Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  “Me neither, obviously. I haven’t even had time to really let it sink in that Stevens is married. I mean, I’m just starting to realize all I threw away when I joined the Bureau. And for what? This?” Lei’s gesture took in the bare walls, the cramped space.

  “No. For this.” Marcella leaned forward to tap the FBI shield Lei had taken off and set on the coffee table. “For great cases that take you all over, for a great team to solve them with, for all the resources the federal government can put behind you.” She sat back and sipped her wine. “Local law enforcement is inherently limited, especially on Maui.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Lei picked up her wine. “But I also hate all the bureaucracy, the structure in the Bureau. I mean, just yesterday, I had an idea, I followed up on it, and Ken got his panties all in a bunch over it.” She described her drop by at the high school and the fact that Waxman was scrutinizing her.

  Marcella snorted. “Waxman’s been on my ass since he got here. You know what they call female agents? Split tails.” She shook her head. “Rumor is, he’s a misogynist. He second-guesses and double-checks everything I do, too. Sophie’s the only female agent I’ve ever seen him praise, and she’s so amazing, you’d have to be blind not to notice it. Seriously, we’re just up against some garden-variety gender bias here.”

  The doorbell gave it’s feeble, unfamiliar electronic buzz, and Lei got up, checking the peephole before opening the door enough for the delivery guy to hand the containers of food to Marcella over the security chain. That chore completed, they went back to the couch.

  Lei scooped noodles up with a pair of chopsticks. “Guess I found a separate stomach with room for Chinese,” she said. “I’m still just not sure if the Bureau is the right place for me long-term. But I have come to a few conclusions, and one of them is that I need a different place. I’m going to try to get Keiki back.”

  “Good for you,” Marcella said. “I’ll drink to that.” They clinked glasses. “And if you aren’t into Alika anymore, I’ll tell Sophie to give him a workout. She’s had her eye on him for a while.” She wiggled her brows.

  “Why don’t you go out with him?”

  “I’m actually sort of with someone. I’m not talking about it, waiting to see if I still like him in a few months before I say anything.”

  “Oh my God. Who is it?” Lei poked Marcella with her chopsticks. “You owe me a name.”

  “He’s a detective with HPD. Seriously. I have such a bad track record, I keep waiting to lose interest, but I’m still having fun.” Marcella grinned. “He knows what a girl wants. All I’m saying.”

  “Ha. Anyway, I’m surprised Alika hasn’t been snapped up.”

  “Many have tried, or so I’ve heard.” They gossiped about the various staff members at the Bureau; then Marcella asked, “So what’s up with Ken? Is he single?”

  “Seems to be.” Lei buried her face in a white cardboard food container. “We don’t discuss that kind of thing.” She didn’t like to miss a chance to dish to Marcella, but she was holding a secret for her partner—a big one. Partner secrets always came first, she’d learned in her years as a police officer.

  “He’s kind of—hard to pin down.” Marcella rolled her shoulder. “Damn, this shoulder wound hurts. Did I ever show you my latest bullet scar? Remember the one that happened while you were in Quantico?”

  “Oh, that’s right! Show me!”

  Marcella pulled her shirt aside so Lei could check out the dime-sized hole in her friend’s shoulder, a divot of pinkish puckered skin.

  “It’s healed fine.”

  “Still aches, though. The bullet grazed the bone and hurt like a mother. So where are you on the case?” They reviewed everything they’d done on the case so far, including the fact that the unsub was now verifiably armed, and Marcella yawned. “I’d better get going. Are we good?”

  “More than good.” Lei hugged her friend. “Thanks for coming over.”

  The phone ringing dragged Lei up out of a restless sleep. She yanked it out of the charger.

  “Special Agent Texeira.”

  “Lei, turn on your TV.” Ken’s voice was tense.

  “I don’t have a TV.”

  “Fuck all, really? Okay, you can catch this later. Apparently, the Bandit sent a tape to Wendy Watanabe, the reporter for KHIN-2 News.”

  “Whoa. What’s the story?”

