Waikīkī’s street traffic is a nightmare in the afternoons with cars detoured all over the place and certain streets blocked from making left turns. I finally made it downtown to the King Street lei shops and bought a rose lei, then headed upcountry to the Mānoa Valley. I followed the twists and turns up to East Mānoa Road, then Old East Mānoa Road until I reached the old Chinese cemetery. I could still recall the awful day we’d all congregated for Noni’s funeral. She was the first person I knew who’d had cancer and died. Her entire class of twelve-year-olds shaved their heads in solidarity the morning we said goodbye. My parents came with me and we’d marched along the unpaved road to the children’s section.
At the entrance, I stopped and placed the only candy I had, the last two pieces of butterscotch Lifesavers from a tube, just inside the marble archway. We believe in bringing candy to the children. I still remembered exactly where her grave was and found it just as some fat raindrops fell from the sky.
I moaned. “I know, Noni. Been too long.” Emotion choked my throat. All these years later, and her death still hurt me. Somebody had been to visit her recently. Her grave contained pieces of li hing mango and some crack seed. Only a local would do that. Was it Sachi? Probably. The question remained, had she known Noni?
Rain fell hard, the way it does in Mānoa, and I walked back to my car after taking a snapshot of the offerings on her grave. It was well looked after like so many of our loved ones’ final resting places. As I walked back to my car, I noticed the US and Hawai‘i state flags decorating some of the newer graves. Hawai‘i has had more losses in the war against terror than any other state. I’m proud that we look after our dead, because my ancestors always believed if we take care of them, they take care of us.
I got back into my car and waited out the ferocious storm. It battered my sweet old Mustang as I thought about my next move. The rain might be the camouflage I needed to take a drive by Takeo Watanabe’s house. After checking my cell phone, I saw that its location on Paty Drive was right off East Mānoa. I made my way down the mountain, ecstatic when a rainbow appeared high in the sky. I saw it as a good omen.
It still rained as I reached the address. I couldn’t see the house from the tiny road but I almost hit a tree in shock when a man came out of the house with a garbage bag in hand. I pretended to keep going and went up the hill past the house. I quickly turned around and parked behind another car and cut the engine. The man dropped the garbage bag into the wheelie bin then pushed it out onto the road. He glanced up and down the street then turned back to the stairs leading down to the house.
From the side, it looked like it might be the “new” Takeo Watanabe, but I couldn’t be sure. I sat and waited. My cell phone rang. It was Sachi Hammond.
“Hey Sachi.”
“Do you have any news?” Oh, no. She was going to be one of those clients.
“Not yet. Listen, I have a question. Are you Facebook friends with Takeo?”
A pause. “Not under my own name, no.”
“Ah. You created a fake account.”
“Yes, but the new guy blocked it.”
“So you can’t see it anymore.”
“No. I heard he dropped a lot of people and made it impossible to see anything. I hear he’s signed up at Whole Foods for their vegan cooking class.”
“How’d you find out?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Somebody, one of our Meals on Wheels volunteers, saw him and said he thought maybe Takeo had plastic surgery.” She paused. “She also accused him of having a charisma bypass. This new guy is not very nice. I gotta go. Susie needs to pee.”
“Wait.”
“What?” She sounded pissed now.
“What does Takeo do for a living?”
“Oh. He’s a painter. He had an exhibit down in Lāhainā in Maui before he moved here, but he had a bad falling out with the owners of the gallery. All his paintings vanished from their stockroom.”
“Which gallery?”
“It’s called the Rainbow Goddess.”
“Thanks,” I said, and she ended the call. I predicted a daytrip to Maui in my immediate future.
