Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  “We really need to find the Thai girl. Did you guys put out a BOLO? She’s the key to the case right now.” Lei wanted to get up and pace. She missed the black stone, then remembered it was burned, along with all of the contents of her little koa box—each item an irreplaceable loss. She pinched the web between her thumb and forefinger and that helped, but not much.

  “Done,” the captain said. “It’s been out ever since the FBI came in yesterday and interviewed Silva.”

  “I want to know more about this art gallery owner,” Omura said. She looked fresh and immaculate in a navy uniform whose brass gleamed. A skirt that hit her above the knee showcased toned legs ending in a pair of pointy-toed slingbacks. Lei was pretty sure she’d left a trail of tiny pockmarks all the way across the station. “Let’s bring her in for an interview. Since you and Pono blew your cover, we’ll have Bunuelos and Torufu bring her in.”

  “On what basis?” Captain Corpuz asked. “She seems like one of those uptight haoles with a lawyer on speed dial.”

  “She’s our only lead to the hookers, and the hookers are our lead to Jane Doe’s identity and this whole sex trade ship thing,” Omura said impatiently. Her tone implied she wasn’t all that convinced the idea had merit. “In the meantime, I want Lei and Stevens to lay low at the safe house.”

  “I don’t think they’re after me,” Stevens said. “It’s Lei who someone tried to run over with a car. I’m just the lucky boyfriend.” The room erupted in chuckles, and Stevens glanced over at Lei.

  She saw, by the widening of those blue, blue eyes, vulnerable without lashes or brows—that he realized she wasn’t wearing the diamond ring around her neck. That same moment, she remembered where she’d left it—the ring was in a drawer, in a kitchen that was now a pile of ash. Her hand crept up to her throat, as if wishing could make the ring reappear.

  “I can do more with the cockfighting ring,” Pono volunteered. “I can go reinterview all the names we got and look for connections to the girls or the House.”

  “Why don’t you do that.” Omura inclined her shining head. “Try not to get the boys all riled up, though. Just do some casual fishing and we’ll feed anything you find to the FBI for their investigation of the House.”

  “Why don’t I go with Pono? I think the ‘contractor’ was looking for Lei, and now that we’re both dead, I can get back out there,” Stevens said. He didn’t look at Lei again.

  “Hey! I’m going to go crazy sitting around that box of a house!” Lei exclaimed.

  “You look like you’ve been hit by a car and burnt by a fire and you need another day off. For now you can do some online research for us and work with Kendall, the sketch artist, on a picture of the Thai girl for that BOLO. Get that done so Pono and Stevens can take it out canvassing; then go back to the house and rest.” Omura had steel in her voice.

  Lei frowned and scratched her head again. “Okay. Dammit. But I want to watch the interview with Magda Kennedy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lei sat in the booth behind the mirrored window looking into the interview room. Stevens and Pono had gone out on their assignments and there was some delay in the hall. Waiting for Bunuelos and Torufu to bring Magda Kennedy in, Lei looked down at the copy of the sketch Kendall had worked up on Anchara, the Thai girl.

  Wide, dark almond eyes looked startled above those scimitar cheekbones. He hadn’t gotten the mouth quite right—it looked puffy and pouty, and Lei remembered it as full but decisive, a set to the lips that said she would do whatever she needed to, to be free. Lei respected that and found herself saying a little prayer that the girl was safe until they could find her and bring her in.

  The metal door with its little safety glass insert opened. An imposing bearded man in business casual walked in, followed by Magda Kennedy. Regal in a creamy halter dress, long black hair that had to have been flatironed shimmered under the harsh neon lights as she sat and crossed spectacular legs ending in a pair of gold sandals.

  Bunuelos and Torufu followed. Lei could tell they were intimidated, as Gerry Bunuelos combed an overlong sheaf of hair out of his eyes repetitively. Abe Torufu hoisted his belt as he sat, relying on his size. Lei knit her brows, concerned they might not be up to the task of interviewing such an intimidating witness.

