Fire and Vengeance

by Robert McCaw

“And the Army,” Zeigler continued, “trained him to kill like a pro. Ranger school, Q course, demolitions training, expert marksman, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, you name it.”

  Koa himself had graduated from the Q course, Army slang for the Special Forces qualification course, one of the mentally and physically toughest training courses in the world. “Special Forces?”

  “No. The Army docs didn’t like his psych profile. Only made him angrier.”

  “Jesus, so he’s a psycho, and he’s here because the Army thinks, but couldn’t prove, he stole weapons in Afghanistan?”

  “Yeah, that and brutality concerns.”

  Koa felt his eyebrows go up. “Brutality concerns?”

  “Yeah, four Afghan rape-murders occurred in his assigned area. Nobody proved anything, but the crimes stopped when he transferred back here.”

  Koa looked at the wall-sized picture of Leffler in a different light. He’d been thinking of the man as a possible source of the purloined murder weapon. Now he viewed Leffler as a possible candidate for the murder itself. “Could he be our killer?”

  “Wouldn’t rule it out,” Zeigler responded.

  “Where was he about five thirty on Thursday morning?”

  “We don’t know. We’ve had him under episodic surveillance, but he’s a hard man to tail, especially with the limited manpower we’ve got up here.”

  “You have surveillance logs?”

  “Yeah. We’ve only been at it a couple weeks, and like I said, it’s spotty. I made a copy for you.” Zeigler passed a few sheets of paper to Koa. “And we’ve got some photos.”

  Zeigler clicked and the projected image changed to a picture of Leffler with a Chinese woman. “That’s his current girlfriend. He’s been with her at least five times in the last two weeks.”

  “Name?”

  “Linda Huang. Taiwanese. They usually meet in a bar or go to her apartment. The address is in the log.” Zeigler brought up a new picture of Leffler, sitting alone at one end of a bar.

  Koa recognized the place from the old Wurlitzer jukebox in the background. “That’s the Monarch bar. Pretty sleazy place.”

  “He hangs there some nights.”

  The next several images showed Leffler driving, with Linda Huang on the Hilo street, and others of Leffler at the Monarch. Zeigler shut the projector off before Koa realized the significance of the last picture.

  “Put the last picture up again.”

  Zeigler turned the projector back on. The picture showed Leffler sitting at a corner table in the Monarch with a man. Not any man, but Tomi Watanabe, the mayor’s press aide. Koa couldn’t miss the distinctive black mole on the spin doctor’s cheek.

  What the hell could Watanabe be doing with Sergeant Ralph Leffler? How had the two of them hooked up, and why was the mayor’s press aide in one of Hilo’s sleaziest joints with a rogue Army sergeant? Koa thought of a possible connection. Drake, the barkeep at the Monarch, was just the sort of douchebag you might visit if you were looking for a gun—or a killer.

  “The man with Leffler in that picture.” Koa pointed to the screen. “You know who he is?”

  “No. Never seen him before.”

  “That’s Tomi Watanabe, the mayor’s press aide. What business would Leffler have with him?”

  Zeigler looked quizzical. “Beats me.”

  On his drive back to the office, Koa’s sister, Alana, called. “I’m scared, Koa. I’m really scared.”

  “What’s the matter, Alana?”

  “It’s Ikaika. He hasn’t regained consciousness. The doctors aren’t saying much, but they’re concerned. I can tell. Māmā’s with him. She won’t leave the ICU.” Her words came tumbling out.

  “Slow down, Alana. What have the doctors told you?”

  “Not much. Just that sometimes people come back slowly, but it’s been a long time. We can’t lose him, Koa. Māmā would die.”

  “Can I talk to the doctor?”

  “He’s not here right now, but I’ll have him call you.”

  “Okay, Alana. Keep me posted.” Ringing off, Koa felt his heart sink. He’d been elated when Alana had reported the surgery successful, but now things didn’t look so good. He felt palpable concern for Ikaika. Despite past animosities, he desperately wanted his brother to survive.

  Back in his office, Koa found Piki covered in filth from head to toe and smelling like last week’s rotten meat.

  “You smell like shit,” Koa greeted his younger colleague, his mind still focused on the call from Alana.

