Fire and Vengeance

by Robert McCaw

  Zeke slowly pulled her deeper into a sinkhole from which she wouldn’t be able to extricate herself. First, he asked if she had known Howard Gommes during her time in law school, and she acknowledged that she had. Zeke then asked if she had known Arthur Witherspoon. Koa could see Makela’s confusion and nervousness about the direction of the interrogation, but she acknowledged knowing Witherspoon. Zeke then asked, “While you were a law student at UH, were you ever questioned by the Honolulu police?”

  Koa saw the look of surprise, and perhaps fear, on her face. She hesitated before making the worst mistake a witness can make. She lied. “No, why would I have been questioned by the police?”

  Zeke then locked her into the lie. “Just so the grand jury is clear, Ms. Makela, is it your testimony you never gave a statement to the Honolulu police while you were a law student at UH?”

  Having chosen her path, she straightened in her chair, looked the grand jurors in the eye, and said, “No. I was never questioned by the Honolulu police while I was a law student at UH.”

  With Makela now unequivocally on the record, Zeke dropped the bombshell. “Ms. Makela, have you ever been known by the nickname ‘Babylips’?”

  She turned white as new-fallen snow on Mauna Kea, then as red as the setting sun. “I … I … need to talk to my attorney,” she stuttered.

  “Okay, Ms. Makela,” Zeke responded, “you may step outside the grand jury room and confer with your attorney, but you must return to these proceedings.”

  Her composure gone, she practically ran out the door. Ten minutes later, she was still conferring with Ben Braff when a sheriff informed her the grand jury awaited her return. Still visibly agitated, she again took her seat in front of the grand jurors.

  Zeke repeated the still unanswered question. “Ms. Makela, have you ever been known by the nickname Babylips?”

  “I respectfully decline to answer in reliance on my rights under the Fifth Amendment.”

  Zeke turned to the grand jury and spread his arms in a mocking gesture of helplessness. Then he asked, “Did you work at a strip club called the KitKat while you were in law school at UH?”

  “I respectfully decline to answer in reliance on my rights under the Fifth Amendment.”

  After another mocking gesture to the grand jury, Zeke asked, “Did you tell Honolulu police detective Konane Kahaka you were with Gommes, Boyle, Witherspoon, and another man on the night of March 3, 1975? For your reference, Ms. Makela, that is the night a university coed named Mary Jane Kinnon was found hanged.”

  Makela’s face betrayed her, and she stuttered, “I … I re … respectfully decline to answer in reliance on my rights under the Fifth Amendment.”

  “Are you going to refuse to answer the rest of my questions today?”

  “Yes.”

  “We will suspend these proceedings for the moment. You are free to leave the grand jury room, but you remain subject to recall.”

  Cheryl Makela heaved a sigh of relief as she left. Koa followed her out, watching her walk down the corridor toward the room where her attorney waited. She had almost reached the waiting area when two police officers stepped from a side hallway to confront her. “Ms. Makela, you are under arrest for perjury before the grand jury.” One officer informed her of her rights while he placed her in handcuffs.

  “I want my lawyer,” she said more loudly than necessary.

  “You can call your lawyer,” the officer responded, “when you’ve been booked and admitted to the jail.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  BEN BRAFF, MAKELA’S attorney, stormed into the meeting with Zeke and Koa. “Why have you arrested my client?”

  “She lied to the grand jury. I’m charging her with perjury,” Zeke responded coolly.

  “What lie?” Braff demanded.

  “I think you know,” Zeke chided Braff, “but if not, ask your client.”

  Recognizing he wasn’t getting anywhere with Zeke, Braff turned to his most immediate concern. “I want her out of jail. She’s not a flight risk. Will you release her on her own recognizance?”

  “No.” Zeke shook his head. “And I’m going to ask the court to hold her in contempt.”

  “What?” Braff thundered. “What for?”

  “For refusing to answer questions before the grand jury,” Zeke responded coolly.

  “You can’t do that. She asserted her constitutional right to remain silent.”