  Captain Corpuz, jaunty as usual, joined her in the booth. He’d brought a pair of Styrofoam cups of coffee and handed her one with a wink. “We have bad coffee too.”

  “Thanks.” Lei didn’t have time to express her worry before the show got under way.

  “I’m always happy to support Maui Police Department in whatever way I can.” Magda fired the opening round. “If you check, you’ll see I am a regular supporter of police charities. How can I help you today?” She held herself stiffly upright, as if touching the back of the steel chair would dirty her dress—and it probably would.

  “We appreciate that,” Bunuelos said. Before he could go on, the lawyer interrupted.

  “Why is my client here? Her time is very expensive, and mine almost as much. Let’s get this over with before I have to send the county a bill for it.”

  Bunuelos, rattled, spoke too quickly. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Kennedy and Mr. Chapman. We appreciate that your time is valuable and we just want some information. About this.” He gestured, and Torufu produced the satiny calling card that Wylie had given them with the number for the hookers on it, sliding it over in front of Magda.

  “I was given that by a friend.”

  “Do you know what it’s for?”

  “I was told escort services. So I imagine that’s what it’s for.”

  “Who is this friend?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “That’s not good enough!” Bunuelos tried to generate some heat, but it withered in the face of Kennedy’s and Chapman’s contemptuous stares.

  The door opened and Lieutenant Cherry Joy Omura walked in, slingbacks rapping the floor. She made a flicking gesture, and Bunuelos gave a relieved glance at the surveillance mirror and withdrew, leaving Torufu behind for bulk.

  “Where did you get this card?” A red nail tapped the item in question.

  “And you are?” The lawyer tried some attitude, but Omura never blinked.

  “Above his pay grade. I’ll be conducting this interview.”

  Magda Kennedy stood suddenly, apparently scenting trouble. She picked up her little purse, a flat clutch painted in scarlet designs. “I don’t have time for this.”

  She made for the door.

  Faster than Lei could have believed, Omura blocked the exit, grabbed Kennedy’s wrist and twisted it up behind her back, horsing her onto the hard metal chair. She sat the woman on it, slapping on a pair of cuffs. The lieutenant then locked them on to a ring on the metal table.

  The lawyer burbled objections, but Omura’s voice cut through them. “I’m placing you under arrest for suspicion of procurement.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Magda snarled. She yanked at the cuffs, and Lei could see that it hurt. Gold bangles jangled against steel.

  “You can’t make those charges stick,” Chapman said.

  “Probably not, but in the meantime I get to hold her for twenty-four hours. Or she can cooperate with our investigation.”

  “Is this legal?” Magda asked the lawyer.

  “She hasn’t been Mirandized,” Chapman finally said.

  Omura simply repeated the Miranda catechism. A moment passed in which Kennedy and Omura exchanged stares. The lieutenant shrugged.

  “I’ll leave you to think about your choice.” Omura gestured to Torufu, and they left the room.

  Captain Corpuz broke into a grin almost as big as the one on Lei’s face as Magda Kennedy gave a shriek of rage and cursed the lawyer with more fluency and imagination than Lei would have believed. Omura came into the peanut gallery, took a seat. Aimed hard dark eyes, sparkling with the light of battle, at Lei.

  “I want a full background workup on her. Dig up everything; make phone calls.
Something doesn’t smell right about her.”

  “We already ran a quick one—she’s clean. Not even a parking ticket. And I don’t want to miss the interview!”

  “What interview? I’m leaving them in there.” Omura looked at her watch. “For two hours. After two hours, they can launch a civil complaint, so get me everything you can. I imagine she’ll need a pee by then—and in the meantime, cut the air-conditioning to the room. I find that woman annoying.”

  Lei hurried to obey. She wondered what Omura was capable of when she was more than annoyed. Torufu showed Lei to the computer lab—a dim, cool room equipped with a row of high-speed flat screens. Lei logged in and began searching for Maui art maven Magda Kennedy.

  The woman appeared to have moved to the island sometime in the last ten years, and a search pulled up reams of information on her. Media appeared to be in her pocket. Lei scrolled through articles on her busy social life, where she always appeared immaculately dressed in signature shades of white.

