Diamond Head

by Charles Knief

  “Good evening, Mr. Caine,” said the young man. “Thank you for coming. I am Anthony Choy, the one who telephoned you. We have met before.”

  Chawlie barked a short sentence. He was not looking at me. I glanced at the side of his face. It could have been carved from ivory, as much expression as I saw there.

  “I have been asked to speak for my father. He is in mourning for the loss of his son, Garrick Choy, but he wishes to convey to you both his gratitude and his sorrow for having used you the way he did.”

  Chawlie spoke another string of Cantonese. Anthony Choy replied quietly and respectfully. I watched young Choy’s face during the exchange. He was fearful of something in the transaction, and he disapproved. There was no insubordination, but he was making it clear through his body language that his approval was not complete. I couldn’t understand what was being said, but I followed the conversation. Chawlie was telling the young man to tell me everything, to leave nothing out.

  “My father regrets that he is unable to speak with you directly. It is a form of mourning he has chosen that he wishes only to communicate with members of his family. He says he has a great sorrow because he has lost a son as well as a friend. He wants you to know that both losses are acceptable to him. Because he respects you he wants you to know this.”

  I kept silent and listened. I didn’t like what I was hearing, but I wanted to hear it all.

  “You know that my father had men keeping my brother safe and away from this problem for his own protection. Some time after you spoke with the Australian devil Thompson, my brother escaped from those who were watching him. The men guarding him didn’t know he was gone until much later. By then it was too late.

  “My father thinks he ran directly to Thompson, not knowing you had informed on him or that Thompson was hunting him. We don’t know anything for sure. We only know that the police have been here and told my father that his youngest son is dead.”

  The old man leaned forward and said something in a voice so quiet I couldn’t hear the words or even make out the language. The young Choy nodded, his eyes vacant.

  “Father said it was fate that sent you to him the night he decided to do something about Garrick. He had asked for help and you suddenly appeared. You had been the solution to a previous problem and he saw you as the solution to his present dilemma. You were the solution to his problem as he was the solution to yours.”

  Chawlie spoke again. He spoke for a long time. Anthony Choy nodded and looked as if he were memorizing every word of what was being said to him. I had the impression it was not the first time he had heard it.

  “Father wishes to convey three things to you. First, he is grateful for your service, both past and present, and he wants to justly compensate you.” Choy pulled a thick sheaf of bills from his left coat pocket. “Father believes ten thousand dollars is adequate compensation.

  “Second, Father wishes to assure you that he bears you no ill will for your part in the death of his son. It was fate. You were only the messenger and did not control the son who fled protection or the gun that killed him. Father understands that you are working for another father, one who lost a daughter, and if the loss of a son can help another father’s loss, then it will not have been wasted. Father tells me that he understands the sorrow a father has for a lost child, even if that child is only a female.

  “Third, I am to tell you that Father wishes never to see you again. For any reason. You shall always wear the mark of his dead son. Had it not been for you, Garrick might still be alive. Father will always be grateful to you for what you did for him, but he will have you killed if you try to approach him again.

  “These are all the things Father wanted me to say to you. You have one minute to leave this place.” He glanced down at his watch.

  I looked at the old man beside me. Chawlie was staring out into the night, refusing to shift his gaze toward me. There was no appeal. He’d arranged it so everybody lost. I’d only lost a friend. He’d lost both a friend and a son. And his son had lost his life. All in the dubious name of family honor.

  “Tell Mr. Choy I am sorry for his loss,” I said. I got up and left the restaurant. There was nothing else to do.

  Once outside again I took a deep breath, inhaling fragrances as familiar as my own sweat. I believed Chawlie’s threat. I believed he would regret having me killed. But I knew he would do it as easily as he had arranged for the murder of his own son. I didn’t believe for a minute that Garrick Choy had escaped on his own. It was the only solution the old man could find to save the family’s honor. He had to let the young man escape and find his own way. If he died in the process, it was not Chawlie who had killed him. It was the Australian devil Thompson and that fool Caine.

  My feet began walking away from the river without a conscious decision on my part. I clutched the sheaf of hundred-dollar bills in my hand. I didn’t remember taking the money. I had no use for it. I walked east until I found the small cathedral on Fort Street. I thought a church, any church, was the best place for the blood money. I entered the church, not knowing what I was looking for.

  An elderly priest sat in one of the pews, halfway down the center aisle, his head bowed. I didn’t feel as if I belonged there. I stuffed the money into the poor box and went back out into the warm, tropical night.

  Say a prayer for me, Father.

  14

  The little red light on my answering machine was blinking when I returned home. I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone until I secured Duchess for the night. Boats are like women. They require a lot of care. If they get it they will respond to you every time. Ignore them, and you’ll lose them. I understand that’s not politically correct. It’s merely correct.