  “True,” Zeke conceded, “but she waived her Fifth Amendment rights by answering some questions and lying about her activities at UH before invoking her constitutional right. You know, Counselor, you can’t use the privilege against self-incrimination as both a sword and a shield. Many courts have held, a witness may not answer some questions on a subject and then invoke the Fifth Amendment, leaving the jury ‘prone to rely on a distorted view of the truth.’ That is exactly what Makela did. She tried to deceive the grand jury by stating she hadn’t been interviewed by the police in 1975 and then tried to invoke her right not to answer further questions. It’s a classic case of waiver.”

  “Jesus,” Braff responded, implicitly recognizing the merit in Zeke’s argument and the potentially devastating weakness in his client’s position. If she had waived her rights, then a court could lock her up for continuing contemptuous behavior until she answered all the prosecutor’s questions.

  Still, Braff had one argument left. “Even if she waived her rights with respect to whatever happened in Honolulu forty years ago, the prosecution of any crimes committed back then is barred by the statute of limitations and had nothing to do with the Hualālai Hui or KonaWili.”

  “Sorry, Counselor, but there is no statute of limitations on murder, and I am prepared to show the court an irrefutable connection between what happened in Honolulu and KonaWili.”

  “Jesus,” Braff repeated himself. “What do you want from her?”

  “Complete cooperation, and I want her to wear a wire in a conversation we’ll set up with her coconspirators.”

  “No way. She won’t do it,” Braff responded.

  Zeke remained unruffled. “Then we’ll keep her in jail until she talks and prosecute her for the crimes she admits when she does talk.”

  “You’re a hard man, Zeke Brown.”

  “Not at all,” Zeke responded. “I just want to put an end to a conspiracy that’s been going on for more than forty years.”

  “And if she cooperates? Are you prepared to offer her immunity?”

  “That’s going to depend on what she tells us, but she’ll fare better if she helps us.”

  “You’re not offering much.”

  “Talk to your client, Counselor,” Zeke advised. “You have the weekend. We have an appointment with Judge Hatachi to argue our motion for contempt on Monday morning.”

  Koa had learned over the years that experienced defense lawyers understood the risks their clients faced and were expert in minimizing the bad consequences. And Ben Braff was as expert as they come. He called Zeke to set up another meeting on Saturday morning. Makela was ready to bargain.

  The three of them—Zeke, Koa, and Braff—met in Zeke’s conference room. Braff, a short intense man with bushy eyebrows over icy blue eyes, tried hard for immunity, but because of Makela’s perjury, Zeke held all the bargaining chips. He refused to give much. In the end, he agreed to consider reduced charges if Makela cooperated. He also promised to describe her cooperation fully and fairly at sentencing if she was convicted.

  Braff agreed to let his client tell her story, and Koa had her brought over from the cell block to the prosecutor’s office. She came wearing a yellow jumpsuit and looking exhausted. Koa wasn’t surprised that the haughty horse lady had found a night in the local lockup most disagreeable. As a cooperating witness, Zeke and Koa interviewed her rather than putting her back before the grand jury.

  They began by questioning her about the events surrounding MJK’s death in 1975. She admitted having worked part-time as an exotic dancer at the KitKat club performing s
tripteases and lap dances to help pay for law school, and she owned up to her stage name—Babylips. Although she’d been in a different part of the university, she had known Boyle, Witherspoon, and Gommes because they were frequent patrons at the KitKat.

  Gommes, a big man on the undergraduate campus, hung out at the club, often treating groups of his friends to drinks and special dances. He’d taken a special liking to Makela and showered her with tips for performing for his friends. Boyle and Witherspoon had been regulars in his crowd.

  Late one night—maybe about one thirty—in March 1975, Gommes showed up alone at the KitKat. In an agitated state, he’d taken Makela into one of the private rooms. He’d explained that, if anyone asked, he wanted her to say he, Boyle, Witherspoon, and Abercrombie had been together in the club from eight until after two a.m. He promised her five thousand dollars in cash if she agreed. She’d jumped at the offer.

  “Tell us about Abercrombie,” Zeke asked.

  “I never met him. Gommes just told me to refer to him as ‘a redheaded guy.’”

