“Back here,” two voices said together, and Storm flung open the only other door leading off the room.
It was a big, walk-in closet, packed to the ceiling with boxes and assorted paraphernalia. A Stair Master was jammed against one end, though the clothes strewn over it would have kept anyone from using it to exercise. It was an effective restraint, though. A length of chain, the kind used to tether big dogs, was looped through handcuffs that held Keiko’s arms behind her back. She could sit and stand, but that was it.
Carmen’s hands were tied in front of her, but the ropes that held her must have been agonizing to the injured shoulder. Her face was the color of the pale beige carpet and she smelled of urine.
Storm knelt before the little girl. She positioned the hedge clippers and snipped carefully at the clothesline around the girl’s wrists.
“How long have you been tied up?”
Keiko answered. “She untied us at night, but we slept in here. She tied us up right after she gave us some tea and toast.”
“Was it light out?”
“No,” Keiko said. “I tried to tell the time of day when she opened the door.”
Poor injured Carmen, kept two days in this scruffy suburban prison. The little girl gasped at the sudden jerk when her arms fell free, then wrapped the injured one in the good one and rocked back and forth. She shivered, and Storm pulled a sweater off a nearby hanger and wrapped the girl in it.
“Carmen, you’re going to be all right. We’re going to take care of you.”
Storm had to take a calming breath before she lifted her hedge clippers to Keiko. “I think I can cut that chain, but we’ll have to take the handcuffs off later.”
“As long as we get out of here,” Keiko said. “I want to get Carmen to the doctor.”
Storm looked at the young woman. This wasn’t the same self-destructive waif she’d seen a couple of days ago. And that wasn’t the statement of a suicidal victim. Keiko was angry, and it was a good thing.
The hedge clippers worked well on the chain. “Do you have your car keys?” Storm asked.
“No, Pauline took them.”
“I parked down on the main road. We’ll have to walk a bit.” She bent down to Carmen, whose color looked better. “You think you can do this? Keiko and I will help you.”
Carmen nodded and got to her feet. Her legs wobbled, but she walked. The three of them exited the closet, and Keiko stopped next to the bed.
“Wait a minute,” she said, and slid her cuffed hands down the back of her legs. She bent over at the same time, and stepped over her hands.
Storm marveled at her agility.
“It’s easier than it looks. She caught me trying it. That’s why she chained me to the exercise machine.”
She took a cold look around the room. “Hey, her cell phone’s plugged in. They don’t work up here.” Her face, thin and pale, transformed with a grin. She went to the dresser, pulled the phone out of the wall and slid it into her jeans pocket.
“Let me see those clippers.”
Storm handed them over, and watched her skip to a land line on the bedside table and snip the wire to the wall. She managed despite the handcuffs.
Keiko dashed from the room and down the hall. Storm and Carmen were slower, and they heard the door of one room slam open, then another. Keiko took a little longer in that room, while Storm and Carmen headed down the stairs.
While Storm took Carmen to the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat, Keiko made her rounds. With each clipped wire, she looked happier. Carmen’s eyes were taking on a shine, too.
“How ‘bout the electrical wires?” the little girl asked.
Storm had gathered two apples and a couple of bagels. “Forget it. Let’s get out of here.”
Keiko was already out the kitchen door and into the back yard. Storm and Carmen could track her movement by the jangle of the handcuffs. Storm handed Carmen one of the apples and the two followed. Carmen munched the apple and Storm looked in the direction Keiko had gone.
She’d disappeared around the corner toward the car port, the opposite direction from the lava rock wall and the path down to the main road. Storm wanted to get the girls as far away from Pauline’s house as fast as she could.
“Keiko? C’mon, let’s go.”
No response. Then, a crashing thud and a yelp of pain interrupted the peace.
Storm bolted in the direction of the noise. Around the corner of the house sprawled Keiko, half on the gravel drive, half under a hedge. Beside her was a large, overturned plastic flower pot. The hedge clippers dangled from a thick wire that led up the side of the house. Sparks flew from the blades, still embedded in the wire’s insulation.
“Keiko,” Storm shouted, and ran to her. “Talk to me.”
The sparks gave a final burst, the hedge clippers dropped to the ground, and Keiko sat up. She took a couple of deep breaths. “It knocked me off the flower pot.”
“That flower pot saved your life.” Storm gaped at the cable. “Are you all right?”
Keiko grinned. “You think I stopped the electricity?”
“I’d say so.” Storm stuck out a hand and pulled Keiko to her feet. Keiko winced, but looked happy. “Can we go?” Storm asked.
It took about ten minutes to get down the hill to Damon’s car and another half hour to get to the hospital in Wailuku. When her mobile picked up a signal, Storm called Stella.
“Did you call the police about Keiko?”
“Yes, right after I talked to you.”
“I’ve got her. And Carmen.”
“Thank God.” Stella’s voice trembled with relief. “Where were they?”
“I’ll tell you later. They’re okay, but they need food and rest. I’m taking them to the hospital.”
“I’ll come. I’ll call a cab.”
“No, sit tight. Don’t tell anyone yet.”