  “Do you know how long it takes to comb through twenty cubic yards of garbage?” Piki asked, his face red and his grungy shirt wet with sweat.

  Koa laughed half-heartedly. “At five minutes a cubic foot that would be forty-five hours. You must have had help. What do the other guys smell like?”

  “It’s not so damned funny when you’re half-buried in the nasty shit people throw away.”

  “You find the casings?”

  Piki held up an evidence bag with two shell casings. “Nine-by-nineteen NATO parabellum cartridge casings. Definitely military.”

  “From the gun in the trash?”

  “Cap says the hammer strikes match.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “A partial, not enough to run through the FBI’s IAFIS, but probably enough if we catch the perp.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. What do I get for spending a day crawling through grimy, smelly, shitty garbage?”

  Koa grinned. “A free shower in the lockup because they’re not letting you in the police gym smelling like that.”

  Piki groaned. “Thanks for nothing.”

  “You should’ve used a metal detector. Would have been a lot faster.”

  Piki smacked his forehead with a hand. “Oh, shit. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WITH THE CHIEF out of town and his status as the head of the KonaWili investigation, Koa got trapped into unwanted social obligations. Ben Inaba, the mayor’s political consultant, invited Koa to the surprise birthday party for state senator George Kenoi, a longstanding buddy of Mayor Tanaka. Koa despised political events and tried to beg off, but Inaba told him to show up. “The mayor wants you there.”

  Unlike Koa, Nālani expressed delight at the invitation. She dressed in a clingy, bright-red dress and wore the Ni‘ihau shell lei Koa had given her on the anniversary of their first date. She looked ravishing, and Koa felt a swelling of pride in escorting her to the event.

  For Koa, the location provided the only redeeming grace. Mayor Tanaka threw the party at the East Hawai‘i Cultural Council building, also known as the “old police station.” Built in 1932, it once housed the district court and police station, where Koa’s predecessor many times removed served as captain of detectives. Slated for demolition after the police department moved out in 1969, the East Hawai‘i Cultural Council rescued the building in 1979 and successfully applied to list it on the National Register of Historic Places.

  Witherspoon honchoed the renovation. His design preserved and restored the leaded glass top to the double front doors, the decorated ventilation openings, the four columned central front porches, and the great seal of the Territory of Hawai‘i embedded in the lobby floor. Koa always felt a certain pride when he entered the old police station and walked across the great seal, so perfectly restored under Witherspoon’s direction.

  Originally designed by the College of Arms in London in 1842 as the seal of the Republic of Hawai‘i, the wording changed in 1900 when Hawai‘i became a territory of the United States, and again in 1959 when Hawai‘i became the fiftieth state, but its imagery remained unchanged. King Kamehameha and Lady Liberty still supported the shield-bearing Ka Hae Hawai‘i, the state flag, and the pulo‘ulo‘u, a tabu ball, pierced by a black stick. And the legend on the twelve-foot seal still read “Ua Mau Ke Ea O Ka ‘Āina I Ka Pono,” roughly translated as the life of the land is perpetuated in righteousness.

  Koa and Nālani
admired the seal as they entered the building. Then Koa, who’d memorized the floor plan of the original structure, led Nālani to the left front corner. “We’re standing in the captain of detectives’ old office,” he said with a flourish. “The sheriff occupied the opposite corner, and the only judge in town presided over a courtroom upstairs.”

  She laughed, enjoying his trip down history lane. “It’s a far cry from the way things are today.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “You think it was simpler back then?” she asked.

  “People haven’t changed much, but there are more of them, and they have more powerful tools to make mischief. Where a bad guy typically hurt only a few people back then, one fraudster can rip off thousands today.”

  He led her into the crowd of guests. On his way to the cash bar to get a glass of wine for Nālani and a beer for himself, he caught a glimpse of Sarah Witherspoon. He supposed she and Arthur had been invited because of the architect’s connection with the building but thought it odd for the grieving widow to be at a festive gathering so soon after her husband’s murder—and her dress gave no hint of mourning.

  At the bar, he requested a chardonnay for Nālani and a Paniolo Pale Ale for himself. As he was paying for the drinks, he felt a presence at his elbow. He turned to look down at Watanabe, the mayor’s press aide. “So, Detective, you stepped in horse manure.”

