by Toby Neal
“What the hell!” She started toward him, realized Jenkins was restraining her. Stevens never looked away, but she saw tension in the corners of his eyes.
“Settle down, Detective,” the captain said. “Did you hear me tell you I want him to help out?”
“Did he tell you we were engaged, and I dumped him? This isn’t about the case; this is personal.”
“If you can’t make it work, I’ll have to give it to him exclusively,” Fernandez said. “It’s too much for our station to handle, and I need more than rookie detectives working it. As I said, I’m putting together a task force.”
Lei shook her arm loose from Jenkins’s grip. She smoothed her jacket down, took a couple of deep breaths. She wasn’t going to give up so easily.
“This is my case. And I took some serious risks to get this.” She reached into the cooler beside her, carefully broke the seal on the paper bag, and took out the plastic ziplock evidence bag.
The severed hand looked forlorn and hideous, slipping back and forth in pinkish fluid, a parody of a wave. She pointed to the protruding bone.
“Tool marks. I think this might be related to the investigation.”
Lei set the bag containing the hand down on the conference table. Stevens still hadn’t spoken, but now he came forward and picked it up, held it against the light. A thin fluid, probably water from the rain, had collected in the bottom of the bag as the hand thawed from her freezer to the station.
“Blood’s long gone—but the tissue looks rehydrated, like it was drained and dried and then plumped up again in the flood. The brown color could be from soil, or just a byproduct of the mummification this underwent. One thing I agree with—this was no ordinary burial that just washed up during the flood. Someone sawed this off the body. I can’t tell if the hand was recently cut off, or was removed premortem.” He turned to Captain Fernandez. “Do you have a lab here?”
“We can do basic stuff, blood type, fingerprints. But that kind of analysis? No. Gotta send it to Oahu.”
“Recommend you do that, sir,” Stevens said. Lei snatched the bag out of his hand.
“We can at least do the fingerprints here, see if there’s a match to any of our missing. I’ll take this down to the lab. J-boy, can you orient them on where we’re at? The murder board’s over there.”
Lei pushed through the door and hurried down the hall. She hated to leave the conference room for even a moment, but Stevens so casually taking over was more than she could handle. At the same time, she couldn’t deny the tiny relief she felt at seeing him, the kick of attraction.
She wished she could have stopped herself from panicking on the whole marriage thing. She did a few relaxation breaths as she arrived at the lab, then gave a quick knock before pressing down the steel door handle.
Becky Banks, lab tech, sitting kitty-corner to the door, looked up. Round blue eyes and a white grin that showcased expensive orthodontia gave a falsely cuddly impression. Becky was the closest thing to a female friend Lei had at the station. She’d explained her position relative to the door was good feng shui, and she always knew who was trying to sneak up on her.
“Lei! Whatcha got for me?”
“Prints on this if you can,” Lei said, holding up the bag, swishing the hand.
“Eww, gross.” Becky squinched up her nose. “Well, as you can see, I’m a little backed up.” She gestured to the stack of slides and samples next to her microscope.
“C’mon, how often do you get to potentially ID a hand? Can you bump it up? Captain’s orders.” Lei was exaggerating, but was pretty sure he’d have wanted a rush on it.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” Lei stashed the hand in the refrigerator.
“You know it,” Becky said, addressing her microscope.
By the time Lei got back to the conference room, she had her emotions under control and was ready to play nice. This resolve lasted until she opened the door and saw nobody there but Stevens, sorting through the pictures of the missing. He looked up.
“J-Boy? Since when did he earn a handle?”
“It’s a Kaua`i thing. You can’t distract me with that crap. Where’d he go? Where’s the cap?”
“They’re setting up a ‘war room’ in Conference Room B. I guess they use this one for interviews and such.”
“So what the hell are you doing here? Seriously,” Lei said, hands on her hips. Her eyes actually felt hot with rage.
