by Toby Neal
She went rigid, her lips closed, the reaction instinctive. He looked down at her, stepped back, let go. Turned away. Picked up his coffee and took a sip. She let her breath out with a shaky whoosh, turned away to rinse her mug at the sink. His voice, when he spoke, was deliberately casual.
“As far as today, I’m hoping the search warrant on the Reynolds house comes through. I could use some help on that if it does.”
“Sure.” Lei made certain her voice was as even as his. He’d almost kissed her—and freak that she was, she’d made him back off. She wished he’d try again, but now wasn’t the time. “What do you think about Mary?”
“I think she’s endangered missing, if she didn’t turn up last night. Check in with the detective on her case. Dispatcher said his name is Lono Smith.”
“Sounds like a plan. I can’t stand to think something’s happened to her.”
“So far there’s no sign of foul play. We just have to go through the steps. Try not to think the worst.”
He put his mug in the sink, pulled on one of her corkscrew curls, stretching it out and watching it spring back, smiling at her somber face. Moving slowly, he put his fingers under her chin and rubbed the ball of his thumb across her lower lip. A tingle zipped down her spine, weakening her knees as he picked up his duffel and headed for the door. “I’ll give you a call later.”
“Okay.” She followed him. “I want to get a hair sample of Mary’s and compare it to what the stalker sent.”
“Good idea.” He turned. “Hey, get me a futon or something for tonight, would you?”
Lei opened her mouth to argue, and he put his fingers over it gently, leaning in close. There were tiny flecks of green in his blue eyes.
“Humor me,” he said softly. “Please.”
Struck dumb, she closed the door behind him.
Guilt smote her—how could she be thinking about kissing with her friend missing, and two girls dead?
Lei and Keiki did their run, and as she was buttoning into her uniform her cell rang.
“Come over to the Reynolds’ house. The warrant came through. I’m bringing Pono in too.” Stevens was all business.
“On my way,” Lei said. She drove to the Reynolds’ house with its elegant carriage lamps and manicured lawn. Stevens’s SUV was in the driveway. Jeremy met her at the door.
“The parents left when we got here and served the warrant. It’s a good thing. It’s easier to work with them out of the way.”
“How’d Reynolds take it?” Lei asked.
“Badly,” Jeremy said, leading them into the living room where Stevens was lifting the cushions up on the couch, looking beneath them with a flashlight.
“Reynolds left pretty angry, said he was going to get his lawyer. I’d like to be out of here before they get back,” Stevens said, pointing to a box of latex gloves.
Pono walked in as Lei snapped on a pair of gloves and helped herself to some evidence bags.
“What’re we looking for?”
“Not sure,” he said. “Anything to link him to the two girls, the campsite. I figure we’ll know it when we see it.”
Even with the four of them searching it was slow work. They went through every drawer, every closet, every box. Lei felt a stifling squeeze in her chest as she went into Kelly’s room.
The pretty blonde teenager’s presence had been erased. The bedroom had been stripped of her belongings and made over into a guest room. Lei lifted the tropical print coverlet, shook out the pillow shams, opened the closet. Pink plastic hangers rattled in the space. She pulled out the wardrobe drawers. Empty.
I know where her clothes went—in the trash. What a weird way to grieve—poor kid. She saw the girl’s face again in her mind’s eye, part of her nose gone, blue eyes shadows behind puffy lids. Lei pinched herself to stay in the present moment, sitting back on the bed.
Stevens came to the door. “Anything?”
“No. Totally cleaned out. Looks like they’re making this into a guest room.” She gestured to the faux rattan headboard and orchid-print drapes.
Just then Jeremy called, “Come see this!”
They went into the den, where Jeremy had been searching the computer. He swiveled the flat-screen monitor so they could see pictures of Kelly.