So, the guy was an artist. It must have been devastating to lose all his work. Maybe that was the reason he’d become a shut-in. I was about to start the car again when a black BMW snaked up the driveway of Takeo’s house, made a left, and drove slowly down the mountain road toward Waikīkī. I waited a few minutes, moved forward and paused outside the house. The rain pelted hard and fast. Outside the Watanabe house, I braked, threw open the door, and raced toward the garbage bin. Reaching in, I grabbed the refuse, tossed it on the back floor of my car and drove away again. I’d have to come back when it was dark. The garbage smelled already. I could tell it was rotten fruit. It was time to do some snooping, and I knew just the place to do it.
My mom’s house was right off Woodlawn Drive, less than a mile from The Watanabe residence. The house hasn’t changed since I was a kid. She keeps it neat, the plants well-tended, and it always smells of food cooking. My mom was surprised but pleased to see me. As usual, I almost forgot to remove my shoes at the door, and she wasn’t thrilled when she saw me hauling a garbage bag.
She’s tiny and feisty. She acts like she gave birth to me at my current height and often makes reference to this.
“Still causing me mischief, Daniel? Most people throw their rubbish away. They don’t bring it into the house.” She watched me, arms folded across her chest in the doorway of her kitchen. I donned her washing up gloves.
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” I promised.
“Yeah you will.” She pursed her lips in the way I’d learned to dread as a kid. I opened the bag on the kitchen bench top. It surprised me to find the discarded packaging of a new iPhone. What had happened to the previous phone? Sachi had mentioned that the voicemail had been full but had recently been cleared.
Had the new Takeo taken over the phone number and got himself a new phone? I went through the refuse.
My mom suddenly piped up. “Somebody’s a neatnik.”
It took me a few seconds to realize she was talking about the bizarre newspaper-wrapped items scattered in the trash. I opened one and found hair. Lots and lots of black hair. Huh. I had no idea whose it was, but it was good evidence. I put it in a baggie. I processed the entire bag and found only one more item of interest, a chilling one at that.
The page had been ripped into quarters but I put it together and took in the details of the online receipt from an auction for a military-style pen that doubled as a knife. It had been purchased four weeks ago. I put it in a large plastic Ziploc bag and rebagged everything else, including my mom’s washing up gloves.
“What the heck is that?” She peered over my shoulder. I cleaned the countertop and washed my hands. Only then did I take a good look at this macabre auction item.
“Oh, my God,” Mom said. “Will you look at this? From some website called Patriot Surplus. This is a restricted item in many countries. It says so here. Why not the U.S.? Have you read this description? Designed with active-shooter callouts in mind, the Double Duty’s wedge features counter-angled friction ridges to help prevent tool slippage, grip breaching surfaces securely, and increase bite when breaching even the most robust doors like those found in government and school facilities… Oh, Daniel. Who would buy this?” She looked up at me, her lovely brown eyes filled with fear. “Whoever purchased this tool meant business. No other reason to buy something like this.”
She was right. And suddenly the one thing that had seeped into my brain from my conversation with Kathy over lunch came to mind. She’d said the same thing about the Desert Eagle she’d tested and processed. “Only reason to buy a gun like this is because this person means business.”
I was pretty certain Takeo Watanabe was dead. But I had a long way to go before proving it.
I called Sachi at six o’cl
ock, but got her voicemail and per her instructions, didn’t leave a message. I called her burner phone, but she hadn’t yet activated the voicemail system. How frustrating. I hung up, hoping she’d call me and pondered my next move. My mom is a big fan of the vegan cooking classes held at Whole Foods in Kailua. She’s been to a few, and when she told me there was one at seven o’clock, I asked if she’d like me to take her. I hoped to find the new Takeo there.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked when we got into my car. “Don’t think this means you don’t owe me new washing up gloves.”
I shook my head and laughed. The drive to Kailua was a nightmare. Honestly the traffic was horrendous and getting worse by the day, but when we got there I was pleased to see Takeo in the crowd milling about by the demonstration counter. We were too late to sign up for classes but Takeo had a seat and stared intently at the teacher, who, it turned out was a friend of my mom’s and waved us over toward her.