“I knew you’d be mad, and you know what? Screw that. I don’t have to pussyfoot around your emotions anymore, make everything okay for you. We aren’t together, in case you haven’t noticed, and I don’t give a shit if you’re pissed.”
“Damn you, Stevens. You always have to be the savior.”
They glared at each other a long moment; then Stevens shook his head.
“Get a grip so we can work.” He opened the file, spreading the photos of the missing people in a swath across the table. “I came over because this case needs someone experienced on it, and I don’t trust your captain to reach out for help the way he needs to. He’s had five years to investigate this and he hasn’t, so no, I wasn’t going to sit by and wait to be invited to join some mythical task force. This isn’t about you or me. It’s about missing people who deserve some justice!” He was yelling by then, face flushed.
Lei felt black closing in around her vision, old trauma triggered by a raised voice. He’s not going to hurt me, she told herself. You know he never will. She put her hands behind her back and pinched the web of flesh between her thumb and forefinger and the black receded.
“Okay.” She sat down and looked to make sure the door was shut, then said, “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Anyway, one of the suspects, Jazz Haddock, thinks the captain either has been paid off or has turned a blind eye all these years. It is weird that no one picked up on a pattern this regular, going on this long.”
“This is Kaua`i,” Stevens said. “That’s what they’ll tell you; that’s what everyone said when I asked around. Kaua`i is like…the outback or something, the last bastion of the Wild West. All kinds of shit goes on here no one talks about.”
“I know. It’s a funny place to me. Station politics. Cults and strange people, insiders and outsiders.” Lei looked down, and her gaze fell on her empty ring finger. She pulled her eyes away, found his. They were shadowed by his lowered brows and dark with emotion.
“I’m glad to see you again. Just to see you. But not over this.” He gestured to the photos.
“I know.” Lei swallowed. “It’s overwhelming.”
Jenkins stuck his head around the door. “We’re set up, if you guys are done making up. I’d feel better if I saw some kissing.”
“Shut up, J-Boy.” Lei glared at him.
“C’mon, Sweets, just joking,” Jenkins said, withdrawing his head. Stevens scooped the pictures back into the folder.
“Don’t tell me that’s your handle.”
“No, that idiot J-boy is the only one who calls me that.” Lei led him out of the conference room and down the hall. “I’m going by Ginger around here.”
“Now, that suits you,” Stevens said, and she heard the smile in his voice. A fist of sorrow squeezed around her heart. She didn’t want to see that smile. She pushed open the door of Conference Room B unnecessarily hard, and ran straight into Fury.
Furukawa’s arms were crossed over his chest. His teeth were bared in what for him passed for a smile. “You been holding out on me, Ginger.”
“Don’t owe you shit,” Lei said, stepping up and giving back some attitude. “This is my case and it’s way beyond the office politics. What are you doing in here?”
Flea waved from across the room, where he was looking at the stones in the tackle box.
“Captain called us in to help. Task force.”
Captain Fernandez was flipping through Jazz Haddock’s binder in evident fascination.
“Wish I’d listened to that hippie pothea
d,” he said. “He’s sure done his homework.”
“I think that’s why he needs to be considered suspect number one,” Lei said. She belatedly remembered her manners. “Guys, this is Michael Stevens from the Big Island. He’s been there three years, from Los Angeles before that, where he saw more hard-core crime in a month than we’ll see in a lifetime.”
Captain Fernandez looked up. “I expect you all to give Detective Sergeant Stevens the respect he deserves. He’s on loan from Hilo with my blessing. Thanks for coming, Detective—you’re highly recommended by Captain Ohale.”
Stevens inclined his head. “Thanks. Looking forward to working with you.”
“Now, Lei broke open this case with Jenkins helping, but I think even they’ll agree we need to go with someone more experienced taking the lead. I’d like to have Fury, with the local knowledge, and Stevens, with the big-city detective background, co-lead the investigation.”