  Koa sized up the little weasel. He undoubtedly referred to Koa’s visit to Cheryl Makela’s horse farm. As Zeke had already told him, she’d complained to the mayor. Koa found it surprising that anyone in the mayor’s office would care. Or, had someone in the county front office partnered with the horse lady? Or, perhaps, had an economic interest in the KonaWili development?

  “Somebody stepped in something far worse at KonaWili,” Koa responded.

  “It’s really too bad about the kids, but nobody can predict Mother Nature. The tsunami at Laupāhoehoe proved that.”

  Watanabe referred to the disastrous tsunami on April Fools’ Day, 1946, that struck a school building in Koa’s hometown, killing twenty students and four teachers. The press aide, still trying to present KonaWili as a random act of God, had found a precedent. But Koa wasn’t buying.

  “In 1946, they had no warning. KonaWili is different.”

  “Really?” Watanabe said, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “Yeah, prior notice and two murders make the events different as day and night.” Koa turned his back on the weasel, picked up Nālani’s wine and his beer, and went to find his girlfriend.

  “Who was that?” Nālani asked as he passed the wine glass to her.

  “Tomi Watanabe, the mayor’s press aide. He’s a snake, the lowest of the low, and among politicians that’s dredging the bottom of the harbor.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wants me to drop the KonaWili investigation. Dismiss it as an unavoidable act of God, like the Laupāhoehoe tsunami.”

  Her mouth came open in amazement. “You’re kidding!”

  “No. He’s hiding something he doesn’t want me to find.”

  At that moment, Koa caught sight of Mayor Tanaka, and they locked eyes. The mayor inclined his head, signaling he wanted to chat. Koa led Nālani across the room and introduced her to the mayor. “Ahh, why does the National Park Service employ all the most beautiful women?”

  Nālani thanked him for the compliment, and Koa marveled at the mayor’s political savvy. He might be a political hack, but he knew how to win votes. With apologies to Nālani, the mayor drew Koa aside.

  “You’ve seen the public outrage in the press?”

  Koa immediately sensed the direction of the conversation. The KonaWili disaster put the mayor under enormous pressure with an election coming up. Shit, as usual, would flow downhill. “Yes, I’ve seen the press, Mayor.”

  “This KonaWili disaster has blown the lid off discontent with the public schools. And these murders only made things worse. The public wants scalps.”

  The mayor had to be worried about his own political future. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “The status quo isn’t acceptable.” The mayor’s eyes turned hard. “You need to arrest someone for these murders. You understand me?”

  Koa saw no point in explaining he couldn’t just arrest someone off the street. The mayor well knew that already, and Koa understood the message—get on the stick and save the mayor’s electoral bacon. He answered simply, “I understand.”

  “That’s good, ’cause you’re either on the team or you’re not,” the mayor added before turning away.

  Koa found Nālani amidst the crowd and slipped his arm around her. “Goddamn politicians,” he whispered. “Those assholes drive me crazy. Come on, let’s get out of here.” He heard the anger in his own voice but made no effort to restrain it.

  She gripped his hand hard. “We can’t leave yet,” she whispered, “not ’til they make speeches and cut the cake.”

  She was right, but still, it galled him. The damn pols made him feel cheap. They represented the grimy underside of his job, and he resented it. Koa still seethed when an amplified voice announced, “The honorable Bobbie Māhoe, governor of the great state of Hawai‘i.” Heads turned toward the front doors.

  Koa hadn’t expected to see the governor but realized it made sense. Senator George Kenoi, the birthday boy, chaired the powerful state education committee. The KonaWili disaster had roiled the whole education establishment, and the governor would have to implement changes. He undoubtedly needed all the support he could gather.

  The governor’s entourage held the real surprise. Governor Bobbie Māhoe entered the room with Francine Na‘auao, the embattled DOE head. She wore a sleek black silk gown and held herself like royalty. Her presence at the governor’s side represented a powerful public endorsement. That the governor stood behind his appointee wouldn’t be lost on the other politicians in the room. Nor would it go unnoticed by the press. But the governor, like all politicians, had a finely honed sense of self-preservation, and his support for the DOE head made no sense. It would cost the governor dearly among voters with school-age children.