“Lara will want to know.”
“Not yet. I have a meeting with her in,” Storm looked at her watch, “a little over an hour.”
“But—”
“Please, Stella, it’s important.”
“Okay.”
Storm handed the phone to Keiko, who reassured Stella that she and Carmen were fine. Storm noticed that she didn’t tell Stella where they’d been, either.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Hospital personnel recognized Carmen and whisked her into an examination room. One of the security guards produced a key and removed the handcuffs from Keiko. He exclaimed at the burn on her hand, an open sore an inch wide that traversed her palm. An ER doctor soon arrived to take a look at it. Before Keiko went off with him, she handed a cell phone to Storm. Pauline’s phone.
Another security guard pulled Storm aside. “Have you called the police about this?”
“I came directly here.”
“We need to report the kidnapping and their injuries.”
Storm agreed. “I’ll do it now. I know the officer who’s handling the case involving Carmen’s father.”
Gloom crossed the security guard’s face. “Sad situation, isn’t it? Say, do you need medical attention?”
“No, I’m fine. Tell Carmen and Keiko I’ll check in with them later.”
Back in the car, Storm turned on Pauline’s phone. Once she handed the phone over to the police, she wouldn’t see it again. She went to the menu to check both incoming and outgoing phone calls over the past several days. There were a lot, particularly in the last two days.
With an old ball point pen retrieved from Damon’s glove box and one of the soccer flyers on the back seat, she went back five days. It didn’t take her long because Pauline called the same people over and over. She had a few different incoming calls, but not many. Storm saw Stella’s number three times, and jotted down the dates and times of the calls. With a skip of her heart, she recognized one number as Akira Kudo’s. The most frequent calls were to and from Wayne, who was in Pauline’s address book. Wayne was a
lso on speed-dial.
Storm finished, then called the police station number Moana had given her and got a recording, which told callers to use 911. The lack of response reminded her that it was nine-fifteen on Sunday morning. Except for coffee, she hadn’t had anything to eat yet. Storm parked near the hospital and walked to a sandwich shop down the street.
On the way, she walked past the bombed-out shell of Blue Marine, the ruined restaurant. A lone police officer paced the cracked and rutted sidewalk, and directed the infrequent Sunday pedestrian to the other side of the street.
Carl Moana looked glad to see her. Patrolling construction sites was either overtime or scut work, and Moana was probably bored.
“Are you still on Hiroki Yoshinaka’s case?” Storm asked him.
He shrugged. “Senior level detectives took it over. The woman that died last night in Lahaina worked at the bar where Yoshinaka gambled. The Red Light.”
That was the information Storm wanted from Damon. She’d asked him in at least three different ways. She’d even bought him dinner and drinks. Lots of drinks.
“I heard that place has Yakuza ties. Some guy named Obake owns it.”
Moana frowned. “How’d you hear that?”
“I heard from someone else about Obake.”
“Who?”
“It’s a small island, remember?”
He looked at her carefully. “He’s bad news. Don’t get involved with him.”
“How did the woman die?”
“Looks like she was beaten, knocked unconscious, and dumped in the ocean. An isolated beach, and no one saw her.”
“Do you think there’s a connection between her and Yoshinaka?”
“No indication of it. But we do know there’s a connection between her and gambling, and Yoshinaka and gambling. It’s tempting to connect dots, but they could be the wrong dots, you know?” He shoved his hands in his pocket and kicked a pebble on the sidewalk.
He knows about the prostitution, Storm thought. “Is Obake a suspect in her death?”
Moana laughed without humor. “You should hear him. He’s a victim of a murder attempt, and she was a wonderful person and a lifelong friend. He claims it’s the same person who set the bomb.” Moana gestured toward the ruined restaurant.
“Does he have alibis?”
“Of course. With people who corroborate all his claims.”
“That figures,” Storm said. “You knew about Carmen leaving the hospital?”
He wheeled to face her. “Yes, have you heard anything?”
“I found her and Keiko.” Storm told him about Pauline Harding’s house, and how Harding had telephone contact with a man named Akira Kudo.
Moana’s hands fell out of his pockets. “How’d you get that information?”
“Keiko stole her cell phone.”
“Could I have it?”
“Yes, but it’s in my car.” She pointed. “I’m parked down the street.”
Moana walked with her. “I owe you.”
“A guy like Obake is connected.”
“I know.” He looked uneasy. “I thought of that. I’m going to check the phone log carefully.”
“Good,” she said. “Will you call me after you see Keiko and Carmen? I’ve got a meeting in Kihei.” She handed him a business card, which had her cell phone number. He reciprocated.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ichiru Tagama sat with Ryan at the breakfast table. Lara had left and Ryan was having a giant cup of coffee, but he’d made his father green tea.
Tagama gave his son a grateful look. The boy was the best thing he’d ever done. He’d told Yasuko, and she agreed, though she hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know him. Tagama was about to start that process last night.
“Can you meet our clients in Wailuku?” he asked Ryan.
“Dad, we can cancel. They’ll understand.”
