by Toby Neal
A chill passed over her as she zipped up the bag.
Why would Jay Bennett throw away all his worldly possessions, including enough cash and pot for at least another week of homelessness in paradise, other than suicide? If he’d been taken, what kind of perp threw away cash? And what could that slipper with the stones mean?
Lei rubbed the black stone in her pocket as she headed back to the truck.
Chapter 3
Lei pulled into the parking lot of the Paradise Realty office in Kilauea—an old plantation home restored to better than its former glory. White paint gleamed against a traditional dark green background, and a new corrugated roof contrasted in brick red. Lei went up three stairs to a wide lanai, glancing down at the file with its clipped-on card before she pulled open a screened door and stepped into the teak-floored interior.
A receptionist with a shiny tan and collagen lips looked up as Lei came in.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to speak with your manager regarding the break-ins at some of your rentals.” Lei pulled aside her jacket to show the badge clipped to her waistband.
“Just a minute. I’ll contact the owner.” She pushed down an intercom button. “Ms. Wolcott, can you see a detective regarding the break-ins?”
“Of course. Send him in.” The receptionist opened her mouth to correct her, and Lei shook her head, smiling. She was escorted into an interior office, decorated in what was being called the Tommy Bahama look—deep, comfortable aloha-print rattan chairs, woven mats, palmetto fans, and a gleaming desk with nothing but a Mac computer on it.
Ms. Wolcott rose from behind the desk, a regal Hawaiian woman in a short, fitted muumuu, her black hair wound into a topknot and pierced with ivory chopsticks. She came around and extended her hand to Lei.
“Oh, my mistake, Detective . . . ?”
“Texeira, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you, and I wish it were in happier circumstances.” Lei handed the woman her card.
“Me too. Believe me, I’d rather be selling you a house!” Ms. Wolcott had a warm laugh. “Call me Lehua, please. We filled out the police reports and helped our owners with the insurance claims, but we never heard another word.”
“Well, after three break-ins, the patrol officers bumped your burglaries to the detective division. Do you have any theories, anything to add to the reports?”
Ms. Wolcott sat on one of the comfortable armchairs and gestured to Lei to sit as well. Lei took a notebook out of her jacket pocket.
“I have an idea. I think it might have something to do with the cleaning service, but I hope I’m wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Lei uncapped her Bic.
“The service is called Island Cleaning.” She got up and read a number off the screen of the Mac. “They were great for years, but recently my friend who owned the company died of cancer. Now the company’s being run into the ground by her daughter, whom I’ve heard has a drug habit. I ended up firing Island Cleaning, and the burglaries happened right after. They still had access codes to all our houses. So now I’ve talked to the security company, and we’ve changed the locks and codes. So far, no more break-ins.”
“Hmm,” Lei said. “I’ll give Island Cleaning a visit, see what they say. Why don’t you give me contact numbers for all the rental owners, and your new cleaning service as well? You have my number if you have any further thoughts.”
“Certainly.” Lehua went back to her computer, printing up the list of contact information. “Now, can I sell you a house? Maybe a nice starter condo?”
Lei laughed. “Not ready for that kind of commitment yet. I’ll keep you in mind if I’m ever looking.”
The intercom buzzed. “Ms. Wolcott? Your son is here.”
“Oh, send him in.” To Lei she said, “We’re having lunch.”
The door opened and a tall man walked in. He glanced at Lei—and his eyes widened. “Sorry to interrupt, Mom.”
“Meet Detective Texeira. She’s investigating our burglaries. Detective, my son, Alika.”
Lei realized her mouth had fallen open and rectified the situation. He was almost too good-looking, a tall, muscular example of the best of what happens when haole (Caucasian) and Polynesian mix to make hapa (half). Winged brows raked back from golden-brown eyes; dark hair framed a high brow, and dimples flashed.
It was all a little overwhelming.
“Good, I wanted to talk to a detective.” Alika came toward her with his hand extended. “I’ve got some information I want to discuss.”
