Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  I punch Off on the phone. I really need to work on my anger; it’s like a cat clawing at my belly. I go over to the deck, open the slider to my exceptional view of the ocean off Lahaina—smooth as blue silk today. Whipped-cream clouds collect over the purple smudge of Lana`i, and a few whales mark the distance with spume. I sit on my yoga mat and assume a meditation pose, cross-legged.

  Empty my mind, breathe. Focus.

  In the end it’s a fantasy of what I’ll do to Anchara when Kimo brings her to me that helps me find my center. She’s too valuable to dispose of—I’ve already lost thousands getting rid of Vixen—but there are things worse than death. I’ll enjoy teaching them to her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lei’s injuries were beginning to yell at her again, so she was relieved to haul herself out of the frayed beach chair and hobble toward the truck with a wave to the inscrutable Ramona, still working her basket. She climbed into the cushy seat of the Tacoma with a sigh of relief, closing her eyes in sudden exhaustion. She took a Vicodin and washed it down with a bottle of tepid water she’d left in the truck. Stevens got behind the wheel, and they bumped out down the long dirt road.

  They got out onto the road back to Kahului, going around a series of wide, swooping turns that followed the sculpted cliff line overlooking the ocean. Lei leaned her head against the window, taking in without seeing the views of rugged cliffs, single wings of windsurfers and bright arcs of kite-boarders riding the strong wind and waves. She dozed.

  Lei climbed into bed when they got home. The Vicodin had kicked in, and she fell asleep to the sound of Stevens calling Captain Corpuz to report on the recent developments.

  She woke to the murmur of voices in the other room. She’d shucked off her clothes and fallen into bed in her bra and panties, so she grabbed her old kimono off the back of the door and wrapped herself in it.

  Her head felt a little clearer, though the bruised ribs still talked to her with every breath and the hip was a solid roadmap of purple. She walked out into their living room and stopped in her tracks.

  The Steel Butterfly was sitting on her couch, looking immaculate and quite comfortable.

  Pono sat beside her with his forehead scrunched, and Stevens sat in the armchair. They all stared at her. Lei reached up to touch the bandage on her shorn head.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Pono said.

  “Texeira, you look terrible.” Omura’s voice was unexpectedly warm. “Why didn’t you call this in to me earlier? I had to hear it from Captain Corpuz after Stevens called down there.”

  “I was pretty out of it. I guess I didn’t think it was a department matter.” Even on a personal call like this, Omura put Lei on the defensive.

  “Well. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but we need to know all about what’s going on with this Russian girl and this accident that you had.”

  Lei came into the room, and Stevens gave her the armchair, fetching one of the kitchen chairs to sit beside her.

  “I already opened a case on Lei’s hit-and-run. That was definitely no accident.” Stevens filled in more details.

  “Tell us about this runaway out at Pauwela. What made you go out there canvassing on your day off?” Omura’s keen eyes wandered over Lei’s battered frame and bandaged head, but for the first time, Lei didn’t feel like her boss was taking inventory of her shortcomings.

  “The girl isn’t Russian. She’s Thai. And we thought we’d take a picnic,” Lei said. Defensiveness was a hard habit to break.

  Stevens looked Omura in the eye and shook his head. “You know how she is when she’s on a case.”

  Omura inclined her head, glossy black hair swinging. “I’m beginning to.”

  “Well, anyway. That homeless young mom I called Child Welfare on told us about Anchara. The girl’s an escaped sex slave.” Lei filled them in on the overall content of the interview and the arrangement they’d made to keep the girl stashed out there. “If we bring her in, we don’t have anywhere to put her.”

  “The safe house,” Pono said. “It’s fine. No one’s using it.”

  “The safe house is available only with proper clearance. It may be worthwhile for me to get it for the girl, however. It’s going to take some time to investigate and build this case, and I’d hate for this hooker to disappear.” Omura was making notes with her fingertips on a calfskin-covered iPad.