She was wearing the ruffled yellow skirt Lei remembered from the evidence room, sitting with her legs open. Jeremy clicked to the next photo. She was naked. Her flaxen hair was spread over small breasts, her hand over her mound. Her eyes shone with misery. More pictures, each progressively more seductive, and her eyes more glazed. The background was the oatmeal-colored couch in the living room.
The last picture was of Kelly and Haunani naked, lying facing each other in the green grass beside a stream. The composition was beautiful, the colors rich—and the subject matter haunting and terrible.
“Holy shit!” Pono exclaimed. “This pedophile prick just had these pictures sitting on his desktop? He was just asking to get busted!”
“I broke his encryption,” Jeremy said. “It wasn’t too complicated. This file is called ‘baby photos’ and I knew he never had any babies, so I checked it.”
“I think we got him,” Stevens said. Lei turned away and went back to Kelly’s room. She felt dizzy. She turned on the special vacuum with its evidence collection bag, sucking any fibers out of the carpet. Bile seemed to be pressing up in her throat and she gulped it back, gripping the vacuum hard. Get a grip, she told herself, and felt hysterical laughter threaten.
Her cell rang. It was Irene at Dispatch.
“This is your reminder call. You have counseling today at two p.m., and it’s one-forty-five. I thought you might forget. I know you guys are out searching the Reynolds place.”
“Shit,” Lei said, ripping the vacuum cord out of the wall. “This is not a good time!”
“When is it ever?” Irene said cheerfully. “Say thank you for the reminder, or I’ll give you a graveyard shift.”
“Thanks, Irene. Are you sure I can’t reschedule?”
“Mandatory means mandatory. You ask me, you got off light so no mess with the Lieutenant on this.”
“Shit,” she said again. “Okay. Thanks.” She clicked the phone closed. “Stevens, I need to go back to the station.”
They were still clustered around the computer as she came back in, the vacuum bag in hand. Pono turned to her.
“What for? We’re in the middle of something.”
“That damn mandatory counseling.”
“Bad timing,” Stevens said. “I need you here.”
“If you guys weren’t just getting your jollies looking at the dead girls, we might be getting more done,” she snapped. All three of them stared at her.
“Unplug the computer and we’ll take the whole thing down to the station,” Stevens said to Jeremy. He looked at Lei. “I think you better go get that counseling.”
Fury and shame clogged her throat. She dropped the evidence bag and left, the screen door banging behind her.
It took her the whole drive to the station to calm down. She knew her response to the search was irrational, knew it had to do with her past. As usual, knowing didn’t help. She took some deep breaths and put her hand in her pocket, feeling the triangular corner of Stevens’s note. Asshole, she thought, glad they hadn’t kissed but wishing they had. Wishing she could get the images of the girls out of her mind. Wishing she was normal.
She parked the Crown Vic and went into the industrial beige women’s room, splashing water on her face and making sure her hair was under control. She touched up with lip gloss and brushed some lint off her uniform.
“I look fine,” she said out loud. “Not remotely psycho.”
Chapter Twenty
She went down the hall to Dr. Wilson’s office. The police psychologist opened the door after her tentative knock. She was a diminutive woman, neatly dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. The bell of her smooth ash-blonde hair swung as she gestured Lei in.
“You must be Ms. Texeira. Co
me on in and get comfortable.”
Lei took a seat in the corner. The room was furnished simply with a couch and several deep, cushy chairs. Amateurish paintings decorated the walls, and there was a low coffee table with a Japanese sand garden on it, complete with a tiny rake.
The psychologist took another chair across from Lei. She had a clipboard and a pen.
“Just a few housekeeping items before we get started,” she said briskly. “You have six mandatory sessions. This one was scheduled, but we will set up the next one at a time we agree on. This time is completely confidential and I keep very few notes. However, at the end of your last session I have to fill out this assessment form.” She held up the clipboard showing the form. “I have to give you a rating as to how engaged you were in the process and my opinion as to whether you are fit for duty. Needless to say that’s a big axe to have hanging over your head, so I am going to remove it now.”