  “Just get in here.” He clicked off.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lei tossed off her blanket and dug herself out of the air mattress. She made good time to the Bureau office, noticing the brilliant sunrise breaking over Honolulu skies, an early breeze clattering the palm fronds, mynahs gossiping on the railings. It was only 6:37 a.m. when she slid into her chair at the conference table. Waxman had the retractable screen down and a shadowed figure, distinctly male, was talking through a voice distorter.

  “It’s not right for the one percent to live on our islands and give nothing back to the community. The Smiley Bandit is here to even the playing field, to give back a little something of what’s been taken from our hardworking local people.”

  Wendy Watanabe appeared, a tidy blue suit emphasizing a petite figure, voice reporter-earnest as a background photo of the box on the steps of the Institute appeared.

  “This was the recording that came into my e-mail inbox this morning from the burglar calling himself the Smiley Bandit, along with a link to this blog post. The burglary that occurred yesterday was the second in a series of bold break-ins, and the entire haul from that house was deposited on the steps of Honolulu’s biggest homeless shelter. Speculation is rife that the Smiley Bandit may be able to fly to the outer islands in the Hummel ultralight aircraft he stole from airline owner Max Smiley. Could this be a burglar with a heart? Police and FBI were not available for comment, but this reporter will be following the story exclusively.”

  Waxman snapped off the recording. “Full mobilization. I want every cop out there looking for any of our suspects, and let’s reinterview anyone who might be able to give us a lead.”

  Just then the tricornered conference phone in the center of the table rang. Waxman hit Receive. “Yes?”

  “Call from Maui PD on the line, sir,” NAT Greg said. Lei wondered how he always sounded so cheerful.

  “Put it through,” Waxman said.

  “This is Captain Omura on Maui.” Lei’s former boss’s voice was crisp. “We think we’ve spotted the aircraft you’re looking for in Maui airspace.”

  “Thanks for calling. Please dispatch units to apprehend, and we’ll send our agents ASAP,” Waxman said.

  “Already done. The aircraft was spotted flying very low over the north shore area. It could have landed anywhere, but we have several units out looking for it. Have your agents contact Lieutenant Stevens. He’s heading up the team following this. Captain Omura out.” Waxman looked up over his half-glasses at Lei. Even at six thirty in the morning, he was dapper, shaved, and pressed. “Texeira and Yamada, take the helicopter over there; liaise with the Maui people. Scott and Rogers will continue the investigation over here. We want an FBI presence at the bust, and take rifles and nonlethal ammo for the takedown. With all the media attention the Bandit’s stirring up, we don’t want any more negative press than we can help.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lei answered, her stomach dropping at the thought of seeing Stevens again. Oh well. She’d just have to guts up and do it—and maybe she’d find a chance to ask about getting Keiki back

  “Report in to me when you make contact with the Maui PD.” Waxman retracted his overhead screen.

  At their cubicle, Ken handed her a vest. “We know the kid’s armed.”

  “I hate these things.” Lei wriggled on the Kevlar and Velcroed herself in. “They give me claustrophobia.” Her heart rate had already picked up dramatically with the news.

  “So, go call your boyfriend.” Ken packed his duffel with quick efficiency while Lei scrambled for her crime kit and anything else she could think to bring. “Hope you don’t m
ind—Marcella told me the basics.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

  “Your ex then. Get going—I’m getting the beanies, rifles, and the helicopter.” Ken moved off quickly. Beanies—tiny, hard rubber pellets filling beanbags and packed into shotgun shells—were nonlethal but still packed a wallop when a suspect wasn’t wearing body armor, and Lei fervently hoped there would be a bloodless takedown.

  No time to overthink it. This phone call was going to be all business, Lei told herself. She walked to the employee lounge, shuffling through the contacts on her phone, her heart beating in slow, heavy thuds against the constricting vest. She poured some fresh coffee into a mug, chipped off some Coffee-mate with a spoon as the phone rang.

  “Lieutenant Stevens.”

  “Congrats on the promotion.” He’d been a sergeant when she left, and Lei was pleased at how steady her voice was.

  “Lei. This must be your new number.” His voice sounded rough. It was still so early; her mind flashed to him in bed, Anchara beside him, all golden skin and reams of black hair. She stirred the coffee with a loud clatter to drown out unhelpful imaginings.

