by Toby Neal
“I’m learning to trust my gut too,” Lei said, and hurried away down the linoleum hall.
Chapter Thirty
He sat in his chair, uploading the pictures of Mary. He scrolled slowly through the whole sequence, savoring them: the first shots when he brought her to the camp, tousled and glaring. The poses of her beckoning him with her helpless, waiting beauty. The shot of her sprawled on the rocks, the ripple of brown floodwaters inches away. Then, the final one—her body caught in the swollen current, only the top of her shiny black head visible. “You shouldn’t have pissed me off like that, or I might have let you live,” he said aloud.
He made a new folder, titled it Blood Orchid and stashed it in a folder with just the date he’d dumped her. Done saving, he unplugged the hard drive and pulled up the rug, stashing it in the floorboard cache he’d built.
Savoring the moment, he took the key ring with the black and blonde hair on it out of the drawer. He knew he should hide it with the photos, but he needed it close. He took the hank of Mary’s hair out of the Ziploc bag and secured it to the ring on the other side of Kelly’s hair. There was a symmetry there that was pleasing to his eye.
He got his phone out and slowly scrolled with his thumb through the photos he’d saved there, trailing the key ring’s hair back and forth across his chest, down his arms, a feeling like the most tender of touches. Faces of young women filled the small screen.
He paused at the one he was looking for.
He studied Leilani Texeira’s face caught in a rare smile, her warm brown eyes alight. “You’re next. I was right—you do photograph well.”
He put the key ring away and got up, going out to the garage. He went to a large wooden cabinet, opened the combination lock, reached inside to a concealed back panel, opened it. He took out his kit, setting it on the work table nearby.
It was a black backpack with everything tidy and in its place: the ski mask, a couple of shiny new pairs of handcuffs, the Taser, a clear glass bottle of the drug, a sealed plastic pack of hypodermics, a roll of duct tape, a couple of freshly laundered handkerchiefs, the tie out cable, the pillowcase and neatly folded top sheet. He mentally rehearsed the capture as he touched each item.
He wasn’t planning to be gentle with this one.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lei sat in the conference room with Stevens, Jeremy, Lieutenant Ohale, the two new detectives, and Hiro Harada the following morning. Across the table sat Pahoa station’s commanding officer, Captain Brown, Lono Smith, and his partner Brett Samuels. Stevens had called the meeting to request that they combine the Mohuli`i investigation with Mary Gomes’ homicide. A box of malasadas, round Portuguese donuts dusted with sugar, sat waiting to clog arteries.
“Okay.” Stevens continued with his summarization of the main points, looking down at his notes. He’d asked her to keep track of the discussion, so Lei got up, uncapping a marker to make notes on the whiteboard. “We think these cases are the same doer for several reasons. One: the method. All three women were drowned. Two: all three victims were drugged with Rohypnol. Three: they were restrained. Four: all of them had evidence of sexual activity. Five: they all had trace evidence of baby wipes on their bodies, showing careful attention to cleanup.” Lei wrote fast, wishing she could see the expressions on the faces of the other investigators, and feeling conscious of eyes on her ass.
“Now for the differences,” Lono said, taking over. Lei drew a quick line dividing the board and began another list. “One: the method of restraint. The girls were bound with t-shirt strips. Mary Gomes was restrained with handcuffs. Two: Gomes was kidnapped and raped over days. The girls weren’t identified as missing prior to their bodies washing up, indicating they weren’t held captive like Gomes was. Three: the girls had very little evidence of violence other than sexual activity premortem, while Gomes was pretty banged up.”
Lei took a relaxation breath in through her nose, out through her mouth, the chemical smell of the marker bracing as smelling salts against memories of drowned faces flashing through her mind as she wrote.
“Four: the victim profiles are different,” Lono went on. “The girls were young, easy pickings for a sexual predator. Mary Gomes was mature, a law enforcement officer, experienced in self defense, and armed.”
Stevens picked up the rhythm. “Our main suspect so far in the Mohuli`i case, Kelly Andrade’s stepfather James Reynolds, has a solid alibi for the time frame when Mary disappeared.” He gestured to Jeremy.