“Hi.” Lei stood. Her voice was short, and she felt her scalp prickle with embarrassment as she yanked her hand away too quickly. Handsome men made her edgy. Buying time to regroup, Lei looked down at her file, pulled out a photocopy. The Wolcotts took the two armchairs facing hers across a glossy wood coffee table.
“I was just going to show this to your mother. I wonder if you know anything about it.” Lei unclipped the card from the file she’d carried in with her, held it up. “This card was found with the possessions of a young man we’re looking for. Do you know him?” She slid the card and the photo of Jay across the table.
“No. Never seen him before.” Alika Wolcott shook his head. His mother’s curved brows drew together. She flipped the card over.
“What’s this number?” She tapped the card.
“I was hoping you would know. I called it earlier and it’s disconnected.”
“Not any of our office phones, or any of our agents. I would recognize it. Wait a minute.”
She stood up, pulled a key out on a fob clipped to narrow pocket on her dress, unlocked a file drawer in the desk. Looked through and drew out a file, flipping it open. “I knew that looked a little familiar. That number is the old code to the security systems. We had it changed after the burglaries.”
“Interesting,” Lei said, her attention sharpened. She made a note on her pad—Jay Bennett was involved with the burglaries. She gathered the materials back into the folder.
“Oh!” Lehua exclaimed. “Do you want something to drink? Ice tea? Water?”
“Water would be great,” Lei said. Lehua sailed out.
Lei glanced at Alika Wolcott. He’d sat back in the cushy chair, his ankle over his knee, relaxed. He wore immaculate chinos, a subdued aloha shirt, slip-on loafers—the Hawaii business-casual uniform. He inspected her equally, lively curiosity in his eyes.
“You aren’t what I expected in a detective.”
“Oh? Well, I didn’t expect you at all.” That sounded all wrong—she knew it as she said it.
He shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“So you had some information you wanted to discuss?”
“Yes. It’s about Island Cleaning.”
“Your mother told me she suspects they may have had something to do with the burglaries.”
“I agree. Not only that, I’m concerned about Lisa Nakamoto, the owner.”
“The druggie?”
Something flashed in his eyes, quickly suppressed. “Where did you hear that?”
“I’m a detective. We have sources.” She wasn’t about to tell him his mother had been that source.
“Well, that’s not a fair statement. Lisa may be caught up in something. I’m worried about her.”
“What kind of something?” Lei pretended to take a note.
“Something related to drug production. But she wasn’t that kind of person.”
“Addiction makes good people do bad things.”
“It’s not that simple.” His eyes narrowed, defensive. Lei did a relaxation breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth. Then another.
“Let’s start over,” she said. “What would you like me to do about your friend?”
“Locate her. See what’s going on.”
“I can try, since it relates to this investigation.”
“Here’s her number.” He grabbed a Post-it off his mother’s desk, scrolled through the contacts on his phone, and jotted the number just as Lehua came back in, ca
rrying a glass of ice water.
“Thank you.” Lei took a sip of water. Alika handed her the Post-it, his fingers brushing hers, and an unexpected awareness rippled through her. Spooked, she set down the glass and stood up. Charlie Kwon had ruined her ability to respond normally to an attractive man, and knowing that didn’t seem to help.
“I have a couple of leads to follow up on here. Anything else?”
“Well, yeah,” said Alika. “I’ve had a break-in at my model home. I’d like you to add it to the investigation.”
“Okay. Tell me more.” She decided not to sit back down and flipped open her notebook.
He gave a phone number and address outside of Kapa`a.
“I’ll give you a call and stop by to inventory what’s missing.”
“It was great to meet you.” Lehua came around from behind her computer, pressed a small square of tapa cloth into Lei’s hand. “This is someone I think could be helpful.”
Lei glanced down at the hand-printed card on native fiber cloth. Esther Ka`awai and a phone number was all that was written there.
“Who’s this?”
“A local resource. I think you might need her help.”
Lei frowned. “Okay. I’m looking for any and all leads.”
Lehua Wolcott just smiled, enigmatic, and gave a little wave as Lei headed for the door. Alika followed her out to the truck. She got in and rolled down the window.
