“I wondered about that as well and checked out the lobby. There’s a clock right next to the camera, so I’m assuming that’s what she was looking at.”
“Can I get a copy of the video and the still frame?”
“Sure. You want all of it, or just the highlights?”
“All of it—in case there’s anything else of use.”
Ernie grabbed a flash drive and placed it in the USB slot, then dragged over the files onto its icon, and a minute or so later it was done, and he ejected it and handed it to me.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We left Ernie and headed for the exit, but I had a quick thought and detoured back around towards Velma, as I had another question. We arrived to find her gazing intently at her computer screen, but she brought her attention up to us upon hearing our approach.
“Let me guess—you have positive proof Jessica Thurman is innocent?” she asked.
“No such luck, but I do have a final question now that I’ve seen the security footage from the hotel.”
“Fire away—no pun untended,” she said.
“Well, I noticed that our supposed killer touched the elevator button. Did you fingerprint those as well as the internal buttons as well?”
“I did, but they were almost completely devoid of any discernible prints.”
“So, someone, possibly our killer, wiped them down but conveniently forgot to wipe down the room. Seems a little suspicious to me,” I said.
Velma thought for a moment as she considered my words.
“You might have a point, though it’s entirely possible the janitor cleaned those areas as they resided in the public domain.”
“Possible though unlikely in my opinion. Alrighty then, Velma, Agent Kalili and I will be leaving you in peace now.”
Violet and I left the forensics lab and ventured back upstairs to meet with Chief O’Hara one last time. He was sitting at his desk and talking on the phone, so he nodded for us to come in and take a seat. A moment later, he hung up.
“How can I help you?”
“Just one final question, Chief.”
“Sure, fire away.”
“Who gave the order to have this case fast-tracked?”
“No idea, though I got the email from the Police Commissioner about ten to eight, so you might want to ask him.”
“Thanks, I’ll be in touch.”
We left the air-conditioned Honolulu Police station and walked out into the always pleasant Hawaiian sunshine.
“What now, Bart?”
“Lunch?”
“Sounds good, I’ve hardly eaten, and that coffee is making me a little twitchy.”
“How about Helena’s?”
“You know about Helena’s?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“Not hoales. I’m impressed—you’re apparently a regular local moke. I assume you have a car here?”
“Yeah, why?”
“No reason to take two cars. Why don’t we drop mine off at the Bureau. It’s not that far away.”
“Good thinking.”
I got in the Subaru and followed Violet in her white Ford Fusion west past Pearl Harbor and out to the FBI’s local office. It was a nice, modern looking building that sat next to the Barber’s Point Naval Air Station, and Violet pulled in and grabbed an end space before walking over to the door of my car.
“I have to pee. Do you want to wait or come inside?” Violet asked.
“I wouldn’t mind a quick bathroom stop as well. That coffee has brought on the need for a proper horse piss.”
I exited the Subaru and followed Violet inside, and the air was suddenly cool and dry, as the building was fully air-conditioned. We went past a reception desk, and a young woman of Asian descent said hello to Violet and me. Violet exchanged some pleasantries then led me upstairs to the restrooms, and we parted ways. I entered the men’s and discovered a thirtysomething guy standing at one of the urinals. He was tall, good looking, and his physique hinted that he was a devout workout junkie. He was also wearing dress pants and a button up shirt, and his clean shaven appearance and nicely quaffed hair made me assume he was an agent.
He immediately turned and eyed me suspiciously, so I smiled and continued on past him and into one of the proper stalls. A moment later, he flushed, and I heard the sink turn on, and I used that brief bit of inspiration to start emptying my swollen bladder. Only moments into my piss, I felt the rumblings of a fart simmering on the periphery, but I managed to keep it buttoned up until the guy left. At that point, I let her rip, and the sound was far louder than I had anticipated. This brought on a brief bout of giggles, but they eventually subsided by the time I was done peeing. I used my foot to flush the toilet then washed my hands and exited to find Violet standing directly outside. She was talking to the same nicely quaffed hair guy who had been in the bathroom, and they both turned to me, but Violet was smiling and eying at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Nice fart,” she said.
“Oh, you heard it?”
“The people on the north shore heard it.”
“Then I guess we’re even,” I said, recounting her fart from this morning.
She smiled.
“Touché.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the guy asked, looking annoyed.
“Oh nothing. Tag, this is Special Agent Dave Moore, and, Dave, this is Tag Finn, independent advisor to the vice president on the Steven Green Homicide.”
“He doesn’t look like an independent advisor to the vice president.”
“I take that as a compliment, actually.”