  “Sitting here today,” Zeke asked, “do you know anything more about Abercrombie?”

  “No. Gommes just told me to say I danced and drank all night with the four of them and, if anyone asked about Abercrombie, to describe him as a redheaded guy.”

  “When Detective Konane Kahaka came around to the bar, you told him Boyle, Witherspoon, Gommes, and Abercrombie had been together in the club that night.”

  She looked down at her hands. “Yes.”

  “And it wasn’t true, was it?”

  Looking back up at him, she admitted, “No.”

  “Do you know why Gommes asked you to lie?”

  “I didn’t have any idea that night, and I still don’t know for sure, but later after I heard about the girl, Mary Jane something or other, I suspected it had something to do with her death.”

  “And you still didn’t tell the truth to the police?”

  Makela’s face had grown ashen in color, and she fidgeted with her hands. “No. I wanted the money.”

  “Did you later talk to Gommes or any of the others about what happened that night?”

  “When Gommes gave me the money, he warned me something permanently bad would happen to me if I ever told anyone.”

  “He threatened you with bodily harm?”

  “Yes. I was afraid of him. I still am.”

  “What about Watanabe? What was his role?”

  “After Gommes talked to me that night at the KitKat, I saw him talking to Watanabe. I guessed Gommes got him to back up my alibi. The police detective later talked to Watanabe. That’s all I know.”

  “Who killed Hank Boyle?” Koa blindsided her. He wanted to test his theory that Boyle’s staged suicide had been intended as a message.

  “Not me. And it scared the shit out of me. I mean, a hanging like that. Just like the UH coed. Someone warning us to keep our mouths shut.”

  He guessed right. “Gommes?”

  “I have no idea, but he’s a sadistic bastard and capable of anything, and I mean anything.”

  She said it with such venom, Koa sensed something personal between Gommes and Makela, but he let it go. They had a lot more to cover.

  “Okay, Ms. Makela.” Zeke took over. “How’d you get into the KonaWili development?”

  “It was basically the same deal as always, going back to my first development. I was the go-between. Gommes gave me a share—sometimes 20 percent, sometimes more, but never as much as 50—and told me how to distribute it. I always got a piece, usually a few percent.”

  “You made no investment?” Zeke asked.

  “No. I was never out of pocket.”

  “Who got the rest of what Gommes gave you?”

  “Whoever had to sign off, usually planning people and politicians.”

  “And on KonaWili, who got a cut?”

  “Gommes allocated 15 percent each to Watanabe and Na‘auao. I got five and I spread the last five around to the building inspectors and other guys who had to sign off on things.”

  “Francine Na‘auao at the DOE?” Koa asked, remembering how she’d announced she and her husband didn’t invest in school projects.

  “Yeah,” Makela said, “Frannie’s been getting a cut on Gommes’s deals for twenty years.”

  “Fifteen percent of what?” Koa asked.

  “Projections showed the project making seventy-five million in profits.”

  The amount stunned Koa. “Watanabe and Na‘auao were going to get more than eleven million apiece?”

  “If you believe it’s all for them,” Makela responded.

  “What do you mean?” Zeke asked.

  “Watanabe’s a sneaky little shit. If you believe he keeps the whole 15 percent, you’re a fool. He’s somebody’s bagman. Maybe the mayor. Maybe some of the council members. I don’t know.”

  “How do you know he’s a bagman?” Zeke roared.

  “I don’t know for a fact, but I’m not stupid, and I’ve been in state politics for forty years. I know how it works.”

  “And Na‘auao?” Koa asked.

  Makela’s lip curled into a snarl. “Frannie’s greed knows no bounds, and she’s got half the politicians in the state by the balls, even the governor. I wouldn’t expect her to do much sharing, not even crumbs.”

  The room was quiet for a long time. Koa knew what Zeke was thinking. Makela had copped to bribery of the worst sort, involving bagmen for senior county officials and possibly the governor. Zeke hated corruption of every kind and would be dying to prosecute the offenders. But the case depended on her word against Watanabe, and the little snake would lie through his teeth. It was also her word against Na‘auao, one of the longest surviving politicians in the islands. The octopus would eat Makela alive.