“Island Cleaning cleaned my house. Or I should say, ‘houses.’” He leaned against the vehicle so his arm bracketed the window.
She nodded. “Go on.”
“I’m a developer. Island Cleaning had the contract to do all my construction cleans after a house was finished, and periodic cleans while they were on the market. I noticed the same thing my mother did—the work wasn’t being kept up, they missed appointments, and so on. I called Lisa one day to tell her to get her crew to shape up; she seemed really upset, crying, like she was in trouble. She seemed to want to tell me something, but she wouldn’t.”
“Probably thought she could get somewhere with you by playing the damsel in distress.”
“Hmm. So you admit some women might find me interesting.”
“No. She just knew a sucker when she saw one.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. He smiled. The charm of it lit his face like lightning.
“You’re not that into me, are you?”
“That would be a yes. Or is it no? Now you’re trying to trip me up.” She smiled, because she couldn’t help it.
“You have a dimple.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “Right here.”
“Hey.” She jerked her face away and turned the key. The truck roared into life.
He grew serious and spoke quickly. “I mean it. I’m worried about Lisa. I think she might be in danger, being forced to be involved with these break-ins somehow.”
“Who do you think is behind it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe her boyfriend, Darrell Hines. He’s an icehead time-share salesman, got her into using.”
“Right now all I’m working on is the burglaries. You’d do better to call Detective Furukawa—he’s in charge of drug investigations—with this ‘tip,’ but I’ll pass it on.” Lei felt the frustration of the limitations put on her. Furukawa, aka, “Fury,” wanted any and all information on the drug trade routed through him.
“You left your card with my mother, right? I might want to call you.” Alika’s golden-brown gaze was intent.
“Okay. Bye then.”
Lei cut her eyes away and kept her voice cool. She pulled out and drove sedately down the road, flicking a glance to the rearview mirror. He was still standing there, watching her, jingling something in his pocket like a man making a decision. She glanced at her phone on the seat as if it might ring, caught herself, and turned up the radio to blast her thoughts away. She headed for the nearby noodle house for lunch, speed-dialing Jenkins to join her.
The Noodle Shack was another old plantation house, unrestored this time but surrounded by lush plumeria trees. The worn, pockmarked floor, sagging screens, and battered wooden counter belied the delicious Asian noodles the place specialized in. Lei climbed up onto one of the worn vinyl stools at the long counter and ordered a saimin, Jenkins joining her.
She scooped the fragrant noodles out of the deep plastic bowl with her chopsticks and spoon. Jenkins gave up on the chopsticks, never having mastered them in his short year in Hawaii, and wrestled the noodles into a squared-off traditional spoon with a fork. When they’d both made some progress, Lei settled back a bit, wiped her mouth.
“So interesting about the missing guy. I found his stuff. All his stuff.” She filled Jenkins in on her discovery. “And the real estate owner ID’d the number on the back of the card as the old code for the vacation rentals that were hit.”
“So he was involved. Foul play or suicide?”
“Don’t know. I’m going to read through the journal and letters, see what I can pick up about his state of mind. Weirdest thing about this was the shoe with the stones the girlfriend brought in. Can’t help thinking it was some sort of message, and I want to check the missing persons database when we get back to the station, see if there have been any other disappearances. How’s the alarm company on the burglary case?” Lei took a sip of Diet Coke.
“Small-time outfit.” Jenkins chased a strip of egg around with his spoon, gave up and slurped the broth by picking up the bowl. He set it down. “They say they changed the codes on all the houses for Paradise Realty, and nothing’s happened since they did. The security systems were turned off by someone who had the codes at the time of the burglaries.”
“Yeah. Lehua Wolcott at the realty company suspects Island Cleaning, who took care of the homes. She believes Lisa Nakamoto, the owner, has a drug problem. Alika Wolcott, her son, was worried about her too, said he can’t get ahold of her.” Lei pushed her notebook over to Jenkins as she took her last bite. “Now we have to see if there’s some sort of connection between Island Cleaning, Lisa Nakamoto, and Jay Bennett.”