  “Bureau phone. I’m liaising with you about the plane-stealing unsub.”

  “You mean the Smiley Bandit? We’re at the station watching Wendy Watanabe’s latest installment. Apparently, she’s in contact with the Bandit and he’s promised her an exclusive when he’s apprehended.”

  “My SAC, Waxman, is on that. My partner and I are getting our chopper in the air in a few minutes to come to Maui. What’s the status of finding the aircraft?”

  “Nothing yet.” Stevens adjusted his tone to match her no-nonsense one. “We have five patrol units out combing the north shore and an island-wide high-priority BOLO out. Aircraft was spotted by a unit out by Haiku Station—it was heading north. The pilot might have tried to make it to Hana Airport, so we have a unit dispatched to watch there.”

  “It’s an ultralight. All it needs to land is a hundred-foot strip of empty road or lawn. The Hummel has landed and taken off using a golf course, so don’t limit the surveillance to just established airports—in fact I think the unsub will avoid those.”

  “Understood. Funny to hear you use Bureau jargon.” Stevens’s voice conveyed a degree of sarcasm. “Is it all you hoped for?”

  “Is she all you hoped for?” Lei burst out, surprising herself as she felt rage blow a flush up her neck. “You don’t have the right to ask me anything.”

  “Oh. So I guess you heard.” He wasn’t backing down either. “I told you how it was when you chose the job. I hope it keeps you warm at night.”

  “Fuck you, Stevens. I want my dog back.”

  “See you at the heliport. And keep it professional, Special Agent Texeira.” His voice was icy, and he clicked off before she could say anything more.

  Lei bit her lip hard on the expletives that bubbled up and tossed her mug of coffee into the sink with a wet crash. She restrained herself from throwing the phone after it.

  “Everything okay here?” Of course Ken had to choose that moment to come in.

  “Fine. Dropped my mug is all.” Lei fished the mug and its broken handle out of the sink and tossed them in a nearby steel trash bin. “When’s the chopper ready?”

  “Ten minutes. What’s the status over there?”

  Lei told him as they headed out and got on the elevator for the rooftop helipad.

  “Scott and Rogers are tracking Blackman today and interviewing Kinoshita. She was located at her mother’s. They’re following up with more HPD resources to try to track down Rezents and Matthews.” The elevator opened, and Ken punched in the code that opened the steel exterior door to the roof. They stepped out into wide-open space.

  Lei loved the rooftop, and for the dozenth time, wished she remembered to go up there more. She blew out a breath at the spectacular vista of downtown skyscrapers on one side, the unobstructed sea on the other. The sun was fully up, brazing the iconic view of Diamond Head with gold and twinkling diamonds off the windows. Fast-moving cumulus clouds added depth to the deep blue arc of sky. Feasting her eyes on the vista brought her heart rate back down, and she felt the flush of anger cool as the morning breeze caressed her skin.

  The bold X of the helipad marked one side of the roof, a raised air-circulation shaft and an open shelter with welded aluminum seating marked the other. Lei and Ken had barely seated themselves when the thrum of the approaching helicopter, a black Bell JetRanger, brought them to their feet.

  They trotted under the whirling blades and got in, Lei squeezing into the fold-down jump seat behind the pilot and Ken. She put on her helmet with its built-in comm unit and clipped into the chest harness as Ken stowed the black duffel bags of rifles and other supplies.

  “Gonna be a bumpy ride,” the pilot said as they lifted off. “Always a lot of wind on Maui, and it’s up already.”

  Lei’s stomach plummeted as the copter swung up and off the building, promptly dipping in a draft. She’d ridden in them many times since her first time with Alika Wolcott on Kaua`i, but the soaring, bumpy means of transport still thrilled and terrified. The chopper headed out for Maui, and Lei pressed her forehead against the curved glass window as they buzzed over the city, always the most vertiginous for her. Once over the ocean, the pilot picked a steady line at ten thousand feet and Lei turned her head to look out the triangle of window and scan the sea for whales.