  I pulled in her lines and secured her for the night. There was a little wind and chop, indications that Hawaii might be in for some heavy weather. We’d already had our hurricane for the decade, and even though we were in prime hurricane season I didn’t think we’d get one. Iniki missed Honolulu at the last minute but savaged both the Waianae Coast of Oahu and the island of Kauai. The winds never rose above tropical storm levels in Pearl Harbor, and Duchess and I rode out Iniki in the middle of the harbor with the engine running and two anchors out.

  When I was satisfied my boat wouldn’t shift I went below and stared at the Stephen Hawking book. That lasted about five minutes because the words wouldn’t come together. I was restless, dissatisfied with the way this thing was going. I was supposed to find the killer of one father’s child. Another father had sacrificed his son for reasons I could not comprehend. I was the unwilling instrument of that sacrifice and I didn’t like it.

  Being used goes against everything I am. That’s why I’m not employed by the big corporations or out working for a cause. There are no regulations on what I do. I submit no plans for approval. I have no review committee or inspectors to point out my errors. I labor under the illusion that I am free. When someone like Chawlie comes along and demonstrates that I am not as free as I’d like to think I am, the facing of that reality is threatening. We all like to have our illusions.

  I made some coffee, the standard stuff, not the special roast. Tonight was not a night to celebrate. Tonight was not a night for another drink, either. I had not eaten dinner, but the thought of food made me queasy.

  My cellular telephone rang.

  “Caine.”

  “This is Thompson. Come to my office to see me. Tonight.” The man’s voice made my skin crawl, like listening to fingernails scratching a blackboard.

  “Sorry.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Not tonight. Call me tomorrow.”

  “But you can’t …”

  I hung up.

  The phone rang.

  “Caine.”

  “I want you down here right now!”

  I hung up.

  The phone rang again. It may have been my impression, but the ring sounded angry.

  “Caine.”

  “Mr. Caine.” Thomp
son’s voice betrayed his anger, but he was trying to retain control. “I told you to come down to my office for a reason. You obviously want something from me. You gave me information that turned out to be exactly correct. Now I wish to meet with you to discuss what you want in return. Tonight.”

  “Thompson,” I said, “I don’t take orders from anyone, so I don’t take orders from you. If you’d like to see me, then ask, don’t order. Taking orders can get to be a habit, and I have all the bad habits I need at the moment.”

  After a moment of silence he said, “Can you come down to my office?” The effort in his voice was tactile.

  “What’s the magic word?”

  There was a pause.

  “Are you serious?”

  I didn’t reply. I just waited.

  “Please?”

  “Sorry. Can’t come down tonight,” I said. “Call me tomorrow.”

  I hung up.

  It was childish and vastly stupid. I may have blown my only lead, if that lead was to Thompson. I knew I was not only reacting to my revulsion to Thompson himself, but also to what Chawlie had done.

  I thought Thompson might call in the morning anyway. My strange behavior could have had the opposite effect. My refusal might even increase his interest.

  At least I hoped so.

  The blinking light on my answering machine caught my attention again. I looked at the digital display. Someone had called while I was in Chinatown. I pushed the Play button.

  “Mr. Caine, this is Detective Katherine Alapai, Honolulu Police Department. We want to interview you regarding the death of one Garrick Choy. I need to know how you were involved in this. Call me for an appointment. You have the number.

  “Bring a lawyer, if you feel you need one.”

  15

  This is Katherine Alapai, homicide detective, Honolulu Police Department, interviewing John Caine.” She stated the date and time and the fact that we were in her office at the main Honolulu police station. She had me repeat my name, age, address and occupation. This time I said I was a private detective, working for the family of a murder victim. It had a nice official ring to it. If this thing got nasty, I wanted everything on tape to sound official.

  “Mr. Caine, are you aware that this conversation is being recorded?”

  “I am.”

  “And you have consented to the recording of this conversation?”

  “I have.”

  “And are you waiving counsel at this time?”

  “I am.”

  Katherine looked at me, her black eyes penetrating my feigned nonchalance. I was reminded we were not playing games.

  “Mr. Caine, can you tell me your relationship to the deceased?”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Garrick Choy.”

  “I never met him.”

  “Never?”

  “Not once that I’m aware.”

  “Are you aware that Mr. Choy worked for CAT Productions?”

  I hesitated, reviewing my options. I decided that she would not have asked the question unless she already knew the answer.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And what is your relationship with CAT Productions, CAT Enterprises or Carter Allen Thompson?”

  “I met Mr. Thompson three days ago in his office downtown. It was the first and only time we’ve met. My meeting with him lasted approximately three minutes. I have not seen him since.”

  Please don’t ask the question, I thought.

  “What did you discuss with Mr. Thompson during your meeting?”

  Thank you.

  “I am looking into the death of Mary MacGruder, a young lady who lived with Mr. Thompson. I thought he could help.”

  “Have you spoken with him since?”

  Damn!

  “Yes,” I said. “Last night. He called me.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted me to come to his office. I refused.”