Lei had known this was coming, but disappointment squeezed her into silence. Fury and Stevens took each other’s measure, a long stare down and squaring off as they both folded muscular arms. Fury fired the opening round.
“Captain, I don’t think that’s going to work. Stevens, ’scuse me for saying, isn’t from around here. How’s he going to know how to call the plays?”
Stevens shot back, “How many serials you hunted? This is looking like a bad one, and I’ve worked a few. How long you been letting some whack-job disappear people in your community without the slightest notice from law enforcement?”
Fury stepped up, bristling. “It’s easy to miss what’s happening with the hippies. They come, they go, always mooching off the people who live here…”
“What, these people don’t matter because they live in your parks? You might be local, but it still smells like redneck to me.”
Captain Fernandez raised his hands. “Settle down. You both make good points. I can see someone needs to call the shots, and I think we need to be open to other perspectives. It’s looking to me like attitudes within the department might have contributed to missing this pattern, so with that in mind, I’m going to make Stevens primary for now, with Fury as partner and second.”
Fury’s wide nostrils flared as he breathed loudly, his hand drifting past his weapon and landing on his belt. Jenkins tried to lighten the atmosphere.
“Well, at least it seems like everyone agrees Lei and I are the real crime spotters around here.”
No one bothered to answer, but somehow it shifted things.
“Stevens,” the captain said. “You told me some thoughts earlier. Care to tell the group?”
Stevens gestured to the table. “We might as well sit.”
Everyone did. He pointed over to the board Lei had made, now mounted on the wall. “We’ve begun collecting what we know. It looks like there is either a perp or perps who are taking homeless people in May and October. First noted disappearance: 2005.”
He recapped the salient points of the case, demonstrating a remarkable memory for facts and dates, and giving Lei full credit for following up with Jay Bennett’s disappearance and uncovering the trend.
“Lei found Bennett’s wallet with all his money and other possessions, something no homeless person would just throw away unless he was taken, or committing suicide. She then looked into his possessions for clues to his state of mind and searched for a clue to follow up on, leading to the connection at the Health Guardian. Another investigator might have written him off as a probable suicide. It’s the homeless and transient status of the victims that has allowed this trend to go on so long.”
Captain Fernandez shook his head. “I don’t like the way the hippies live in our parks, but that doesn’t mean I want some serial killer picking ’em off on my island. Let’s get a plan going and get rolling on this thing. Oh, and I expect you to keep a lid on it. The last thing we need is the media getting wind of this.”
The meeting moved forward then, with Stevens and Fury taking the lead on cataloging the binder and following up on Jazz Haddock and his connection to the case. Flea was to work up background on the missing to develop a profile and consult an expert on the stones and rituals angle. Lei was to follow up with the cult connection—Jim Jones and the papaya farm—and Lei and Jenkins together would continue canvassing the parks to see what they could pick up from the current crop of park dwellers.
“I think it might be a good idea to explore a Hawaiian cultural angle,” Lei said. “I have a contact from a well-connected Hawaiian family, and I want to see about bringing this person on to consult with us if aspects of the case relate to Hawaiian cultural and religious matters. If there’s some sort of pagan worship going on, I think this referral could be a helpful resource.”
“Who is this ‘well-connected Hawaiian family’?” Fury asked. “I know all the North Shore people.”
“Her name’s Esther Ka`awai. Lehua Wolcott gave me her name as a possible resource. I called her, and I think she might be helpful.”
She slid the little square of tapa cloth over to Fury.
“Esther Ka`awai.” He looked up. “She only works with a referral from someone she knows. You said you called her already?”
“Yeah. She took my call and was willing to consult. She said she could guarantee confidentiality.”
The captain stroked his tidy goatee, looking at Fury. “Who these people stay?” he asked in pidgin.