“He was at work, witnessed by a dozen people. The wife says he was never gone at night during the time frame Gomes was missing,” Jeremy filled in.
“He’s got a helluva defense lawyer, and what we have on him is thin, namely a motive for the girls and an incriminating photo of them,” Harada chimed in. “I didn’t have enough to even issue an arrest warrant.”
“Then there’s what Lei turned up that could be practicing on the part of our perp. She found two kidnap rapes within the last six months that look like the same M.O. as Mary Gomes, only without the drowning.”
“Yeah.” Lei turned around and confirmed. “Stevens and I re-interviewed these two rape victims and filled in a little more information.”
Lieutenant Ohale’s slight nod indicating she go on gave her confidence. “The victims remembered being cleaned up with baby wipes. Handcuffs and Rohypnol by injection were used on them. Cassie Kealoha remembers being posed and photographed; she said she thought he dressed her because she had strap marks on her feet. She also saw a black ski mask.”
The group seemed to be digesting this.
“Possible Reynolds did the girls, and the Campsite Rapist did Mary Gomes?” Jeremy used Lei’s moniker.
“Campsite Rapist,” Captain Brown said thoughtfully, reaching over to pluck a malasada off the pile. The brass on his uniform gleamed in the overhead lights, and Lei thought he’d left his hat on to add height to his short, fireplug build. He was Captain over the entire Hilo District, and Ohale’s commanding officer as well as Pahoa’s. “The media better not get wind of this. That nickname has a catchy ring to it.”
“So far they don’t seem to have put the two crimes together,” Stevens said. “I hope we can keep it that way. We don’t want this guy knowing we’re lining up the dots.”
“So are we in agreement there’s enough in common with these crimes to indicate the same doer?” Lono asked.
Nods around the room and finally Captain Brown said, “Possibly. At this point we have to pursue all leads. Considering how much possible evidence we could have, hardly anything is turning up—Gomes’ dump site, Uli`i Park, is coming up dry for trace, so is her body. So even though Reynolds isn’t fitting with the Gomes murder, and technically his alibi is holding up for the girls, with that photo he’s our best suspect.”
“I think we all agree these rapes were a warm-up for the Gomes murder,” Lono said. Lei noticed somewhere along the way Mary’s first name had been dropped—getting some distance from the vic, she thought with a pang. “What’s not really fitting for me are the Mohuli`i girls.”
“Nothing to do but get out there and do some police work,” Ohale said. Captain Brown stood, and everyone else did as well.
“Get to it, people. These women need justice.” Brown spun and marched out of the room, a tugboat setting the course.
“We’ll focus on Gomes. Keep us posted on any developments,” Lono said, following Captain Brown out.
“You got it.” Ohale sat back down, looked around at his team. “Okay. What’s next?”
“I got the warrant on Reynolds’ CPA office and he has a storage facility as well. Pretty interested to see what we turn up there.” Stevens wolfed down a malasada. “Damn, these are good. What are they, donut holes?”
“Portuguese food. They do good with fried stuff but watch out for the month-old pickled eggs,” Harada said, gathering his papers into a leather portfolio. “Find me some physical evidence and I’m happy to sign Reynolds’ arrest warrant.”
�
�Let’s get to it,” Stevens said. “Jeremy and Lei, you’re with me and we’ll take the storage facility. Pono, you and the guys do the business office. Let’s bring it in, people.”
Lei capped the marker and set it in the tray, following Stevens’ broad shoulders with her eyes as he left the room.
Jeremy stood up and moved into her space, his eyes hard on her face.
“Don’t mess around with my partner.” His voice was a hiss.
“I’m not,” Lei stammered.
“He doesn’t need some bitch messing with his concentration. If something goes wrong with this investigation you’re going down for it.”
Before she could respond he was moving away with a swift athleticism she’d never really noticed before. Cheeks burning, she followed him out, still groping for a comeback.
Stevens waved the warrant at her above the cubicle wall.
