by Toby Neal
“Any signs of sexual activity?” Lei asked.
“No, but we did all the usual swabs. The toxicology report will tell us more, but it’s going to be at least a week.” He handed her a card with the girl’s fingerprints on it, then pressed a couple of buttons on his computer keyboard and the printer spit out an image on photo paper. “Jane Doe’s picture, for your canvassing. I scanned the prints into the computer as well. I’ll send ’em to you with the picture.”
“Thanks.” Lei was impressed with his efficiency. “So, you said blunt force trauma. Suicide or homicide?” She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it.
“Given the ligature marks, homicide. Vehicular homicide.”
Chapter Five
Lei ate a cold piece of leftover teriyaki chicken at her workstation as she ran the girl’s scanned-in fingerprints through the AFIS database. It didn’t take long for the dialogue box to pop up. No match.
“Shit.” The case had just gotten a whole lot harder. She wiped her hands on a paper towel and hit Print on the page for the file. She and Pono had already sent the photo of Jane Doe out over e-mail to all the stations. They’d need to send it to the newspaper, blanket the town with flyers. Surely someone knew this girl.
Lei glanced down at the newly doctored photo of Jane Doe. Pono’d taken the e-mailed shot from the doctor and run it through NCMEC. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children’s database had sent it back with a disappointing no match and a digitized version that washed out the ugly mottling of lividity that would distract from identification.
Lei was finally able to really look at the girl’s face, now that the eyes were closed and the dusky purple was bleached out of her skin. Jane Doe had full lips and winged brows, and with that long red hair and knockout body, she’d have been a traffic stopper.
Sometimes Lei’s brain made unfortunate puns.
What was a seventeen-year-old girl doing in an old, stolen Plymouth Volare in the ass-end of nowhere, plummeting off a cliff?
Lei studied the photos of the girl’s clothes that Gregory had e-mailed. She hadn’t really noticed them at the crash scene. The clinical layout of the short, black pleather skirt, thong, lacy black bra, and hot-pink tank top added up to one kind of job that would put a beautiful teenage girl in danger.
The oldest profession in the world.
There were no shoes on the girl’s feet—another oddity. Included in shots of the clothes was the girl’s oversized jean jacket, the reason Lei hadn’t jumped to the obvious conclusion at the scene. Because, as she’d told Pono, a lot of the time the obvious was just the obvious. Lei was so deep in thought that the ringing phone made her jump.
“Texeira here.”
“Hey. It’s Pono. Looks like there’s going to be a big cockfight this afternoon out by Giggle Hill.” Giggle Hill was a nickname for the WWII memorial park out in the lush East Maui area of Haiku, surrounded by jungle and abandoned pineapple fields. “Can you round up some uniforms? Let’s see who we can rope in and shake down. Get those numbers the lieutenant’s after.” Pono’s voice was tight with preraid adrenaline.
“What time?”
“Three o’clock.” It was now two p.m.
“Yeah, I’ll speak to the shift commander. Call me when you have the exact location.”
“Copy that.”
Lei printed several more copies of Jane Doe’s face. Might as well show them around to whoever they rounded up at the cockfight. She closed the file, grabbed her jacket off the office chair, and headed for the shift commander’s office.
Lei’s Tacoma bounced down a rutted dirt road, Pono clutching the dashboard and sissy handle. The fight was going to be in an empty field behind a grove of banana trees, someone’s abandoned foray into farming. Lei’s bulletproof vest, procedurally required on any kind of raid, restricted her breathing as she wrestled the steering wheel.
“Hadn’t noticed before with that big jacket on her, but Jane Doe’s clothes are hookerwear.” Lei spoke in little pants.
“Doesn’t every teen girl dress like a hooker?”
“Maybe. That would put her on the wrong side of bad news, though. Might be a reason someone offed her.”