She filled out the form. The 1-5 rating scale on engagement was circled at 4.5, and she printed “Fit for Duty” in the outcome area. She signed it, a bold Patrice Wilson, Ph.D., and held it up.
“I have never felt this was the way to treat people,” she said. “Now we can put that behind us and just see what comes up.”
She folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope, sealing the edge and writing “Lieutenant Ohale” on the front. She laid it on the coffee table and sat back comfortably.
“Isn’t that unethical?” Lei frowned.
“Isn’t it unethical to expect counseling to work with that kind of threat hanging over the process?”
“I don’t know. I think this whole thing is bogus.”
“So do I. But they still pay me.”
Astonishingly, she snickered. It was such an undignified noise coming from such a polished, respectable-looking woman that Lei just stared.
“Want something to drink?” Dr. Wilson asked, getting up and going to a little mini fridge in the corner. Lei halfway expected her to hold up a booze bottle, the way things had been going, but she just held up a water. Lei took it, realizing she was parched from the busy day. Might as well shock this lady, she thought, draining the water bottle.
“I was raped when I was nine.”
“Huh,” said Dr. Wilson, sitting back down. “You’d be surprised how many police officers were.”
Again Lei was off balance, flummoxed. Her other counselor had been warm, teasing the story out of her by inches, affirming her all the way.
“Female police officers, I should say,” Dr. Wilson clarified. “Some guys get into the force because they like being aggressive. Got a lot of wife beaters around here.”
“Huh,” Lei said, mimicking her. “Well, it was my mom’s boyfriend.”
“What did you do about it?”
Again the unexpected response. Lei felt the heat of rage roar up her neck. “I took it. I was nine years old for chrissake. What the hell kind of counselor are you?”
Dr. Wilson said nothing. Lei felt the anger recede, felt the pressure of her secret easing. She settled back into the couch.
“I guess I didn’t just take it. I got good with weapons. I decided no one was ever going to do that to me again.”
Dr. Wilson inclined her head. “Nice,” she said. “You’re a fighter. How are your relationships with men? Do you have sex?”
“Not if I can help it,” Lei said. “I’d like to, but I get all frozen.”
“So are you gay?”
“What the hell? No, I’m not gay!”
“Okay. So have you been to counseling before?”
“Yeah. I went to my Aunty’s when my mom died of an overdose. She sent me to a bunch of them.”
“Was it helpful?”
“Some of them were. Mostly not. The one I went to in college helped me the most. She gave me some things to do when I ...disappear.”
“So you dissociate?”
“Is that what you call it? Yeah, I do sometimes. It’s under control though. It doesn’t interfere with the job.” Not too much, I hope, she thought.
“Tell me about the last time you dissociated.”
“Recently.” Lei thought of the pictures on the Reynolds’s computer. “Can I talk about a case?”
“Only if it’s relevant ...and, it’s all relevant.”
“Okay. The last time I almost checked out was this afternoon. We found some pictures of the girls who were murdered. I got a really sick feeling, kinda dizzy. I had things to do so I left the room, and when I came back in the other detectives were still looking at the pictures and I got super mad. I just wanted to kill them, and him most of all, the guy who did it.”
“Go on.”
“I know I just said it didn’t interfere with the job but sometimes I think it does. Like today. And the thing that made me have to come in for counseling.”
She took a deep breath and told Dr. Wilson about the stalker, how she thought the murder investigation and the stalker were connected somehow, though she hadn’t yet found the link. She finished with how she’d gone after the stalker with her gun and dog.
“If I had been thinking clearly I wouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t know.” Dr. Wilson shrugged. “If it had worked, it would have been awesome.”
“Yeah. It would have.” Lei broke into a grin. This was the first time anyone had said anything positive about her action. “I’ll get him next time. Only, the guys are hovering around, taking turns keeping an eye on me. Detective Stevens has been sleeping over to guard me.”
