Fire and Vengeance

by Robert McCaw

  Koa wanted to hear their conversation firsthand so he could react if the need arose. He’d spent hours pondering how to stay close and be unobserved. Then he’d recalled the tactical advice given to him by Lieutenant Colonel Wallaby, one of his military mentors—“turn your weakness into your strength.” That’s when he hit upon his plan and spent hours making the arrangements.

  Koa and Piki took Makela into Po’s back room and once again went over the outlines of her script. At one o’clock, Koa stood up to leave. “Stay with Makela,” he instructed Piki. “Make sure her taxi drives into the Punchbowl at five minutes before three. You park at the end of Pūowaina Drive outside the entrance to the cemetery and wait for my call.”

  “Where will you be?” Makela asked.

  “I’ll be there, but you won’t see me. And don’t look around for me. If Na‘auao thinks there’s a watcher, she’ll break off the meeting.”

  While Piki babysat Makela, Koa got busy with part two of his plan—picking up the van he’d hired, checking in with the Punchbowl security office, and parking on the roadway in the middle of the cemetery below the great semicircular monument to the American soldiers who’d sacrificed their lives for freedom. At two thirty, Koa, dressed in green coveralls, black work boots, and a baseball cap with a false beard with thick-rimmed sunglasses, opened the rear doors of the van. He unloaded a small two-wheeled pushcart and began filling it with flowers in special containers made to comply with cemetery regulations. The banners on the van, the logo on his cap, and the side panels of his little wheelbarrow read: Punchbowl Memorial Flowers, LTD, FTD

  When Na‘auao arrived a few minutes later, Koa was placing a small bouquet of red roses before the grave of an eighteen-year-old sailor, who had died at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. He watched through his sunglasses as Na‘auao climbed the steps of the memorial beneath the image of Columbia—representative of motherhood and liberty—carved into the semicircular granite wall of the cemetery’s central memorial. Na‘auao surveyed the grounds looking for anything out of place. After straightening the flowers in front of the grave, Koa snapped a picture with his little camera, presumably so his boss, or perhaps the patron who’d ordered the flowers, could verify his handiwork.

  At five before three, a yellow airport taxi entered the cemetery, came slowly up the drive, and deposited Makela at the foot of the memorial’s steps. By the time she’d joined Na‘auao at the top of the steps, Koa had moved to the grave of an Army soldier killed during the Tet offensive in Viet Nam. Instead of taking a picture, he activated the transmitter hidden in Makela’s hair and heard her voice loud and clear in his earpiece.

  “Aloha. Thanks for coming, Frannie.”

  “You look haggard, like you’ve been through the wringer.”

  “Nice of you to notice,” Makela said. “It’s been a tough couple of weeks.”

  “Tell me about it,” Na‘auao responded in a throaty voice. “Let’s take a walk.”

  The two women descended the steps and took a path out through the field of grave markers on the north side of the cemetery. Koa wheeled his flower cart across the grass between the markers and stopped at the grave of a Navy flyer shot down during the Battle of Midway. He was kneeling about a hundred yards from the two women when Na‘auao asked, “Okay, Cheryl, what’s this all about?”

  “That policeman, Chief Detective Kāne, came around to see me. Scared me to death,” Makela began.

  “How?”

  “He’s asking questions about Mary Jane Kinnon.”

  “Who’s Mary Jane Kinnon?” Na‘auao asked.

  “Jesus, Frannie, don’t play dumb. She was your friend. He knows you talked to the police.”

  “Alright, I had a friend who committed suicide, so what?”

  “He says it wasn’t suicide. He accused me of lying to the police, telling them Gommes hung at the KitKat that night when he didn’t.”

  “I hope you told him to go to hell.”

  “I did, but he seems to know a lot about what happened that night.”

  “Like what?”

  “That one of the TKE brothers strangled Mary Jane and then staged the hanging.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I think you know why.”

  The two women walked farther across the cemetery. Koa had already stayed too long at the airman’s grave, so he wheeled his cart deeper into the cemetery and prepared flowers for another gravesite—this one of a Hawaiian soldier who’d died at Iwo Jima.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Na‘auao insisted.