They passed the banana trees and reached an open area marked by a ring of trucks. Behind them rolled several unmarked squad cars and the station’s Bronco. Lei pulled her Tacoma in behind another truck, and the others did the same, physically blocking in the rest of the vehicles. Adrenaline brought Lei’s heart rate up, but the tight vest restricted her breathing. Lei wished for the hundredth time that day that she’d remembered to pick up her little black stone, even though both hands were occupied.
Her eyes flicked here, there, everywhere, scanning for threats as she put the truck in park. A raid like this was one of those situations where anyone anywhere could be carrying a weapon, and a seemingly low-risk operation could turn deadly.
Pono gave the signal in the radio, and they all hit their sirens and lights at the same time, jumping out of their vehicles and running to the collapsible fight ring, a structure made of three-foot-high sections of heavy wire fencing.
Lei had her zip ties out, and Pono worked the bullhorn as they ran toward the fight area, the other officers right on their heels.
“Maui Police Department! Get on your knees and put your hands on your heads!”
Of course, that wasn’t what they did. Lei was reminded of hitting the floodlight on the side of the house and surprising cockroaches covering one of Keiki’s beef bones—the way they’d scattered in all directions. At least fifty men and boys bolted for their vehicles, headed into the deep grass, or hoofed it for the bananas. Many of them stayed, though, holding cages, unwilling to leave their prize birds.
The two cocks in the ring, oblivious of the human chaos, continued to fight. Lei was struck by their savage commitment, the height of their jumps, the whirl of red and black color like flamenco dancers in full swing.
The owners of the two birds hadn’t moved, eyes intent, screaming at the birds. Lei grabbed one of them, a burly, bald Hawaiian in a Kirin beer shirt, and kicked the back of his knee so that he folded as expertly as a collapsible chair. He never took his eyes off the fight as she whipped his arms behind his back and bound his hands with a zip tie.
She ran and did the same to the other man. Several other spectators, committed to the match, merely dropped to their knees and put their hands on their heads while continuing to cheer on the birds. She was putting a tie on the last one when the black cock got the upper hand.
Lei looked up as Kirin Beer Shirt emitted a groan. The black cock stood on the red’s back, the blade tied to his leg embedded and tangled in the other bird’s neck plumage, and as the red collapsed, he continued to peck at the bird’s head and eyes with an intensity that was unnerving.
“Son of a bitch,” the man she was holding said. “Could this day get any worse? I just lost a hundred bucks.”
“That’s not all you’re going to lose,” Lei said, giving his arms a little yank. The owner of the red cock—the bald guy she’d first restrained—emitted a cry as the black continued to mangle the bloody head of the downed red.
“Get that fucking black off my bird! He’d have won if the cops hadn’t distracted him!”
“He got the eyes fair and square!” yelled the black’s owner. The big, bald guy uttered a roar, lumbered up from his knees with his hands still tied behind his back, and hurtled across the ring to ram the other owner.
The two huge Hawaiians went down in front of Lei in a cloud of dust and curses.
Lei blew her whistle for help as the men she’d zip tied, realizing there was a distraction, jumped up and took off, since she hadn’t had time to do their legs. More chaos ensued as the other officers tackled them. It took Lei, Pono, and another officer to pull the two rooster owners off each other.
They eventually got the scene under control and secured eighteen cockfighters for the station’s arrest count. Lei glanced back at the ring. The triumphant blac
k cock stood square on the red’s body, stamped his long, elegant bladed legs, flapped his wings, and crowed.
Pono called Animal Control to come take charge of the stacked, portable cages of birds that had all begun to crow once the black got them started. Pono approached the black cock, crouching low and speaking in a soothing voice. The bloodied bird was reluctant to leave his trophy, bobbing a sleek head that had been razored of the comb and wattles, prancing back and forth over the corpse of his enemy.
Pono took a handful of grain from one of the fallen cages and, clucking his tongue softly, extended it to the bird. Mincing like an eighteenth-century dandy, the cock approached and deigned to eat from his hand. Pono encircled the bird’s body, and the rooster seemed to go limp as he untied the wicked, bloodied spurs from the cock’s legs.
