was a one-way street, I had to make a complicated series of turns to reach the restaurant, also on Beretania, but about a mile away from the station. I found parking right out front and fed yet another damned meter.
Inside the restaurant, we grabbed a table, and I almost swooned at the delicious scent of garlic wafting over us. It sure beat the smell of fried underpants and scorched shoes. I turned my foot over under the table. Just as I suspected, there was a big hole in the sole. Our food arrived quickly, an
d we split a bottle of mineral water.
Kathy filled me in on the horrors of childbirth. “It’s like pulling your top lip up and over your head.” Then she described the latest cases she had. Honolulu Police Department’s crime lab had limited scope with its investigations but the small crew of fifteen men and women worked hard each and every day. She was feeling tremendous guilt over returning to work, but she and her husband, a detective out in Pearl City, weren’t rich and needed the double income. As she talked, I ran over the case in my mind. I didn’t think Bobby Hammond was necessarily involved in Takeo’s disappearance, but I’d ask Kathy’s husband, Mike, if he knew the guy and the gym where he trained.
Something else niggled at me, and it was Sachi’s mention of Noni Kolima. If it was the Noni I knew and she was dead, how had they communicated? I knew there were some very spiritual people in these islands, but could Sachi really be one of them? I almost slapped myself thinking these things. There was no way Sachi could have known Noni. Unless there was another one. But still the question lingered in my mind as our lunch progressed. When the check came, I didn’t realize Kathy had been talking nonstop. I also had no clue she’d ordered a couple of meals to go. That was okay, she’d done me a huge favor today.
“It’s so great of you to come over Friday and babysit. Why don’t you come a little earlier than we agreed, say five o’clock? That way I can go over the diaper changing ritual with you. You’re going to love looking after Joshua. He’s the happiest kid you’ll ever meet. Such a good-natured baby. He reminds me of you at his age.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. She was a year older than me and since I’d been a baby, how would she remember? I still needed her, though, and simply smiled as I paid for our food. I dropped her back at the station and watched her walk up the stairs before driving off. I had dead people to visit and lei stands to negotiate first.
Paradise, Passion, Murder Page 24