“Step it up, Texeira, we got evidence to gather.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The storage container was hot and unventilated. She, Jeremy, and Stevens, particle masks and latex gloves on, spent hours in the stifling metal room sorting through boxes of old fishing gear, outdated college textbooks, clothes that should have gone to Goodwill, and some furniture in a heavy baroque style that looked too expensive to give away and too ugly to sell—probably inherited. After the first hour they didn’t say much, simply shaking, sorting, and reshuffling.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Lei asked at one point, after dislodging a nest of cockroaches from a box of Kelly’s old stuffed animals.
“Photography equipment. Bondage stuff. I don’t know, we’ll know it when we see it.” They didn’t see it.
Jeremy yanked the drawers out of an ornate desk against the far wall, one of the few areas where a clear pathway existed from the door of the unit. He dumped the contents of the drawers at Stevens’ feet. Post-it notes, highlighter pens, boxes of paper clips, a pile of floppy disks, and a jangle of metal spilled onto the floor.
“Hey!” Stevens cried, as Jeremy tossed the drawer aside and reached for another one.
Lei looked up from her box of old cassette tapes as Stevens stooped and, using a pencil, hooked up the tangle of gleaming metal. He held it up to the light. Lei scrambled up and Jeremy came forward to look. Threaded onto a key ring were a traditional gold Hawaiian bangle bracelet, a necklace with a locket, and a delicate gold signet-type ring.
“That desk is a weird place to store jewelry.” Stevens used his gloved finger to part the items. “This bracelet says Kealoha. Isn’t that our rape vic Cassie’s last name?” He gently pried open the locket. Inside was a photo of a small blonde girl. Finally he poked the ring, and the Gothic letter H picked out in black enamel caught the light.
“That looks like it could be the ring Haunani’s grandmother gave her!” Lei exclaimed. The three of them looked up and Stevens’ teeth gleamed through smudges of grime as he grinned.
“I think we finally got Reynolds with this physical evidence.” With that Stevens stepped outside to call Harada.
Lei and Jeremy followed him out, eager for some fresh air, and waited in awkward silence in the shade of the building as Stevens made the call.
“Good news. Harada signed the arrest warrant. Jeremy, let’s go pick him up. Lei, I’ll send Pono over here to help you finish up. I’ll see you later tonight for surveillance.”
“No need for that. Got a dinner date and haven’t heard from the stalker in days,” Lei said, shaking out a box filled with yarn balls. They bounced across the concrete floor and she groaned.
“Who?” Even strapping his weapon back on in preparation to leave, she got the intensity of his full attention.
“Tom Watanabe. No big deal, I got out of the thing the other day, but I still need to check him out closer and I guess...he wants to check me out too.”
“I’ll see you later, about 8:00 p.m.,” he said, and strode out. Apparently he still thought she needed a babysitter.
Jeremy glared at her over his shoulder as he followed Stevens, and Lei flipped him off behind his back. Bastard got to be in on the Reynolds bust, and had the nerve to give her ‘stink-eye’ while she was stuck in this toaster oven of a storage unit.
Pono showed up and they spent the rest of the day in fruitless sweaty searching while the detectives arrested Reynolds and interviewed him. Lei would have given her right arm to be in on it.
Evening cast long shadows when she walked up onto Tom Watanabe’s porch. She’d taken a brief moment at home to strip off her filthy uniform, splash her face and wind her hair up and pin it with a chopstick, throw on a tank top and jeans. She still felt far from date-worthy—good thing she was just trying to get information out of him. Ambivalence rose up yet again but it was too late; she’d already reached his house and tapped on the door.
He opened it, an oven mitt on his hand.
“Hey,” she said, pointing at the mitt. “I like a man in proper gear.” He laughed, embarrassed, whipping it off.
“Come in,” he said. “I was just giving up on you.”
“Yeah, sorry I’m late. We had a lot going on today with work.”
“It’s okay. The shoyu chicken was just getting a little dry and I pulled it out of the oven.” She followed him through the house. Gleaming dark wood floors enhanced spare décor: a black leather couch, low enameled coffee table, and a flat-screen TV mounted above an obsidian Buddha. A framed obi, the wide traditional belt used to close kimono, was centered over the couch.