  Finally, Zeke asked, “Do you have any proof ?”

  Makela’s attorney had been quiet throughout her confession. But now Braff held his hand in front of her to stop her from speaking and addressed Zeke. He’d obviously been waiting for this moment to spring his surprise on the county prosecutor. “If she gives you proof of the bribes to Watanabe and Na‘auao, she gets immunity from prosecution.”

  Zeke stared at Braff for a long time, but they both recognized an offer too rich to resist. Sure, Makela could be prosecuted for perjury and bribery, but compared to the senior county officials and especially the all-powerful DOE head, she was a tiny fish in the smelly pond. And Zeke needed solid evidence to get to Na‘auao.

  “And just what might this proof be?” Zeke asked.

  Ben had perked Zeke’s interest, and he knew it. “If it’s solid, she gets immunity from prosecution. She walks.”

  As a veteran prosecutor, Zeke had bargained with a lot of criminal defendants. He knew how to cut a deal without getting snookered. “She’s got solid evidence, admissible in court, against both Watanabe and Na‘auao?” Zeke asked.

  Both Koa and Zeke caught Ben’s hesitation and sensed a problem. Ben let out a long breath. “She’s got admissible evidence against both of them. She can give you a lock on Watanabe. What she’s got on Na‘auao, well, it’s complicated. Na‘auao’s smart and cautious. The bribes are camouflaged and paid through land swaps and intermediaries.”

  Zeke paused, but Ben had played his cards well. The idea of a rock-solid case against Watanabe and the prospect of going after senior county officials held great appeal. Still, he wanted more. “Your client gives us what she’s got and wears wires in meetings with them if we ask her. She cooperates fully, including testimony at trial.”

  At the mention of testimony, Makela began to shake her head.

  Undeterred, Zeke continued, “If her evidence is rock solid and she does all that, then she walks.”

  “I don’t …” Makela’s voice was shaky. “I don’t want to testify. I can’t sit there …” Her voice faltered.

  Zeke’s eyes burned into her. “You should have thought of that before you sold your soul to Gommes for five thousand dollars.” Then he turned to her
lawyer. “No testimony … no deal. We’ll give you a few minutes to talk to your client.”

  Twenty minutes later they had a deal.

  Makela’s lawyer handed over two cassette recordings. “Makela started secretly recording her meetings with Watanabe and Na‘auao over the last several years,” he explained. “One of the tapes records meetings with Watanabe. The other contains Makela’s conversations with Na‘auao. Happy listening!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE AIR WAS crisp and breezy. Fleecy snow-white clouds spiraled across the intense blue sky. A perfect Volcano village morning for Nālani’s big day. Koa beamed with pride as he climbed into his SUV and headed for the national park headquarters. Nālani’s long hours and dedication since the unprecedented May 2018 Kīlauea eruption had singled her out for an exceptional honor.

  Koa took his place in the sizeable crowd of park service employees, volunteers, and curious visitors gathered in a semicircle around Sally Kazaka, the diminutive park superintendent, who stood on a small platform with a microphone. Nālani, in her summer dress ranger uniform—flat-brimmed straw hat, dress trousers, and a short-sleeve shirt with her badge, National Park Service patch, and a tiny American flag pin—stood next to the superintendent. Koa smiled as he noted that she’d ditched the regulation brown shoes for her every-day hiking boots. Always ready for action. That was Nālani.

  “Aloha,” the superintendent began, turning to survey the guests. “I’m delighted we’ve a rather large crowd to honor park ranger Nālani Kahumana. As you know, Madame Pele shut down Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park in May 2018, but you may not appreciate that, rather than create time off, the eruption and closure only added to our workload. Ranger Kahumana spent hundreds of hours, many outside normal work schedules, identifying eruption sites, tracking lava flows, assessing hazards, and working with Hawai‘i County personnel to help keep the public safe. It is a tribute to Nālani and her colleagues that no one died in this historic eruption, and, with one exception, the injuries were minor.”