“You look like you know what you’re doing,” Lei said as Pono put the bird into one of the cages, still talking to it, and gave it some more grain. Her partner’s teeth flashed in a grin.
“I wasn’t always a police officer.”
Lei laughed. The aftermath of adrenaline was making her a little punchy. She took the picture of the dead girl to the three captives they’d stowed in the back of her Tacoma.
“Anyone recognize this girl?”
The guys all looked at it and shook their heads. “She looks dead,” one of them said. He was just a kid, no more than sixteen, and Lei knew they’d be letting him go later.
“She is. Went off the cliff at Pauwela Lighthouse. We’re just trying to figure out who she is.”
“She a hooker?” one of the men asked.
Lei looked up sharply. The man was in his fifties, a belly straining the oversized board shorts he wore under a fraying UH football jersey. His eyes, sunk in dark folds, got shifty.
“What makes you think so?”
“That red hair. Can’t be real.”
“We’re just trying to identify her at this point,” Lei said. “What do you know?”
The man pinched his lips shut and sat back. “I don’t know nothing. Never seen her.”
Lei moved on, making a note that James Silva, age fifty-two, bore more questioning down at the station. Lei showed the photo around to everyone they’d caught. They all denied having ever seen Jane Doe.
The officers and Pono worked the group, getting names and addresses and writing up charges so they could be put in the group lockup at Kahului Station. Pono was working on trying to identify who’d organized the fight. The ‘‘paddy wagon” finally arrived, an old pineapple ag worker transport bus that had been modified for the MPD.
The transport rumbled off with its load of downcast defendants, most of whom would be out that afternoon. Several teens and young boys had been caught up in the raid; they were often used to prep and care for the birds because they wouldn’t be arrested. Lei had seen the rolls of cash those kids were carrying. What was the incentive to stay in school with so much easy money to be had and Uncle or Dad raising birds worth thousands in the backyard?
She and Pono leaned against the hood of her truck as Animal Control loaded up the rooster cages, still emitting agitated crowing. They’d take them down to the Humane Society, where they’d be adopted right away by their former owners or someone else using them for breeding stock.
“I wouldn’t mind taking home that black bird,” Pono said thoughtfully. “It’s not illegal to raise chickens, and he’d be a valuable breeder.”
The black pranced in his cage, sun reflecting off iridescent feathers.
“Bet Tiare would have a few words to say about the crowing,” Lei observed. “Not to mention, his owner seemed ready to defend him to the death.”
“These birds’re confiscated. He can’t have him back.”
“Yeah, but the only way to make sure the birds don’t get back into the game is to destroy them. You ready to do that?”
They both looked at the colorful birds filling the back of the Animal Control van. Pono looked at Lei. “Be a shame.”
“Lotta things are a shame.”
The dust was settling on the whole operation and they got in the truck. Many abandoned vehicles still cluttered the area. As she turned on the Tacoma, Lei had an evil thought.
“Let’s impound these cars. Raise a little money for our department with some fines.” Lei stuffed down the conflicted feeling she had about straining the finances of subsistence-level families. These men had chosen the illegal blood sport with its risks—and they’d probably make up the fines next weekend.
“Damn, girl, you’re good. Lieutenant’s gonna love that idea.”
They called the tow company that subcontracted for the county. In short order, several trucks arrived, winching up a host of vehicles to be locked into the MPD Station impound yard, a big fenced lot behind the central Kahului station.
“This is double genius. To claim the vehicle, they’re going to have to admit they were at the fight, or at least their vehicle was somehow there, and we can flag them in the system.” Pono grinned, thick fingers flying over his laptop as he updated the incident report.
They headed back to Haiku Station in the village. The police station building was a renovated gray warehouse squatted behind the Haiku Cannery Mall, a giant Quonset hut pineapple packing plant in another era.