She pointed at it. “Your grandmother’s?”
“Yes. It’s over a hundred years old.”
Lei went over, folding her hands behind her back, leaning close. The wide fabric belt was intricately worked silk, tiny coiling dragons curling around the edge.
“Beautiful,” she said. “It must be nice to have this history.”
“Not always.” Tom led her into the remodeled kitchen, all chrome and grey granite. “Comes with a lot of expectations.” He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine. “Something to drink?”
“Sure.”
“Why don’t we check out the orchids while the food cools down?” He handed her a glass of the chilled wine.
“Okay.” She followed him out the back door. The greenhouse was a sturdy little glass and wood structure, neatly painted and maintained as everything was. They stepped inside and Lei caught her breath in wonder.
Sprays of vibrant dendrobium tangled with the fragile moth shapes of phalaenopsis. Huge, lacey cattleyas thrust showy blossoms forward, spilling delicate fragrance. She leaned close to one, a glowing fuchsia.
“I’ve never been able to get these to bloom,” she said, touching the ruffled cup with a finger.
“The secret,” he said, holding a mister aloft, “is liquid fertilizer sprayed on once a week and the right climate conditions. Now I’ve told you, I might have to kill you.”
“You threatening a police officer?” She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes.
“I was just trying to be funny.” He laughed, that nervous chuckle.
“Whatever,” she said, reaching for the door handle. The charm of the greenhouse was lost.
“Wait!” He went down the aisle and plucked an orchid plant off the shelf. “This is a new variety. It reminded me of you.”
She took it. The phalaenopsis’s stem arched up from a base of dark leaves, three perfect butterfly blossoms perched on it. They were creamy white with chocolate edges, a spatter of fawn freckles across the petals. She couldn’t help smiling.
“This is sweet. Thanks.”
He rubbed his hands on his jeans.
“Let’s go have some dinner.”
They sat in the bamboo-floored dining area at a traditional, sunken Japanese table and ate the shoyu chicken, rice, and fresh green beans he’d kept crisp and flavorful.
“Mm. I always overcook green beans,” Lei said.
“Just drop them in boiling water for two or three minutes, strain them out,” he said. “Now t
ell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell. I was born on Oahu and ended up here. I love what I do, and I’m working on making detective.” Lei belatedly remembered she wanted to pump him for information. “So what’s involved with your job?”
“Nothing as interesting as yours. I’m in charge of monitoring the diversion facilities, making sure our water pressure’s good. We have some of the heaviest rainfall in the Islands, and we send a lot of our water to Kona side because it’s so dry. All those ditches require a lot of monitoring.” He took another bite. “Keeps me busy.”
It would be easy for him to know about a remote but accessible area like the stream where Kelly and Haunani were drowned. Lei took another bite, reminding herself her stalker wasn’t connected with the murders, though the black truck seemed to cross into both cases.
“You’re quiet.”
“Just tired.” She put her chopsticks down abruptly. “Why’d you ask me out?”
He shrugged, did that awkward laugh. “You’re single and cute. You live down the street. I like you. What else should I say?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ve just gotten used to interrogating people, being suspicious.”
She felt panicky suddenly, claustrophobic. She swiveled to the side, stood up as gracefully as she could in the sunken bench, climbed out. “Listen, this has been nice but I need to go. Thanks for dinner.”
“Wow, okay.” He tossed down his napkin and followed her through the house. “Let’s get together again sometime.”
“Sure,” Lei said. “Thanks again.”
She fled out the front door, her heart thundering. Halfway down the block, with a pang of regret Lei realized she’d left the spotted orchid behind. She was such a freak, he was probably never going to speak to her again let alone give her that orchid.
Keiki flung herself against the fence in an ecstasy of doggy welcome. Lei checked the mail, barely able to keep from running into the house, her skin clammy and heart pounding. Still nothing from the stalker—nothing since she’d chased the truck days ago. Thank God. Maybe it was over.