“One.” Dr. Wilson held up her hand, folding down her fingers as she made her points. “The guys think the stalker is a real threat and you’re in danger. Ergo, you should take it seriously too. Two: Stevens may have more than helping in mind when he stays over. Three: maybe these cases are connected and you could bust the stalker and find the murderer at the same time. Tell me again what makes you think they’re connected?”
“I don’t really know.” Lei rubbed her hands up and down her slacks. “I just have a feeling. I’m also freaked out about Mary.” She filled the psychologist in on her budding friendship with Mary, and the other woman’s disappearance.
“It doesn’t seem all that farfetched that this is all connected somehow,” Dr. Wilson said. A tiny line had appeared between her smooth sandy brows. “How often do we have a case of unknown stalking, drowning, and disappearance in Hilo? I wouldn’t be surprised if more comes out when Mary is found.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Well, your time’s up. Let’s get together next week, same time.”
“Okay,” Lei stood up, headed for the door, and then turned back. “This wasn’t so bad. Thanks.”
“Oh, music to my ears,” Dr. Wilson said, laughing. “You did all the work and I get the credit. That’s why I love my job.”
Lei went straight to her desk. She knew she should go back to help with the search, but she hadn’t had time to do anything about Mary. She sat down and called the Pahoa Police Department.
“I might have a lead on Mary Gomes,” Lei said when she was transferred to the investigator on the case, Lono Smith. “I got delivered a piece of long black hair from someone who’s been stalking me. I thought it might be Mary’s. It was dropped off at my house with a threatening note.”
“Do you have it logged in to evidence?” Lono asked. She could hear the clicking of his keyboard.
“Yes. If you want to compare Mary’s hair and what the stalker left, it’s here at South Hilo Station.”
“On my way,” Lono said. “We move fast for our own.”
“Glad to hear it.” Lei felt her throat close. She cleared it, blinking. “The hair has no follicles though—it will have to be a visual comparison.”
“That’s fine. I’ll keep in touch.” He rang off.
Lei sat back in her squeaking orange chair, did a few spins to discharge stress as she called Stevens.
“Still need me?” she asked when he picked up.
“Nope. We c
leared out just ahead of Reynolds and his lawyer,” he said. “I have the computer with me. We’re going to do a more thorough search at the station. You can call it a day—I’ll be by later.”
She sat silently, thinking of what Dr. Wilson had said.
“Okay.”
“What, you feeling all right? No arguing?”
“I’ve decided to rely on my senior officer’s estimation of the situation.”
He laughed. “Oh that’s just great. Now I’m a senior. Just don’t forget that futon.” He clicked off.
She smiled, shutting down her workstation and feeling the triangle of Stevens’ note as she left the building. She headed out to Wal-Mart and bought a set of twin sheets, a new pillow, and a futon. Who knows, I might need it for guests, she told herself, stowing it in the truck.
She remembered the package slip from the other night. She still had time to swing by the post office and pick it up, so she pulled into the crowded parking lot and redeemed the package—a thick bubble-padded manila envelope.
Her name and address were printed on it in block letters. There appeared to be a small box inside. There was no return address, and it was postmarked Hilo. She set it on the passenger seat.
She glanced over at it again and again as she drove home, torn between getting the suspense over with and opening it at home with Stevens or Pono. The sun dropped long red rays to the west ahead of her. She speed-dialed Mary’s phone and it went to voicemail again. Time could be running out for her friend.
“Mary, where are you?” she cried into the phone and snapped it shut. She hit the steering wheel, but it didn’t help—nothing did. Her friend was gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
He brushed the ferns aside, making his way to the campsite in the dimming light of sunset. It was a good distance from where he hid the truck, and he’d had to use a wheelbarrow to carry her out there. The faint track of the barrow wheel showed in the dirt, and he dragged a branch behind him, roughing up the ground to erase it.
Just outside the scrim of trees that hid the shelter, he pulled on the ski mask.