  Koa remembered Christina’s words—“Na‘auao’s got some hold over the governor. Maybe it’s some kind of campaign finance irregularity. Maybe it’s something else.” Although Māhoe had accumulated a huge campaign war chest, Koa had been skeptical of Christina’s vague allegations, and Zeke hadn’t yet found evidence of illegal contributions. Still, how else could he explain the governor’s behavior?

  Koa watched the handsome governor sweep around the room, shaking hands, telling jokes, and slapping friends on the back. A pol in his element. As Māhoe moved from one group to another, he stopped to chat with Howard Gommes. Almost the whole KonaWili cast of characters had turned out for the senator’s birthday. Only Cheryl Makela was missing. Koa wasn’t surprised Māhoe and Gommes knew each other—both were public figures—and, given Māhoe’s pro-development platform, Gommes was undoubtedly a big contributor to the governor’s campaign.

  As the governor and Gommes ended their chat and drifted apart, Mayor Tanaka, followed by his aides, slid into the group surrounding Gommes. With a half-smile, Koa realized that Māhoe and Tanaka were avoiding each other. When Māhoe moved right, Tanaka moved left. Koa admired the skill with which the two political rivals shunned each other, like similar magnets repelling one another. The tension in their dance mirrored their fight over control of the investigation, leaving Koa a pawn in a political game he didn’t yet understand.

  Koa moved closer, discretely trying to catch a snippet of the mayor’s conversation with Gommes. Although he caught the word “KonaWili,” he lost the rest of the sentence. Still, from the tone, he could tell the mayor was agitated. Koa caught phrases … “Goddamn it, Howard … fucking mess … out of control … Hank and Spooner …” in the mayor’s distinctive military voice. Witherspoon’s nickname rolled easily off Tanaka’s tongue.

  Koa tried to assess what he’d he
ard. Tanaka had railed against the KonaWili mess just as he had previously complained to Koa. Nothing new there, and no surprise that the mayor would bitch to the developer. Yet, the mayor’s tone and his causal use of Weatherspoon’s nickname bothered Koa. He’d wondered if the mayor wanted control of the investigation simply to protect Makela, but now, he thought, maybe the mayor might be in even deeper.

  Nālani put her hand on his arm and leaned close. “There’s a star-struck woman in the room,” she whispered.

  “I have that effect on you?” he quipped.

  “Of course.” She grinned mischievously. “But I was thinking of Sarah Witherspoon.”

  Koa snapped around to stare at the woman. Sarah Witherspoon and Ben Inaba, the mayor’s political aide, had their heads together, and Koa didn’t need his girlfriend to know the couple was engrossed in each other.

  Nālani gripped his arm. “Don’t be so obvious,” she hissed. Koa’s mind shifted into high gear as he turned away. He’d assumed Arthur Witherspoon had distanced himself from his wife before Arthur got personal with Sally Medea, but now it looked like both parties had wandered. He needed to look at Sarah Witherspoon as a suspect. That was the problem with assumptions. He’d assumed Witherspoon’s death had been related to the KonaWili school, but maybe the murder arose out of jealousy and lust. Most murder victims died at the hands of friends or relatives, frequently spouses. According to Sally Medea, Arthur wouldn’t divorce his wife, but maybe she’d found a permanent way to end the relationship. But what about the break-in at Witherspoon’s office? Could that, he asked himself, have been a diversion? It seemed unlikely.

  Trumpets blared and the room fell silent. All heads turned toward the stage where the mayor stepped to a podium to begin the birthday speeches for Senator Kenoi. Koa barely heard a word. His mind raced through the tangle of new relationships. The mayor’s warning … Governor Māhoe and Francine Na‘auao … Mayor Tanaka and Gommes … Sarah Witherspoon and the mayor’s aide … what did it all mean?

  Suddenly, the mayor himself had become a player in the investigation he’d chosen Koa to lead. Sure, Tanaka sought to embarrass the governor by blaming the DOE, and Māhoe would undoubtedly be happy to cast a political rival in a bad light by going after Makela. Just the kind of gutter politics Koa hated. But what if one or the other had ulterior motives, like a hidden investment in KonaWili?