“I don’t want to cancel. These are important investors.” Tagama sipped from his tea. “Give them my apologies.”
Tagama could feel his son’s scrutiny, but he was also certain that Ryan would listen. For one thing, the boy was sensitive. And Tagama wanted time alone; Ryan would know that.
“Eat something,” Ryan said.
Tagama knew he’d won this round. He nodded, but stared at the steaming surface of his tea.
Ryan toasted English muffins, buttered the halves, and set them in front of the old man. “If I’m going to be on time, I’d better get going. I’ll call you after the meeting.”
“Thank you, son.”
Tagama sent a prayer after the boy, nibbled on the crunchy edges of the muffins for long enough to let his son get on the road, and then left the apartment. He knew that the digital nature of cellular phones made them hard to tap, but he didn’t trust a conversation in Ryan’s place. Obake’s people were likely to have a bug in place, or a directional microphone set up in an adjacent apartment.
Tagama strolled into town, found a park bench next to a playground full of boisterous elementary school students, and dialed a number on his cell phone.
“Maui Police Department, Major Lekziew’s office.”
“Good morning, is the Major in? This is Stan Driver calling.”
“Mr. Driver, he’s in a meeting. May I take a message?”
“Sure, tell him Green Sands Golf Club has moved our tee time up. It’s for 4:30 instead of five.”
Tagama sat on the bench and watched the children play. If he had it to do over, he’d have had another child or two. Hell, he’d have done a lot differently. Ten minutes passed, and his phone rang.
“Ichiru, I’m sorry for your loss.” Lek Lekziew’s voice was private, compassionate.
“Thank you.”
“We don’t have much yet.”
“What do you know?”
“A witness has retracted a statement. Says he made a mistake because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.”
“What did he see before he forgot he wasn’t wearing glasses?”
“A black Land Rover.”
“Ah.”
“There are other black Land Rovers. They’re fairly common.”
“Okay. How about the tissue samples under her nails?”
“No matches.” Lek exhaled slowly. “We’re looking at the FBI’s CODIS, but if they haven’t shown up in the local database, they’re not going to show up nationally.”
“This is going to be tough,” Lek said. “They’re going to be hard to identify.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
Tagama disconnected. He sat for a while longer. The first group of students went inside—recess over—and a second group blasted out the double doors. He turned his face toward the warm sun and smiled at the children’s unrestrained delight.
A few minutes later, he walked back to the apartment, went to the living room, and sat on the most-used piece of furniture, a comfortable sofa situated before the TV set. For several minutes, he sat and considered his timing. Then he speed-dialed a number on his mobile phone.
“Ramirez, I need you to meet me.”
“Now?” asked Ramirez.
“Olowalu Wharf in a half hour.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, Boss.”
Tagama disconnected and stood up as if his knees hurt. He looked around the apartment slowly and gave the room a sad smile, though no one could see it. It was a smile of reminiscence.
He walked out the front door and didn’t look back. At the front door he asked a security guard to call a taxi for him and went outside to sit down. When he was sure he was alone, he hit the same speed dial button.
“Where is Storm now?” Tagama asked.
“She got Keiko and the kid. They’re at the hospital in Wailuku, and Storm just left.”
“She’s in a rush to make her appointment with Lara.”
“Looks that way.”
“Obake’s at home?”
“Good. When’s the next call from Japan?”
“About an hour.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter Thirty
Lara had a half hour before her appointment with Storm. She paced the floor of the dive shop, and tried to shut out the pounding and sawing coming from the back office. Just as one problem was solved, others arose.
The Makena house brought a price higher than she’d dared hope for. Not only had the bidding war been brilliant—she had her realtor to thank for that idea—the buyer’s financing had come through. And the right buyer had won; she and the realtor had manipulated that situation a bit, but no one would ever suspect.
She had a closing date, six weeks hence, and her real estate agent had already made an offer on the little strip mall in which Lara’s Aquatic Adventures was located. It was a safer deal than waiting to see if Ryan’s dad would make a wedding present out of the space. Plus, it would be in her name.
With the resolution of one problem, others arose. Yasuko’s death was a terrible blow. Ryan took it very hard, and Tagama’s reaction was even worse. He’d insisted on seeing Yasuko’s body, and before she was loaded into the Medical Examiner’s vehicle, the police had allowed it.
Though Ryan hadn’t said anything about it, his father’s state of mind had to weigh heavily on him. It was so sad, just as they were all getting to know one another. Even she saw redeeming qualities in the old man, and Ryan had promised to tell her a secret that he promised would make her feel better about Tagama.
Now that Yasuko was dead, it was probably a moot point. Though Ryan and his father had blocked her view, she’d caught a glimpse of Yasuko on the gurney. A cluster of drooping white flowers stood out against her wet hair. Tagama had caressed the gardenias with excruciating tenderness. The gesture squeezed her heart.
Wasn’t it an odd coincidence that Yasuko had gardenias in her hair? Even broken and bruised, they were similar to the ones she’d taken to the nursing home yesterday, the blooms she’d cut from the potted plant to pin in her mother’s hair.
Pleasing the Dead Page 17