  “The detective says you were there. You know who strangled Mary Jane.”

  “He’s crazy,” Na‘auao snapped.

  “I don’t think so. The detective knows there were four men and another woman in that room. He knows about Abercrombie and his redheaded disguise.”

  “Oh, my God.” Even at a distance, Koa saw Na‘auao’s hand fly to her mouth. She turned on her heel and ran toward her car, oblivious of the man placing flowers on the graves.

  Koa could think of only one reason for Na‘auao’s abrupt departure. Everything had been going smoothly until Makela had revealed that Koa knew Abercrombie had used a redheaded disguise. Na‘auao must have broken off the meeting to warn Abercrombie.

  Koa pulled out his cell phone and called Piki. “Na‘auao’s coming out. I think she’s going to warn Abercrombie. Tail her and keep me posted.”

  Koa packed up his flowers and hurried back to the van. He started it up and headed out of the cemetery. His cell rang as he passed the exit, and he answered Piki’s call. “Yeah.”

  “She’s headed downtown.”

  “Stay with her. I’m probably five minutes behind you.”

  Koa raced downtown pushing the flower delivery van as fast as he dared. Looking both ways, he ran the red light at ‘Iolani Avenue. On the open line to Piki, he asked, “Where’s Na‘auao?”

  “Turning on to Beretania. She’s driving like a maniac.”

  Koa pictured the wide one-way street. It led past the state capitol, the governor’s mansion, past shops and galleries, a public park, and then into Chinatown. Where could Na‘auao be going?

  “She’s just pulled into a no-parking zone in front of the capitol,” Piki announced excitedly. “She’s out of the car, hurrying into the building.”

  The capitol? Was Abercrombie now in the legislature? Koa ran another red light and peeled around the corner onto Beretania. Horns blared. Ahead he could see Piki getting out of the rental car in front of the capitol just as Na‘auao disappeared through the door into the capitol. “Go after her,” Koa screamed into his cell. He roared down the street. Piki sprinted toward the steps.

  Koa left the van at the curb and ran into the building, but, dressed as a flower delivery man, he lost a precious minute identifying himself and clearing security. Reaching the main hallway, he looked left and then right before spotting Piki far down the hall to his right. The young detective seemed to have lost his prey.

  “She got into the elevator. I couldn’t get there in time. I don’t know whether she went up or down,” Piki reported.

  All the offices were upstairs with nothing below except the basement. Koa sent Piki to the basement while he checked the upper floors, moving from floor to floor, checking offices as best he could. He failed to locate Na‘auao. When he rejoined Piki, he learned Piki, too, had struck out. They went back to security. A police supervisor informed them that with the legislature in session, most of Hawai‘i’s lawmakers were in the building. Francine Na‘auao could have visited any of Hawai‘i’s 51 state representatives or 25 state senators. So close, Koa mused, and yet so far.

  Tired and frustrated, Koa and Piki walked back to their vehicles, where two parking tickets added to their woes. At least the rental car and the van hadn’t been towed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  NĀLANI HAD HER arms around Koa, trying to console him over his failure to get Ikaika a parole hearing. “You tried your best,”
she said.

  “It’s not right. If the tumors were responsible for Ikaika’s actions, then he shouldn’t be in jail.”

  Nālani squeezed him tight. “You don’t know a hearing would have made a difference. A long shot, that’s what Alexia said.”

  “Yeah, but I failed, and Ikaika will rot in prison for another year. Hell, if that asshole Moyan has his way, Ikaika will be behind bars for another four years. What a prick!”

  “You should—”

  The phone interrupted Nālani. Koa grabbed the phone, prepared to dismiss the caller, when he heard Walker McKenzie’s voice. “It’s all arranged. I’ve set up a meeting for you with Governor Māhoe at eight forty-five tomorrow morning. He knows you’re going to make a plea for an early parole hearing for your brother. I think he’ll be sympathetic.”