  But prior to 2000, the trail went cold.

  The magic combination of birth date and social security number generated very little—Magda Kennedy, born in Westport, Massachusetts. No schools, no early life that Lei could find with either of the search programs the MPD used for background. Her criminal record was clean, not so much as a parking ticket. She moved on to researching Pacific Treasures Gallery, and the lawyer, Robb “Keoni” Chapman.

  Bunuelos stuck his head in. “Anything?”

  “Not much. She moved here and started Pacific Treasures in 2000, apparently had connections to New York and East Coast galleries that helped open doors for the enterprise in Lahaina.”

  “Anything earlier?”

  “Not really. I’ll try to figure out where she went to school. She doesn’t appear to keep in touch with anyone from her past—no Facebook or LinkedIn or anything. That’s weird for someone of her type—it’s all about who you know in that world.”

  “Maybe she just needed to drop the Kennedy name around and that was enough.”

  “Yeah. But not all Kennedys are ‘the’ Kennedys. It’s actually a pretty common name.”

  Bunuelos disappeared and Lei went on digging. It seemed like only a few minutes had passed when Omura rapped on the door frame.

  “Got anything for me?”

  “Nothing tying her to prostitution,” Lei said regretfully. “What’s more interesting is that she seems to have so little history prior to moving to Maui.”

  “When was that?”

  “In 2000. That’s when she started Pacific Treasures Gallery and really hit the map.”

  “Well, that’s about when everything started to be available online. Prior to that, most things were written records, so I’m not surprised. Anything on the lawyer?”

  “Yeah. He’s one of Maui’s priciest defense lawyers. Belongs to the golf club, the country club, all the right memberships in Rotary and such. Works the Hawaiian angle by doing some work for Kamehameha Schools. Guy’s well connected and has probably been working his cell phone the whole time we left them in there,” Lei said.

  “Damn cell phones,” Omura muttered. She narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Probably going to have to let her go anyway, I haven’t been able to get the DA to sign her warrant.”

  “Too bad,” Lei said. “I was really hoping to see how that white outfit held up in the drunk tank.”

  “Me too.” Omura cracked a smile, spun on her considerable heel. “Oh well. I’ll get her next time.” She clacked down the hall. Lei hurried after her, carrying her notes, and ducked into the peanut gallery. She grabbed a seat next to Captain Corpuz, who barely glanced up, intent on the drama taking place inside.

  Omura was once again at the table, and she tapped the white business card. The click of her shiny nail echoed through the speaker on the counter into the observation area.

  “Let’s start again. Who gave you this card?”

  Magda had chewed off some of her red lipstick, but her mouth was set in a stubborn line and arctic-blue eyes hadn’t warmed in two hours. She glared at Omura, refusing to answer.

  “Lieutenant Omura. Yes, I know who you are.” Chapman stood up, sucking in his paunch and thrusting out his beard. “I have the mayor on the phone, and he’d like to know what possible grounds you could have to hold us in this hot box without even the courtesy of a restroom.” He held out a squawking cell phone to the lieutenant.

  Omura reached out with one of those nails and punched the Off button.

  “Need the restroom? Torufu will take you. We aren’t Neanderthals here.”

  Abe Torufu lumbered to his feet and cocked his head at the door invitingly.

  “I don’t need the restroom,” Kennedy said. “You’re harassing me. We’ll be pressing a civil suit.”

  “We are within procedural rights,” Omura said, as the lawyer’s phone chimed. He read the ID, answered the phone, and then held it out to Omura.

  “This is the district attorney. You might hang up on the mayor, but this one makes your cases. I think you want to take this call.”

  She took the phone and left the room. Everyone in the peanut gallery sighed as Chapman leaned down to his client, patting her shoulder and whispering in her ear.

  Captain Corpuz said, “I think the show’s over,” just as Bunuelos returned to the interview room with Torufu and a handcuff key. Bunuelos uncuffed Magda Kennedy.

  “You’re free to go.”

  “Where’s that bitch lieutenant?” Kennedy said, lips barely moving and face bone white as she stood up, rubbing her wrists.