Jenkins perused her notes. “Hm. I wonder if the ‘ice’ investigation the Lihue detectives are working on is going to end up overlapping with this one. They’ve been saying there’s enough traffic to show we’ve got a major producer somewhere on island.”
“Well, let’s drop in on Island Cleaning and see whether or not they’re really clean.”
Jenkins rolled his eyes, but they hurried to settle the bill and get on the road. Lei, used to working with her older, more sedate partner, Pono, on the Big Island, was still sometimes surprised by Jenkins’s willingness to jump in with whatever her latest idea was. It gave her pause to realize she was the more seasoned of the two of them.
They pulled their cars up twenty minutes later at a shabby false-fronted storefront on a side street of Kapa`a, in the area that hadn’t been face-lifted for tourist foot traffic. Lei got out of the truck and went to look in the locked glass door, but couldn’t see through the peeling, mirrored windows. The Island Cleaning sign above the building, of the plastic illuminated variety, was turned off.
Jenkins knocked once, twice, three times, while Lei walked to the side of the building and looked down the narrow alley. Three aluminum trash cans sat on the cracked asphalt outside of what must have been the back entrance. She gestured, and he hurried after her. Weeds pushed up through the cracked cement around their feet as they listened for several long moments at the rusting metal back door.
Jenkins shook his head. “No one here.”
One of the old-fashioned galvanized lids had blown off. Several empty Sudafed boxes had her gesturing Jenkins over to where sealed black plastic bags bulged with bulky garbage. Lei ripped a bag open; it was filled with empty muriatic acid and yellow HEET gas-line antifreeze bottles. What would they need gas antifreeze for in Hawaii?
Only one reason.
She looked at Jenkins wordlessly, and they opened the rest of the trash cans. More empty blister packs and bottl
es of ammonia cleaning agent filled the other bags.
Lei speed-dialed Fury Furukawa while Jenkins went to the opening of the alley to keep a lookout.
“Island Cleaning in Kapa’a,” she said when Fury answered. “Possible meth lab. We have discarded production supplies. Come over and check it out.”
She and her partner drove around the block to park where they could keep the building under surveillance until Furukawa and the senior detectives arrived. It didn’t take long. Fury drove a tricked-out GTO, black with a silver flake and a lightning bolt down the roof. Kenzo and Henriques came together in something only slightly less flashy, a yellow Camaro.
Real subtle and low key, Jenkins observed sourly via text message. The Lihue detectives had been hazing Jenkins for months before Lei got to Kaua`i; now the rivalry continued as the more experienced detectives blocked them from interesting cases.
The radio crackled into life. “Come in Ginger 4 and 5, this is Hilltop 2.” Fury’s call sign.
“Ginger 4 here,” Lei answered.
“Looks empty,” Fury said.
“Check trash cans in alley—contents consistent with meth production.”
“Copy that.”
Arizumi, aka Flea, a very tall Japanese and Fury’s partner, got out of the Mustang and sauntered into the alley. He looked into the first can, prodded about. Looked back to the cars and nodded.
The radio crackled again. “We’re going to surveil this building and put in for a warrant on the Drug Enforcement Agency fast track.” Fury referred to the quick warrant procedure used for suspected drug production. “I’m gonna leave the boys here, hope one of the iceheads comes back. Let’s debrief at the station.”
“Copy that.” She hung up the radio and drove by the other vehicles, giving a little finger wave. It felt damn good to beat the arrogant veteran detectives to a major break, and it looked like she was going to get to work a real case. Finally.
“Thanks, Jay Bennett,” she whispered. “I’m gonna find you no matter what.”
Chapter 4
Jenkins stole a stale doughnut from the pink box on the conference table as short, muscular Detective Sergeant “Fury” Furukawa folded his arms and gave Lei a good stare out of hard brown eyes. Flea, his sidekick, collapsed his angular length into one of the chairs around the Formica table. The industrial-gray walls were lined with whiteboards on one side, citations on another, and inspirational posters touting connections and teamwork in between. Lei wasn’t feeling either from Furukawa.