The lieutenant was in her office. Somehow she kept the surface of her metal desk immaculate except for her computer and a stack of in-and-out trays. Her eyes were on her monitor when Pono knocked on her doorway; she beckoned without looking up, and they took the two hard plastic chairs facing the desk. When she was good and ready, she pushed a button on whatever she was doing and turned her attention to them.
“We brought in eighteen arrests at the cockfight bust.” Pono had taken a few moments to print his report and he pushed it over. He’d told Lei never to approach the throne without an offering. Omura shuffled through the write-up. Lei hoped Pono had taken the time to run spell-check.
“Nice work. How many of the detainees were juveniles? That will affect the final arrest count.”
“Six.”
“Well. You can’t include them in the arrest report. They can be included in the total count, though. So did you get any of the organizers of the fight in the roundup?”
“Hard to tell. They all said they just got a text message about the date and time, that none of them had anything to do with putting it together. That’s all my CI knew as well. We’ll do follow-up interviews with them alone.” Pono gestured to Lei. “Impounding the cars was Lei’s idea. We think that will bring our station some fine revenue, and we can also flag those vehicle owners for monitoring in the future.”
Brown eyes so dark the pupils were invisible traveled slowly over Lei’s grubby clothes and disordered hair. Lei shifted on the plastic seat. She tucked dusty athletic shoes under the chair.
“Impounding vehicles is standard procedure in a raid like this. I think I’d have had something to say if you’d forgotten to do that.”
Lei glanced over at Pono. He looked blank. This was their first raid of this type; obviously they’d gotten lucky by covering it. Lei’s stomach clenched in a familiar cramp.
Omura seemed to relent. “Next time, I’d like a quick briefing before the raid; then we can make sure everything’s covered. What’s nice about the impound is that those fines will be directly credited to our station in terms of district funds, so you’re right, we can use the money.”
She looked back down at the paperwork. “Says you had Animal Control take in the birds. What’s happening to them?”
“Animal Control takes them to the Humane Society. They’re adopted out.”
“More likely picked up by their former owners.” She picked up the phone, dialed a number she appeared to have memorized. “This is Lieutenant Omura at MPD. May I speak to your director?”
Lei had an intuition of what was coming. She glanced over at Pono and saw color drain out of his face, leaving it ashy. He rubbed his lip beneath his mustache.
“Hello. This is Lieu
tenant Omura, commanding officer of Haiku Station. Our officers performed the raid that resulted in the fighting cocks you’re currently holding. I’m requesting the euthanization of the birds that were brought in this afternoon.” A pause, obviously objections on the other end.
“Yes, I know that’s not your policy. However, if you won’t do it, I’ll send some officers down there and we’ll destroy them ourselves. These birds are going to end up back in the ring or breeding more birds for fighting, so we have to make sure we are taking permanent steps to eradicate the problem.”
More arguing. The lieutenant’s threat was empty, Lei hoped.
“Well, if it’s humane you’re concerned about, you should consider what means my officers will use to dispatch the birds.”
A shorter pause this time. Lei rubbed her hands on her jeans, missing the black stone.
“Great. Thank you for your cooperation in reducing the gambling, violence, and negative community impact that go along with cockfighting. Oh, and if this gets to the papers, I’m going to know it was you who leaked it, and I don’t like leaks…No, I’m not threatening, just communicating clearly.”
Omura hung up the phone.
Lei’s hands were fisted on her thighs as she restrained herself from patting Pono’s rigid arm.
Omura looked up. “I know it must seem harsh, but those birds have no other purpose or function than fighting. If this were a drug raid, we wouldn’t let the merchandise back out on the street. In the future, I don’t want the Humane Society involved. It’s going to be a mess if the media gets this, and with the way they sounded, they may try to leak it. In the future, we’ll just eliminate the birds ourselves after we confiscate them.” Omura must have seen something in Pono’s expression because she addressed him directly. “I know it goes against local culture, Kaihale, but they’re just chickens. Dismissed.”
They got up and went out. Pono turned and went into the men’s room, probably punching a wall. He wouldn’t be the first to leave the Steel Butterfly’s office and do that.