“Stand over here.” She proceeded to do things to tofu I never dreamed possible. The smell of the orange sauce she prepared with the fried strips was mouth-watering.
Takeo followed her instructions well but my mom suddenly whispered to me, “That guy has no clue what he’s doing. Look, he keeps chopping toward himself.”
The real Takeo was apparently an ardent lover of food and cooking, so this was worth noting. He glanced up at us a couple of times but my mom manfully resisted going over and showing him how to handle a knife. His instructor didn’t have any such qualms.
“No, Takeo, like this. A gentle touch.”
I thought it ironic that a man who may have murdered another with a military pen knife had trouble chopping vegetables. We hung out long enough to try free samples of the cooking. Wouldn’t you know it, we got tastings of Takeo’s efforts, and they weren’t bad.
“Very good,” Mom told him, which earned her a small smile. He had a weird grin, and suddenly I realized he was trying to hide his teeth.
The class broke up and I wished I could have followed him, but I owed Mom some gloves. I also bought her a couple of candles for her troubles.
“Sometimes you’re such a doll,” she said. “Except when I’m giving birth to you.”
I laughed. “You only did it once.”
“Once was enough.” Mischief danced in her eyes.
We drove back to Mānoa, and I took her home. Dinner for my scrawny mom was probably the tiny cup of orange tofu we’d had at the cooking class. Me, I was starving, but after seeing her safely inside, I tore off for Paty Drive. I wanted to get a look at the two homes, the Hammond residence, and Takeo’s.
The street was pitch-black, all the better for me. I had infrared goggles. After parking up the hill away from the house, I stood at the top of the incline looking down at the Hammond place. It was a typical sprawling ranch-style house, which sold for a couple of million in this valley. It was beautiful, but also featured huge windows that looked out onto the darkened garden. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree, but I didn’t see anyone moving around in it.
I switched over to the Watanabe house. It was a completely different style. A kind of two-story Cape Cod with a wraparound lānai. I suspected it was a newer construction than Sachi’s pre-war home. I saw no lights or movement. After a long, careful look, I realized one small light was on upstairs. The black BMW I saw shoot out of the driveway earlier in the day wasn’t around. I picked my way down the steep lava stone driveway to the left of the Watanabe property and to the right of the Hammond home.
A white SUV stood at the far end of the Hammonds’ driveway, and a small dog began to bark from the confines of what looked like a room at the base of the house. It shocked me to hear it because Sachi had told me she never left Susie alone. Also, the room was dark. The yelping sounded pitiful.
I crept over to the door. “Susie,” I whispered, making a light kissing noise. “Susie?”
The dog stopped. Something was wrong. I just knew it. She panted heavily and the distressing sound freaked me out. What the heck happened to Sachi? I didn’t want to leave the dog there but could I break into the room? Boy did I wish I had the Double Duty pen knife in my possession.
I had a small burglary kit. Not exactly legal, but effective. I took it out of my back pocket and checked around me. Nothing but the dog’s whimpering and my heavy breathing. I wanted to use my flashlight to illuminate the lock, but couldn’t risk it. I jiggled the mechanism, and it was harder work than I’d imagined. Headlights loomed from the top of the street. Oh, no.
The vehicle was coming down the driveway. I popped the lock and the frantic dog leapt into my arms. I grabbed and held her as she licked my face. Something smelled bad in the tiny room. It was probably dog poop. I closed the door and scooted out of the small area. I paused near the white SUV just as whoever was driving the vehicle at the top of the drive, hit a tree, then the fence.
“Shit.” A man’s voice.
Sachi had told me her drunken husband did this. Susie froze in terror in my arms and I took the moment to duck behind the white SUV and into unknown territory behind it. Susie clung to me. She gave me a small chin lick as we made our way into the back garden. The property was huge. Giant koa and cypress trees provided the perfect camouflage. Susie growled as I ran behind a large clump of bamboo.