  “She’s a sex slave, not a hooker.” Lei felt compelled to speak up on the girl’s behalf. “She got on that ship thinking she was going to be a waitress and see the world, and got raped and imprisoned for it.”

  No one said anything. It was a nightmare scenario.

  “So what about this gallery owner who gave the call girl card to the construction company? Think there’s a connection? I thought you said that witness Silva mentioned that the girls at that party had accents.” Omura looked around the room, taking in the simple furnishings and two vivid paintings, one an abstract and the other an impressionistic landscape of Bali Hai on Kaua`i.

  “I don’t know if there’s a connection. Pono and I blew our cover on that one; we’ll have to monitor from outside, send another team to get in with her and find out what her connection with the hookers is. I was thinking maybe Abe Torufu and Gerry Bunuelos from Kahului Station would be willing to do a sting for us. Or we could just bring her in for an interview.”

  Omura tapped her nails on the glossy leather case.

  “If they’re willing to help, set it up. The captain said you could use some resources from his department. We’re all thinking this case is going to go big. Oh, and take the day off Monday. That’s an order.”

  Lieutenant Omura stood up. For the first time, Lei realized she wasn’t in her usual dapper tailored uniform, but wore a pair of narrow black jeans and a scoop-necked silk top. She looked beautiful but more approachable—until she walked toward the door and her high-heeled shoes, laced in colored bands across the insteps, click-clacked on the hardwood floor.

  She gestured to the shoes. “Sorry. They’re a real hassle to take off at the door. Thought I was just going to be here a minute.” Removing shoes at the door was good manners in Hawaii.

  “It’s fine,” all three of them said. Stevens ushered her out and closed the door behind her.

  Lei leaned backward in the armchair, and her head throbbed in protest. She groaned. “Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see Lieutenant Steel Butterfly Omura in my living room. What do you guys think C.J. stands for? She has those initials on her desk plaque.”

  Pono leaned forward, a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. “I was curious too. Looked it up online. Her first name is Cherry Joy.”

  “Cherry Joy!” Lei burst into laughter. “I’m never going to be scared of her again.”

  “Probably why she tries to keep that under wraps.”

  Stevens went to the kitchen. Evening was slanting orange light across the counters. He took a couple of Longboard Pale Ales out of the fridge, popped the tops, and brought them back to Lei and Pono.

  “Say what you want. I think she’s a good commanding officer. Got a good head on her shoulders and willing to take action. Not just playing the political game. Soon as I finished talking to my captain, he must have called her. She showed up not ten minutes later. Was concerned about you.” He pointed his beer at Lei.

  “I’ll bet she was concerned that I’m going to put in for Workmen’s Comp,” Lei answered, but felt good anyway. She was being taken seriously; this threat was being taken seriously. And she was being given some cred and some resources to follow Vixen wherever she led them—be it cruise ship, art gallery, or boardroom.

  Feeling good gave her the fuel to do what she needed to about another situation.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lei waited until the guys went out on the front stoop, still talking office politics, and fetched her cell phone, going back into the bedroom and closing the door. She lay back down on the bed and called the number for Corrections Aftercare Solutions, the nonprofit agency
that handled reintegration of ex-convicts back into the workforce.

  She asked for the worker who’d helped with her father’s reintegration plan.

  “Aftercare Solutions, this is Aaron Spellman.”

  “Hello, Aaron. This is Lei Texeira, Wayne Texeira’s daughter, the detective. I’m with Maui Police Department now. Remember me?”

  “Yes, how are you? And how’s your father? He was such a conscientious participant!” Aaron Spellman’s hearty tone grated on her nerves just as it had back on Kaua`i. The man had a radio announcer’s voice and a car salesman’s manner.

  “I’m fine; he’s fine—but I need your help with a case. I’m following up with a recent parolee who’s probably in your system. Name’s Charlie Kwon.”

  Just saying his name out loud was difficult. She found her lips pulling back from her teeth in a grimace of disgust.