  “You refused?”

  “Yes.” I wouldn’t give her any more than she asked for. I had too much respect for her intuition and abilities.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to.” If she kept at it, her questioning would begin to resemble that of a precocious three-year-old.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “No.”

  She angrily snapped off the recorder.

  “God damn you, Caine!”

  “What?”

  “You’re not telling me anything!”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know why that young man was murdered. You know! I know you know! And I know you had something to do with it!”

  “Maybe I should call my lawyer,” I said.

  “Do you think you need one?”

  “Now you stop it,” I said. “You know I didn’t kill that kid.”

  “I know you have the MacGruder file, and I know that you and I discussed Thompson four days ago, and I know that last night the kid was dead. He worked for Thompson. I know that three days ago you had a meeting with Thompson in his office, and immediately after that you got into a brawl with two of his men in the municipal garage. We followed you and watched you hurt those men. I know you’ve contacted Garrick Choy’s father, both before and after he was murdered. You’re into this up to your neck.

  “That boy was tortured before he was killed. The medical examiner told me this afternoon that he had been kept alive for twenty-four hours before they killed him and when they did kill him he was better off. I want some answers and I want them now!”

  “Unofficially I’ll tell you everything you want to know. If you want me to talk into that recorder, or with a court reporter present, you’ll get just what I’m giving you.”

  “Shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can hold you as a suspect or a material witness.”

  I held out my hands in front of me, inviting the handcuffs. “I ought to take you up on that.”

  My hands remained where they were.

  She glared at me. I didn’t dare tell her at that moment, but when she is angry she is an incredibly beautiful woman. She drops her defenses and forgets to deny her beauty.

  “Okay. Let’s begin again.” She reached for her notebook, leaving the recorder alone.

  “Not here,” I said.

  “Kelly’s again?”

  “Kelly’s again.”

  “Shit.”

  “Coffee,” I said. “And if you’re good, maybe some banana pancakes.”

  “You asshole.”

  “Just doing my job, Detective.”

  “You pay.”

  “That’s fair.”

  We went in separate cars. She drove a midnight blue five-liter Mustang. The City and County of Honolulu pays its police officers to use their own vehicles. They can use them both for personal and official transportation. It’s a cost-saving thing for the city, and it’s good for the officers, too. There are certain cars they can’t drive, such as the ones with puny little engines like mine. They are required to have eight cylinders under the hood.

  She beat me to Kelly’s and commandeered a booth in the back of the restaurant.

  “I ordered you coffee,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. I didn’t know if it was a trap or if I had been forgiven.

  “Okay,” I said. “Here is the story.” I told her about my meeting with Chawlie and how we had developed the scheme to wedge my way into Thompson’s office. I related the short meeting with Thompson as well as I could. I didn’t tell her about the source of the file, or that Chawlie’s little actress was now playing spy in Thompson’s production company. I told Katherine that at the time both Chawlie and I thought his son was protected, as Chawlie had him under house arrest. The subsequent meeting with Chawlie and the standing order for my execution should I ever approach him again was not mentioned, either. That was between Chawlie and me. I concluded with a recitation of my conversation with Thompson the night before, and about my hanging up on him.

  “Did he
call you again?”

  “This morning. I have a meeting with him in an hour.”

  “Would you wear a wire?”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Where are you going to meet?”

  “I’ll tell you after it’s over.”

  “Mr. Caine …”

  “Call me John.”

  “John. You’ve got to cooperate with me. I want this guy.”

  I nodded. “Me too, Detective.”

  “Call me Kate.”

  “Kate. I want to survive this thing. If I tell you, you’ll put surveillance on me. If they drive a red Maxima they’re not very good. And if they’re not very good they could get me killed.”

  “Red Maxima, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “You noticed them?”

  “Like they waved, and shouted, ‘Yoo-hoo! Over here!’ “

  “Shit.”

  “That’s what I thought of them, yes.”

  “I’ll have them replaced. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re starting to surprise me, John. I followed up on Souza’s suicide. It doesn’t look like a suicide anymore. A detective went out and interviewed the landlady. We’re reopening the case. You gave good information there.”

  “I got lucky,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Kate. “You did. And you think this one’s connected to Mary MacGruder and Garrick Choy?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I know more about this case than I can tell you. I wish I could, but it’s impossible. If you’re good and if you’re still lucky you’ll find out. If you do, we can compare notes. With confirmation of what I think I know we can nail him.” Kate’s eyes told me she wanted to tell me. “He’s a very dangerous man.”

  “He’s a stone killer,” I said, thinking of Mary MacGruder and a boy in a cane field and the hot, musty apartment where the private investigator had been murdered.

  “This meeting. What are you going to do? He must be curious about you.”

  “I won’t know until I get there. It depends on him. I was vague about what I wanted. He wants to know that as well as the source of my information about Choy, and why I don’t just fall down and worship him.”