“Shh.” Her body stiffened. She didn’t let out a yip because I kissed her, but she started to tremble violently. I was pretty certain I was standing on freshly turned earth. Then I saw the hibiscus trees Susie had mentioned. This had to be the pathway between the two houses Takeo had used to visit her.
“Susie?” A male voice called in the distance. “Where the fuck are you?”
The dog’s breath caught in her throat and her mouth hung open. I darted through the cover of hibiscus trees and through several people’s properties. I hid in a garden far from the Hammond and Watanabe homes and did what any self-respecting man would do. I called for backup. Wielding my cell phone as the dog continued to shake in my arms, I was so relieved when my favorite person in the whole wide world answered.
“Mom?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need your help.”
She came up the hill in her trusty VW bug several minutes later and I hid behind the garbage bin next to TheBus stop across the road. Several cars passed, but when I was sure it was Mom, I darted over. She looked at me, wound down the window.
I thrust the dog in her direction. “Please take her home. I’ll be in touch.”
For once she didn’t say anything, except, “Oh, poor baby.” She cuddled little Susie. I hid behind the bin again as they drove away until I was sure nobody had followed them. I had no gun on me. I didn’t usually carry one, but as I walked back up the hill, I was shocked to see a man walking toward me, a leash in his hand.
Bobby Hammond.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” I stopped, hoping he couldn’t hear my thundering heart.
“You haven’t seen a small dog, have you?”
I shook my head. “No. Sorry.”
“Little runt. She got away from me. I could strangle her sometimes.” The way he wielded that little pink leash between his big hands frightened me. He didn’t want to walk that dog. He wanted to kill her.
“What kind is she?”
“Little black dog. Kind of a mix.” He shrugged.
His British accent was detectable.
“Sorry. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Yeah. Do that.” He looked so pissed I was definitely worried about Sachi now. “My wife and I live in the old ranch house. The one with all the guava trees.”
“Okay.” Phew. The alcohol on his breath and seeping from his pores almost knocked me over.
I was surprised when somebody came up to us. Shoot. It was the fake Takeo. I kept moving. I was sure he would have recognized me, but I kept my head down a
nd walked to the other side of the road facing oncoming traffic. As I passed them, I heard him say, “Did you find it?”
It? What the hell? Susie wasn’t an it.
I kept walking up the hill past the Hammond house. Behind me, a blonde came out of the house and up the stairs to the street. Who the hell is she?
She looked straight down the hill, and I turned to see her making her way toward the two men, who were still deep in conversation.
I reached my car, but by the time I got inside, only Hammond and the blonde remained. Who was she? And did he always bring home strange women?
My worries for Sachi’s safety ratcheted up a few degrees. Disguising my number by pressing *67, I called her again. This time her phone rang. I was stunned to see Bobby Hammond pull a cell phone out of his pocket.
“Hello?” he said.
I hung up on him. Oh, my God. Something had happened to Sachi. I really hoped she wasn’t lying at the back of her own home buried beneath her own private tunnel of love.
I drove to Mom’s and both she and Susie were overjoyed to see me.
“Somebody hit this dog in the head,” she said by way of a greeting. “I’m worried about her.”
“What makes you think so?”
“She keeps tilting her head and kinda walking in circles.”
“Let’s watch her overnight and see how she does.”
Mom looked relieved. “You’re staying?”
“Yeah.” I had no need to return to the miniscule hot box I currently called home. Besides, the two ladies would be great company. My old room was turned into a sewing room some time ago, but a day bed remained in the corner. Susie seemed fine to me.
I had a long day ahead of me the following day, so I turned in. Keeping the door open, I was aware of the small dog joining me a couple of times, but she was a restless sleeper. The next morning when I awoke, I found her in the kitchen eating fresh-cooked chicken out of a bowl on the floor as Mom made scrambled eggs and rice.
Paradise, Passion, Murder Page 25