  “What’s your interest in him?”

  She had her story ready. “Some cold cases. Want to find out where he was at the time.”

  “Sure, lemme look the guy up.” Rattle of computer keys. “Yep, he appears to be on Oahu.” He recited the address, and she took it down with a stub of pencil on the little spiral notebook she used for personal notes.

  “Thanks.” Lei closed the phone and set down the pencil and notebook. Just that easily, she knew where Kwon was. It wouldn’t be long before she had him where she wanted him. If she could just deal with him, wherever that led, she might be able to do more than wear Stevens’s diamond ring around her neck.

  Charlie Kwon was the ghost that stood between them.

  She shut her eyes and indulged in a daydream involving Kwon, a knife, and a bathtub. It was just getting messy when Stevens opened the door, interrupting.

  “Pono went home. Feeling up to some dinner?”

  Lei was surprised to find she’d rediscovered her appetite. “Sure.”

  Monday morning had sent Stevens to work, and Lei, never one to enjoy a day off, found herself grateful for once to be sitting on the front stoop rather than getting in the truck to join the traffic down the hill into Kahului. She’d been forbidden to leave the house without an escort, annoyed when Stevens had clarified, with a tap on her nose: “No. Keiki doesn’t count.”

  She sipped her morning coffee, feeling the pulse and throb of various bruises. Her headache had downgraded from acute to dull roar, and she decided to switch to Advil so that she could develop a murder board for Jane Doe—something she’d been too busy tracking leads to do.

  Keiki trotted back and forth against the chain-link fence, barking at wild chickens scratching in the leaf mold across the street beneath the belt of java plum trees, obviously missing her daily run. Lei moved slowly down the weather-beaten stairs to the little shade-cloth shelter Stevens had built against the side of the house for her collection of orchids.

  She’d moved so much that she’d had to give them away after each move, first on the Big Island, then Kaua’i, and now Maui. He’d been giving the plants to her throughout their courtship, and when the flowers had fallen, she’d enjoyed trying to get them to bloom again. Lei was misting them with Miracle-Gro and tossing a ball for Keiki when her cell rang. She dug it out of the pocket of her sweats, glancing at the number.

  “Hey, Marcella!” She was delighted to see it was her FBI friend, Special Agent Marcella Scott. They’d hit it off on the Cult Killer case—first with competitive sparks, then with an enduring friendship of like minds and interests.

  “Hey, Sweets.” Marcella still liked to use her Kaua`i nickname, based on the old Bing Crosby song “Sweet Leilani,” to tease her. “I’m in town for a case; thought we could get together for coffee or something.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m injured and confined to quarters.”

  “What?”

  Lei filled her in, and halfway through a description of the situation, Marcella cut her off.

  “I’m coming over. Where are you guys living now?”

  Lei gave her the address.

  That was Marcella, all decisive action. One time, after a few drinks, Marcella had bragged that she could take out a guy twice her size with just her forefinger—and when Lei challenged her on it, it had taken about three minutes before she’d had Stevens on his back with the aforementioned finger poised above his eye.

  Lei shuddered a bit, remembering. She knew what it felt like to burst someone’s eye with a thumb, and thinking about it still nauseated her. She straightened up the living room and went into the bathroom to see what could be done about her appearance.

  Not much. At least her hair couldn’t get any worse, shorn to a cap of curls, but her arms were stippled with black-and-blue bruises from rolling down the embankment, and the bandage on the side of her head was a stark reminder of her near-death experience. She settled for a swipe of lip gloss and a little mascara—good thing Stevens said short hair suited her, and her eyes did look big and exotic. Seeing Marcella always made her want to look her best, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it today.

  It wasn’t long before an unmarked shiny black Acura SUV pulled up into her driveway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keiki sounded an intruder alert but settled into slavish whining and cavorting when the dog recognized Marcella get out of the SUV. Lei stood at the top of the stairs as her friend greeted Keiki with ear rubs and a big beef bone, still sporting shreds of last night’s steak. Keiki settled down to enjoy her prize as the women embraced.