  Koa felt a sudden burst of elation. McKenzie had come through like a white knight, getting an immediate appointment with perhaps the only man alive who could order a parole hearing for Ikaika. A parole hearing didn’t guarantee his brother’s release, far from it. Alexia had said even if Ikaika got a hearing, the board would be unlikely to grant parole. Still, he now had a chance to free his brother.

  “Are you there?” McKenzie asked.

  “Yes, I’m here. Just surprised. Eight forty-five tomorrow. Where?”

  “The governor is having an early breakfast with some Chinese officials in the Washington House. He’ll meet you in his office there after the breakfast. You should be a little early.”

  “Okay. Any advice on how I should handle this?”

  “Yeah. Three things. Use Dr. Kepler’s letter, but tell him you’ve talked to your brother, and he’s different since the surgery. Vouch for Ikaika. It will go a long way with Māhoe. And tell him about your mother, how devoted she is, and how hard it is for her to travel to Arizona. The governor’s heard a lot of complaints about closing Kūlani. Put a human face, your mother’s face, on the hardship Arizona presents. Finally, make it personal. He’s a politician. He likes doing things for voters …” McKenzie paused, then added with a chuckle, “Especially when he knows he’s going to get national press coverage.”

  Christ, Koa thought, McKenzie had promised the governor national press. Had he stacked the deck in Ikaika’s favor? What, Koa wondered with a shiver, had he gotten himself into? “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until we have your brother out of prison.”

  Koa put the phone down and sat in stunned silence. His mother’s words rang in his ears: “… You will find a way to help him … That too I know in my na‘au.”

  “What was that all about?” Nālani asked.

  “Walker McKenzie set up a meeting with the governor for me to argue for an early parole hearing for Ikaika.”

  “Maika‘i loa, that’s wonderful,” Nālani exclaimed. “Māpuana will be thrilled.”

  “People are going to wonder how I arranged it. They might think it’s a conflict of interest.”

  Nālani’s face told a different story. “He’s the governor. You’re a citizen. You’re within your rights to ask him.”

  He looked at Nālani, feeling a rush of emotion, and then pulled her into a long embrace. Of course, she was right; he had to make the plea for his brother. He owed it to his mother … to his family … to his ancestors … and to himself as the hiapo, the oldest Kāne male.

  Koa didn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes a different vision assaulted him. A college coed hanging from an electrical cord. His brother walking out of prison as a free man. Leffler’s ugly scarred face. Boyle’s limp body hanging from a light fixture. Makela’s weary face when she finally fessed up. His mother gleeful at the news of her son’s release. The images just kept coming, and he couldn’t turn them off.

  All too soon the alarm rang, and he headed for Honolulu. He arrived at the Washington House a little before eight thirty and stood for a moment in front of the historic Greek Revival palace where the Committee of Safety had arrested Queen Lili‘uokalani on January 17, 1893, ending the Hawaiian monarchy. Thereafter, Washington House had served as the official residence of Hawai‘i governors until 2008 when the state built a new official residence just behind the old one, and Washington House became a state museum where the governor still sometimes conducted business. Once inside, Koa waited less than ten minutes before being shown into the governor’s office.

  Koa took a quick glance around the room, beautifully paneled in native woods and hung with portraits of Hawai‘i’s governors. Then he directed his attention to the man who rose from behind the desk. Bobbie Māhoe, beaming like the politician he was, came across the room to extend his hand to Koa. Dressed in a casual Hawaiian shirt and slacks, the governor wore a ti leaf and green orchid lei that had become his trademark. “Hello, Detective, and congratulations on the apprehension of Leffler. That was first-class detective work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Have a seat.” The governor waved to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  Koa sat down in a high-backed leather chair facing the governor’s desk, immediately leaning forward to connect with the governor.

  “Walker McKenzie told me a little about your brother,” the governor began. “How’s he doing?”

  Koa seized the moment. “He’s a changed man, Governor. The doctors removed two frontal lobe tumors he’s had since childhood. Medical experts believe the tumors have affected his behavior since he was a kid. Dr. Kepler’s letter explains their thinking.” He handed the governor a copy of the letter. “I’ve talked to my brother, Governor. He’s a different person. He’s much more reflective. His hostility has disappeared along with his impulsiveness. I’ve known him all my life, and he’s a new man. He deserves a second chance, a new lease on life.”