  The surface of the ocean was cobalt and foam-flecked, the wind fortunately behind them. Lei spotted the long gray outline of a humpback moving beneath them. She felt herself almost able to smile as a plume of vapor marked the huge creature’s breath, and in a heartbeat more, they’d passed it by, the shadow of the helicopter racing along the water. The wonder of seeing the great cetaceans in the vastness of their ocean home always helped her put things in perspective. She shut her eyes, letting the roar of the rotors drown her apprehension about seeing Stevens..

  Lei must have dozed off, because seconds later, it seemed, her stomach was swooping again as the ground accelerated toward them at an alarming rate. The copter wove in the wind and settled, one strut at a time. Kahului Heliport was a wide-open area next to the main airport, surrounded by acres of stored, parked rental cars, sugarcane fields dancing like hula skirts, and metal hangars.

  Lei hopped out behind Ken, walking bent over beneath the still-whirling blades toward a couple of SUVs—one of them familiar. Stevens leaned on the hood of the brown unmarked Bronco he’d driven during the time they lived together on Maui, and her heart seemed to stop beating at the sight of him. Gerry Bunuelos, one of the detectives from Kahului Station, stood by a black-and-white with a light rack on top.

  Lei headed for Gerry first.

  “Lei! Great to see you!” The wiry Filipino gave her the kind of shoulder-hug-backslap male friends exchanged.

  “Likewise.” Lei turned to her former fiancé. “Hey, Stevens. Don’t think either of you have met my partner, Special Agent Ken Yamada.”

  The men shook hands, and that’s when Lei let herself really look at Stevens—her eyes wandering up his rangy height. He’d put on more muscle—his long arms were thicker than she remembered. Laser-blue eyes looked at Yamada from a face whose rugged contours were more memorable than handsome as the wind ruffled his dark hair. Her heart was doing heavy thuds again.

  She refocused on the issue at hand. “We need to let you guys know something important—wear Kevlar on this. The Bandit’s armed.”

  “How’d that happen?” Bunuelos asked, as Stevens turned to her, his brows lowered.

  “He took it out of the safe at the last hit. Walther PPK. According to the owner, no extra ammo was in the safe, but the gun was loaded with six rounds.”

  “That’s a game changer,” Stevens said. “Who else knows this?”

  “We’re keeping it under wraps as best we can. Don’t want to create a situation,” Ken said. “But you guys need to be apprised.”

  “I’ll let the captain know, and w
e’ve got vests in the vehicles. So, Lei—we’re taking you guys out to last-seen areas. Thought you could ride with me and Yamada with Bunuelos; we’ll cover more ground split up.”

  “No,” Lei said automatically.

  Her partner narrowed his eyes at her. “Sounds like a plan. Give you two a chance to catch up.”

  Lei watched in helpless frustration as Ken walked away and got into the black-and-white with Gerry and they fired it up. Stevens opened the door of the SUV. “Well? Coming?”

  “Shit,” she muttered, and got into the passenger side. This couldn’t go well.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lei slammed the door a little hard, and he slanted her a glance out of those blue, blue eyes.

  “You know we have to talk.”

  “Where was the craft spotted?” Lei had chosen her tack—and it was to stick to business.

  He turned the key and the Bronco roared into life. “North shore. We can head out toward Haiku. I know of some estates out there with lawns big enough to land on.” He headed the Bronco toward broad two-lane Hana Highway, bordered by waving sugarcane. “So. You need to know something.”

  “I don’t need to know anything. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “I know I don’t. I want to tell you anyway.” His voice had gone as stubborn as hers. “Anchara was going to get deported. I couldn’t let that happen, after all she’d done for the investigation, after all she’d gone through on that ship.”

  Lei turned halfway to look at his set jaw, mirrored sunglasses down and hiding his thoughts. “I’m sure it was a real hardship to rescue the beautiful sex slave.”

  “You know what? I’m sick of that shit, from you and everybody. Anchara doesn’t deserve it, and you of all people know that!”

  Lei did know that. Anchara Mookjai, twenty-four years old, formerly of Phuket, Thailand, had fled an abusive marriage to take a job on a cruise ship—only that wasn’t what the contract had really involved. Smuggled on and off the ship in the ports of call, kept locked up on board, she’d found herself in any woman’s nightmare—and had taken the chance for escape when it came. Her testimony had helped put away a whole layer of human traffickers working out of the cruise ships.