I held out my hand, and he took it, though he had an odd smile playing on his face that I’d seen a more times than I cared to remember. It was smug with a touch of pride and suggested that it was apparently time to establish who was the alpha male. He started to clench down on my hand, as he was hoping to crush it with his vice-like grip. As a guy, I’d had this treatment more times than I could remember and always responded in the same way. Instead of delivering force, I rolled the other guys knuckles together into the shape of a C then added pressure on the median nerve. It was excruciating, and soon Dave’s face changed to a nice shade of red as his smile became pained, and he at last relented and released his grip on my hand.
“Very nice to meet you. Do you guys ever feel less special when you realize that almost all of you have the word special in front of your name?” I asked.
“No, it’s just a fancy way of stating that we enforce over three hundred different federal statutes,” Violet said.
“Three hundred? That’ll keep you busy.”
“Indeed. Anyway, we better get going,” Violet said.
“Where?” Dave asked.
“The evidence desk,” Violet said.
“Then lunch,” I added.
Dave didn’t look very happy as we left him and headed deeper into the building and passed various cubicles and agents before reaching the records room. It looked a like a vault with its armored door and small service window at its center, and on the other side of the it sat a middle aged fellow, who immediately smiled the minute he saw Violet.
“How are you, Harry?” Violet asked.
“Good, and you?”
“Excellent.”
“How can I help you?”
“Just filing this form to document that I have temporary possession of some HPD evidence.”
Harry took the paper, made a computer entry, then stuck the file in a bin on the counter.
“That all?” he asked.
“That’s it. I’ll see you later.”
We left Harry and walked downstairs and out to my car.
“I guess we’re off to Helena’s, brudda,” I said, as I slipped behind the wheel.
We headed to the parking lot and pulled out of our space only to find Dave had come outside to see us off. His expression looked rather unfriendly, so I waved then gave him the ‘hang loose’ hand gesture, but he remained unfazed
as he glowered. Oh well, you can’t please everybody all the time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lunch Date
WE HEADED EAST on H1 and passed the infamous Pearl Harbor before reaching Helena’s Kitchen in a little over ten minutes. It was after lunch, but it was still crowded with locals as we walked in and managed to get a table for two. A young woman of Asian descent brought us water and asked if we were ready to order. We both went with the Barbecued Pork rice plate as well as a side of Korean style pickled vegetables, and the girl left to put in our order. Meanwhile, Violet and I quietly sat until I broke the silence.
“So, I’m assuming the guy you told me about last night is Special Agent Dave Moore.”
“How’d you guess? Was it his overwhelming charm or the handshake?”
“The handshake.”
“Yeah, that was awkward.”
“I think he still might hold a torch.”
“If he would have cared that much before, we might not have broken up.”
“So, it was mutual?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like it now does it?”
“Nope, and he definitely did not like me.”
“Maybe he was jealous of your fart.”
“It was pretty amazing.”
“It put mine to shame.”
“Only in volume—not in smell.”
I took a moment to look around at our fellow diners and saw a perfect demographic sampling of the Aloha State’s population. Hawaii, like the rest of the United States, had experienced a large influx of immigrants over the years, and sitting around us were a myriad of races and ethnicities—everything from Europeans to Hawaiians, Asians, African Americans, Samoans, and hispanics. It was truly a melting pot and proof positive that this was the place to eat. Our waitress came by with two waters, and I lifted mine up to Violet for a toast.
“To exes,” I said.
“To exes,” she added, as we touched glasses.
Violet took a sip then set down her glass.
“So, you know about my ex, but I don’t know much about yours?”
“Well, like you and Dave, our breakup was work related, but, as I said, before, it was mainly because she moved really fucking far away.”
“Like to a different state?”
“Like to a different part of the world. She started working for the international aid relief organization Globo-Care, and our three lovely months together came to an abrupt end.”
“At least your breakup was for a good cause.”
“True, though it didn’t make it any easier.”
“Yeah, I guess not. So, how did you two meet?”
I had to laugh.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I went on to explain that we had met when I rescued her as well as three other strippers from a sinking boat out on the San Francisco Bay.
“So, she was a stripper? You’re a liar and a fucking hypocrite!” Violet said, testily.
“Not exactly. She was primarily a Playboy Playmate doing a one-time stripping gig.”
“Jesus, your last girlfriend was a Playboy Playmate? That’s a hard act to follow.”
“It’s not like it sounds. She only did it to raise money for her brother’s legal defense fund.”
Violet shook her head in dismay.
“To think I listened to all that bullshit at the party last night about you not being the stripper type.”
“It’s true, I’m not. Besides, stripping wasn’t technically even her part-time occupation.”
Violet sat back, crossed her arms over her chest, and scowled at me, but, thankfully, our waitress returned with two delicious looking, steaming hot plates of food, and our conversation was temporarily put on hold as both of us dug in and devoured our lunch in a matter of minutes. Finished, I leaned back in my chair and suddenly felt particularly full as I hazarded a final sip of water.