  “She had other business. Said to pass on her apologies for the inconvenience,” Bunuelos said with a straight face, holding out the cell phone to Chapman. The gallery owner’s teeth bared in rage as she tossed back her shimmery hair and cocked her arm. The lawyer caught it, pulled her in and held her against his side.

  “Your department will be hearing from our firm regarding this outrage,” he said, marching Kennedy through the door and down the hall.

  “Conference room,” Captain Corpuz said. “Find Lieutenant Omura.”

  Lei and the other detectives spread out. Lei went straight to the women’s room, where she guessed Omura was holed up, hiding from the rest of the team and hoping Kennedy would need to make a potty stop.

  Sure enough, a pair of pointy toes were visible from under the stall.

  “She took off,” Lei said. “She waited to pee somewhere else.”

  “Dammit!” Omura slammed the door open and put her hands on her hips. “I was hoping for one last word.”

  Lei almost liked her at that moment.

  “Captain wants a confab in the conference room.”

  Omura stalked off. Lei followed, feeling like a remora following a tiger shark.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The conference room was hot, its AC on the same circuit as the interview room, and Torufu, Bunuelos, Pono, Stevens, and Captain Corpuz appeared in various stages of overheated. Omura was immaculate as usual—the woman hardly had a pulse. Lei sipped a bottled water, feeling itchy in the ill-fitting muumuu and wig.

  Captain Corpuz opened the discussion.

  “We need something more to tie this whole thing together. So far we have a dead Jane Doe prostitute, a runaway Thai girl, a business card with a procurement service number on it, and someone so pissed off they’re trying to kill Texeira and Stevens. Or at least Texeira. This is a random collection of maybes, not a case. Omura? Opinion?”

  “That Kennedy woman is involved,” Omura said. “We have to keep digging. We’ll find something on her. Her past is sketchy.”

  “So maybe we find she left a sketchy past behind. So have a lot of people who end up in Hawaii; that doesn’t make her a madam or a murderer. Besides, she’s connected. We aren’t going to get anywhere without some hard evidence.”

  “So what about getting the coast guard involved? Make a few calls through our FBI connection and get them searching those ships for sex slaves, money, and drugs. Or, hell, may
be even prizefighting cocks.” Stevens plucked Pono’s overlarge aloha shirt away from his body. “I want to bust not just Magda Kennedy, but the House. Who else has brass ones enough to torch a house where two detectives live? And what’s happening with our injured hit man?”

  “Still out, unfortunately. I have a uniform outside the door,” the captain said. “Oh, and the tox screens on Jane Doe came back—she was four times the legal alcohol limit.”

  “No big surprise there. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make that scene look like suicide. I agree with Stevens’s idea about the coast guard,” Omura said. “Captain, we don’t have any authority on those ships, and I think we have a viable tip that there’s something illegal going on.”

  The captain inclined his head in agreement, and Omura turned to Lei. “Call your FBI friend.”

  Omura was showing qualities Lei respected. Decisiveness. Skill. Persistence. Just because she was tiny, perfect, and wore fancy shoes didn’t mean she wasn’t a good cop. Lei hurried into the chilly computer lab, closing the door to make the call on her cell phone.

  “Marcella? We need your help.” She described the team’s conclusion and the fruitless interview with Magda Kennedy.

  “I know the commander of Maui Coast Guard Station,” Marcella said. “I was hoping you guys would give us enough to move on.”

  “Well, we still don’t have anything totally solid. The captain is requesting assistance based on some reliable info.” Lei crossed her fingers at the idea that Silva was reliable, but the man had implicated the House, and so had Anchara, if indirectly.

  “I’ll call and see if they can search everything currently in harbor.”

  “How about getting a schematic map of the ships and looking for false compartments or mislabeled rooms?”

  “Yeah, the coast guard know all those tricks. I’ll give them a call. Commander will probably call back and look for a formal request from the captain.”

  “I can get that,” Lei said. Her fingers were still crossed. She hurried back to the conference room, where the team meeting was breaking up, everyone with assignments.