  “Shit, Lei, what are you into now?” Marcella asked, frowning as she held Lei at arm’s length.

  “Some deep shit, apparently,” Lei said, leading them into the house. “Have a seat. I could use some FBI consult on all this.”

  “When are we ever going to just talk about boyfriends and nail polish?” Marcella’s FBI “uniform,” a tailored gray suit, seemed to enhance her taut, curvy figure. Shiny brown hair wound into a bun and no makeup—and still her face was beautiful, all flashing dark eyes and pillowy lips. Marcella shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the couch. A concession to the climate in Hawaii, the shirt underneath was short-sleeved and she wasn’t wearing a tie.

  “Coffee, please, I beg of you.” Marcella fueled her day with nonstop cups of it, black.

  “On it.”

  Lei poured herself a refill and brought Marcella a mug, sitting down in the armchair kitty-corner to her friend.

  “I don’t know if either of us is much interested in discussing boyfriends and nail polish.” Lei sipped her coffee. “I’m much more interested in who might be trying to kill me and a sex slave trafficking ring using cruise ships for transport.”

  “Yeah. About that.” Marcella frowned, blowing on the surface of her coffee. “If there’s any evidence of something like that, you’re going to have to bump that to us.”

  “Seriously? With pleasure. I don’t get the feeling we have the authority to make those ships do much of anything, and so far the connection’s pretty thin, based on a wit we have stashed.”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “Well, okay. I might as well get going on my murder board. That’s what I was going to work on before you got here.”

  Lei got up and fetched the portable whiteboard she liked to use for brainstorming. Stevens had already installed a pair of hooks on the remaining blank wall, and she hung the board up and uncapped a marker.

  “This all started with a body. A few days ago, we got called out to a crash site—Pauwela Lighthouse, real creepy place. A car had gone over the hundred-foot cliff. Anyway, it looked like a suicide at first—young girl gone over the cliff in an old Plymouth. But there was something off about it from the beginning, and after restraint marks were found on her, the ME ruled it a vehicular homicide. We’re still waiting on tox results.”

  Lei went on to describe the steps of the investigation, drawing a line and marking it with the different pieces of information that had come together.

  “The real break was getting that slimeball at
the cockfight bust to recognize the dead girl as someone he’d seen in a hooker lineup. That was also when we heard about someone called the House. We then found another escaped sex slave who’s now staying out at the homeless encampment at Pauwela. Along the way, I must have pissed someone off, because some perp tried to run me over on my jog Saturday morning.”

  Marcella sat forward intently, the mug of black coffee forgotten. Big brown eyes narrowed in thought as the agent mulled things over. She took a sip of coffee and seemed to make a decision.

  “I think our investigations are crossing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m here on a case involving smuggling. I have to talk to the special agent in charge before I tell you anything more, but I think your case could be the break we’ve been looking for.”

  Lei bounced with excitement, joggled her sore head and groaned, clutching her bandage.

  “Shit, you can’t tell me anything?”

  “You know. Bureau politics.” Marcella waggled her hand in a dismissive gesture. Her Italian heritage contributed to an expressive, dramatic style. “You think over applying for the Bureau? I’d love to have you on my team someday. Clock’s ticking, you know.”

  “Not ready to decide yet.” The ring felt heavy as lead around Lei’s neck. Was she really ready to settle down and call the Maui Police Department all she was going to experience in her career?

  “Keep me posted. I think you’d rock the Bureau and be a big asset over here with your local background. Anyway, lemme step outside and make a few calls.”

  Marcella strode outside, shutting the door firmly behind her. Lei got up and carried their mugs to the sink, deliberately not letting herself feel slighted. Marcella had, several times, had to keep her in the dark on their case on Kaua`i while milking her for information, but she knew the other woman didn’t like doing it. She always said she’d tell her everything if she was just in the Bureau.