“So, you were pretty quiet back at the Police Evidence Lab. Do you have any thoughts?” I asked.
“Are you purposefully trying to steer the conversation away from yourself?”
“Not at all. I’m legitimately curious what you think.”
“Honestly, it looks pretty bad for your girl.”
“It does, but I’m surprised that you don’t find the abundance of evidence a little disturbing.”
“I admit that it’s a little too much of a slam dunk, but sometimes it just happens, so what makes you so sure she didn’t do it?”
“I know her pretty well.”
“That’s what everybody says—right before they learn that their loved one, friend, or next door neighbor is a serial killer.”
“This time, I really do.”
“How?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know but…”
“But what? Did you date her? I need all the facts if I’m going to make an accurate judgement call on this.”
“We didn’t date. In fact, her dearly departed husband Steven Green hired me to follow her in hopes of proving that she was having an affair.”
“Was she?”
“Yeah, but so was he.”
“And what happened?”
“I gave him back his money then went and told Jessica the whole story. A couple months later, I sort of hooked up with her and had a one night stand.”
“That seems to be your MO.”
“It’s not what you think, as we didn’t have intercourse. We were just too lonely people having a little fun.”
“Lovely, does that mean I should feel special or easy that I went all the way?”
“Special, of course. Anyway, Jessica and I became good friends. In fact, I’m the one who introduced her to the vice president.”
“Pardon me if I’m overstepping my bounds here, but isn’t your involvement in this a gross conflict of interest?”
“My entire life is a gross conflict of interest.”
“Jesus Christ, Finn. Do you realize that you were employed by the victim, and, worse still, more or less romantically linked to the murderer.”
“Alleged murderer, and technically it would be less romantically linked.”
“Fine, but that doesn’t even take into account that you also boned one of the special agents currently assigned to the investigation.”
“More like got boned by a special agent, and I thought you were assigned more as my babysitter.”
“At this point, I’d say it’s a little bit of both.”
“So, speaking of you—what is the deal with your whole handcuff thing? Fetish or control issue?”
“Control issue. I was just being cautious. If you turned out to be a nut job, it would be a hell of a lot easier to deal with you if I had you cuffed to the bed.”
“Oh, do you sleep with a lot of nut jobs?”
“No, it’s just that paranoia is a side effect of my job.”
“Apparently.”
Suddenly my iPhone rang, and I looked down to see that John was calling, so I hit the accept button and held it to my ear.
“What’s up, Number Two?” I asked.
“Oh, have you grown tired of calling me Sasquatch?”
“No, I just like to mix it up every now and then. What’s up?”
“I was just calling to tell you that we’ll be meeting at the Outrigger Canoe Club around six for dinner to discuss damage control. You know where it is?”
“Of course.”
“Good, and bring your FBI handler as well.”
“Anything else, your majesty?”
“Could you swing by Leonard’s Bakery and pick up some more of those malasadas?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind being a fat president.”
“If only. The way things are going, I’ll be lucky if I end up as nothing more than just another fat asshole.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself—you’re already an asshole, so it should be no problem to top it off by getting fat.”
“Thanks for another great pep talk, fucker, I’ll see you at the Outrigger.”
“Not if I see you first.”
I hit the end button and saw Violet staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Seriously now—what do you have on the vice president that you can talk to him like he’s a piece of shit?”
“Nothing— we’re just friends.”
“Obviously there’s more.”
“There is, but it’s a long story, and the long and short of it is that I saved his life a few years back.”
“Assassination attempt?”
“No, it was back in Afghanistan when we were both in the Service. His helicopter was shot down in enemy territory, and I had to go in and rescue him.”
“What branch of the service?”
“Air Force Parajumper.”
“Is that special operations?”
“Yeah, though our main objective was rescue operations.”
“And you rescued the potential future president of the United States.”
“Yeah, potentially I did, though it’s not looking too good at the moment.”
“I can see why you’re so invested in this now.”
“No shit. Everyone involved is a friend, and, worse still, I have a real stake in making sure that fucker is our next president.”
“And the whole special operations background also explains why you went into the CIA.”
“I suppose, though it’s less common for PJ’s unless they have a pretty remarkable military career.”
“I’d say that saving the future vice president of the United States seems pretty remarkable.”
“Well, more than anything, he was a friend.”
“You know my ex Dave was also in the Service.”
“Interesting. I’m betting he was probably in the Marines or, more likely, Army.”
“Good guess. He was Army. In fact, he was a sniper in the Rangers.”
“So, unless I want to be taken out by a bullet at long range, we should probably not tell him about our night of passion.”
“Don’t worry, he loves being an FBI agent too much to kill you, and if he did do it, he’d want to do it up close and personal.”
“Good to know. Well, we have a few hours to kill before the damage control meeting. Want to go to that gun store?”
The Poi Predicament Page 8