“I know the Wolcotts—one big mixed missionary and Hawaiian family. They get plenty land on the North and West Side,” Fury said. “And Esther, she famous. They say she’s psychic, but she’s studied and practiced Hawaiian culture all her life. We call her kahu kupuna, which is a spiritual leader and counselor in the Hawaiian community.”
Stevens’s eyes had been on Lei the whole time. “How do you have a connection like this? You’ve been on the island only a few months. And what did you tell them about our investigation to have them give you this kind of insider intel?”
Lei felt a hot blush hit her hairline. Dammit. She was going to have to explain further.
“I met the Wolcott family during the Island Cleaning investigation. They were the real estate agency that reported the burglaries on the beachfront mansions, remember?” She looked at Fury. “Anyway, she said she had a feeling Esther could be helpful. I don’t know why; I haven’t told anyone what we are working on. As far as she knows, it’s the burglary case.”
“Seems pretty random,” Stevens said, his tone skeptical.
Fury looked down at the little tapa cloth square, fingers holding it gently. “I think we should bring her on. There’s probably no one on Kaua`i with a stronger knowledge base of Hawaiian culture, and if she says she can keep a confidentiality agreement, you can take her word for it.”
“You’ll forgive me if I insist on getting that in writing,” Stevens said. “Call me a cynical Mainlander, but I’m finding this all a little woo-woo. Still, I think running the sacrifice/history angle by a local expert is not a bad idea.”
All eyes turned to the captain, who had taken the little tapa square.
“All right, Texeira. But have her sign a boilerplate confidentiality agreement, the kind we use for outside experts.”
Back at the cubicle, Lei took a coin out of her desk.
“I need some air, J-boy. Let’s go out after those hippies again. I think we should go to all the parks between Lydgate and Ke`e Beach today. What car do you want to take?” She flipped the coin, reversing it on her wrist.
“I call tails,” Jenkins said.
She looked. “Heads it is. Next stop, Lydgate Park.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lei pulled up at her cottage. Jenkins, beside her, had his seat reclined, taking a little nap. They still needed to go back out to the station to check in with the rest of the task force, but they were both tired and hungry from working their way through all the county and state parks. They still hadn’t tackled the North Shore ones, where more contacts were likely to be—and it was already two p.m.
“I’ll eat anything,” Jenkins said, getting out.
Keiki came bounding up to the gate, and Lei signaled her back. Keiki already knew Jenkins from other times he’d come over, so she just sniffed him and let him pet her broad head.
Wayne came to the door. “Hey, you’re home early.”
“Pit stop,” Lei said. “We’re still working, but need some lunch.”
“You’re in luck,” Wayne said. “I’ve been working on a chili with those beans you had and the stuff you brought home.” As they entered, a wonderful smell wrapped around them.
“I could get to like this. Thanks, Dad.”
“Who’s this?” Her father looked hard at Jenkins. She laughed, threw an arm around Jenkins’s bulky shoulders.
“Dad, meet my partner on the force, Jack Jenkins. He goes by J-Boy. J-Boy, this is my dad, Wayne Texeira.”
They shook hands as Lei went into the kitchen.
“Oh man, that smells so good.” She took the lid off the chili and inhaled.
“It’ll be better tonight, but I’ll let you have a preview.” He dished the chili up for them. They ate ravenously and drank glasses of fresh-squeezed lemonade he’d made from local lemons Mrs. Abacan had brought over.
Jenkins sat back and hid a little burp behind his hand. “Best meal I’ve ever had at Lei’s house, sir. She’s good with a can opener and a gun but not much in the kitchen.”
“Shut up. I have other interests, is all.”
“And we’re glad you do. Keeping the community safe is a pretty good hobby.” Wayne gave Lei’s shoulder a squeeze as he went back to the stove.
Just then her cell phone buzzed. She checked the caller ID—an off-island number.
“Hello?”
“Aloha! This is Aaron Spellman from Corrections Aftercare Solutions. I’m your father’s reintegration specialist. I’m calling to let you know your father’s place at the restoration center is ready.”