  The governor picked up Dr. Kepler’s letter and began reading. Koa watched Māhoe scan the pages, wondering if anyone could really read that fast. When he finally looked up, the governor said, “Pretty impressive stuff.”

  “You know, sir, I’m a cop. I’m usually on the other side, urging the courts to put offenders away because they’re a danger to the community. But if Dr. Kepler is right—and based on my personal interactions with my brother I think he is—Ikaika is not a danger to anyone.”

  “You make a good case. Anything else, Detective?”

  “Just this, sir. I know you’ve heard a lot of complaints about the closing of Kūlani and the difficulties people have in visiting their loved ones in Arizona. That’s been a real problem for my mother. She’s sixty-eight and it’s hard for her to make the trip to Arizona. She’s always been close to my brother, and I know she wants to be near him as he gets his life back in order.”

  The governor nodded. “I know that’s a problem, and unfortunately this whole contract prison thing has been a financial disaster for the state. That’s why we’re planning to reopen Kūlani.”

  The governor looked at his watch and stood up. Koa rose to his feet. “I’ve got a meeting in the capitol, Detective. Mind walking over there with me while you finish telling me about your brother.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  The two of them walked out of the office and down the hall to an elevator. The doors opened and the governor ushered Koa in. Koa turned to face Māhoe. “I don’t often make personal pleas, Governor, but our family would be enormously appreciative if you could help my brother. I am personally convinced he no longer belongs in prison.”

  “You make a strong case. I want to reread Dr. Kepler’s letter and discuss the issue with the attorney general. I promise you I’ll give it serious consideration.”

  When the elevator doors opened again, Koa found himself in the basement of Washington House. “How long have you known Walker McKenzie?” the governor asked.

  “I met him the day of the KonaWili disaster. He put me on to Dr. Kepler.”

  “Certainly a man of amazing sources.”

  “Absolutely,” Koa resp
onded.

  A guard opened a steel door, and the governor led Koa into a long tunnel. They walked along in silence for a couple of minutes before arriving at another steel door and emerging in the basement of the capitol building. The governor turned the corner, approached a bank of elevators, and extended his hand.

  Koa shook the governor’s hand. “Thanks for taking the time to see me, Governor.”

  “Glad to do it. We just might find a way to expedite your brother’s parole hearing.” The two men separated, and the governor then stepped into the capitol building elevator, and the doors closed behind him.

  Only then did Koa realize he was standing one floor below where Piki had last seen Francine Na‘auao just before she’d disappeared. They hadn’t been able to find her in the capitol because she’d slipped into the tunnel to the Washington House and gone from there to the new governor’s mansion to warn Governor Māhoe that Koa knew what happened to MJK in 1975.

  Koa felt his face get red. He’d been snookered. He’d suddenly become beholden to the man at the center of the investigation. Christ, he’d worried that Mayor Tanaka had an ulterior motive in controlling the investigation, but it had never occurred to him that the governor wanted to take control in order to protect his own neck.

  The governor must have had a good laugh when Walker McKenzie called him about Ikaika. And he’d grabbed the chance to put Koa in a compromising position. Māhoe would get free publicity to boot. No wonder the governor had been beaming when he met Koa. And now the other shoe would drop. Koa would pay a heavy price for his brother’s chance at freedom.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  KOA VACILLATED BETWEEN anger and depression all the way back to the Big Island. Furious at compromising himself, he felt like a dirty cop. Governor Māhoe would surely extract his price—termination of the KonaWili investigation and a whitewash. No justice for those children and their teachers. The thought drove Koa into fits of depression and rage.

  The governor had boxed him in, and he knew it. He could stand up for his integrity and insist on pursuing the KonaWili investigation, but he’d probably get fired, and his brother would rot in prison for another four years. His mother might not even live to see her youngest son free. He turned it over and over in his mind. His integrity versus the possibility of his brother’s freedom. He hated the trade, but he didn’t have a choice. There didn’t seem to be a way out. He’d screwed himself.