by Toby Neal
“So at what point did you realize you shouldn’t be participating in the raid?”
“At no point did I think that.” Anger had begun to build. “It’s pure coincidence that he’s a Chang. We followed the evidence. Nothing more.”
“And how interesting that Healani Chang shot herself while you were alone in the room with her,” Pillman said. “Isn’t there a feud between your families?”
Lei sat back, found her hand had come up to cover her mouth. “What are you saying? That I killed her?”
“Are you saying that?”
“I think I will call for my union rep now. Do I need a lawyer as well?”
“Lei. May I call you Lei?” Dr. LaSota leaned forward.
“No, you may call me Agent Texeira.” Lei’s head really was throbbing. “One thing I will say before this interview is over is this: I have a head injury and I need to get it looked at. If I hadn’t had it, I would have appreciated the situation I’m in more clearly.” She got her phone out. “I need to go to the hospital. I was supposed to stay there in Hilo, but I wanted to continue with the investigation.”
“Uh-huh. Right,” Pillman said.
“You can check with SAC Waxman, with anyone on the team. When Healani pulled her gun, I hit the ground and whacked my head on the metal bedframe. My chin on the IV stand.” She pointed to her face. “Waxman sent me home to rest from the interview. I was supposed to go to the hospital on the Big Island.”
Dr. LaSota had a crease between her arched brows and seemed a little worried. She gave Pillman a quelling glance as he started to say something more. “We’ll take you there ourselves. You shouldn’t be driving if that’s the case. We can verify everything she’s saying, Agent Pillman.”
In the back of their black SUV, Lei texted Stevens, Marcella, and Ken: Going to hospital. Head injury in raid. IA investigating me b/c of Chang involvement.
This was no time to suffer stoically alone. She needed all the support she could get. Dr. LaSota, sitting in the passenger seat, had called Lei’s union rep. That worthy individual said he appreciated the heads-up but didn’t want to come until they resumed the interview, which he assumed would be after Lei had recovered from her injuries and a doctor had signed off on that. Pillman looked irritable at that news.
“So I don’t need a lawyer?” Lei asked.
“We aren’t charging you with anything at this time,” Pillman said over his shoulder. “We are just trying to get to the bottom of what happened.”
“I don’t understand where you’re going with all this. I did nothing wrong.”
Neither of the other agents answered.
Lei went through the paperwork at the emergency room, feeling like a suspect with the stoic agents standing behind her. Her phone rang with Stevens’s call, and she answered it, standing in front of the admissions clerk.
“I’m getting the next flight out.” His voice was tight with anxiety.
“You don’t have to.” Lei glanced at LaSota and Pillman, reveling in the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought. “I have company.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll see you soon.” He rang off. She was bolstered by his immediate support. Marcella and Ken arrived together a few minutes later, and she grinned at the sight of them in spite of her sore face.
“Good,” Pillman said, as they approached. “We need to interview both of you.”
“Have a little decency,” Ken said. “This is my partner, and she’s here with a head injury. Let’s see if she’s okay first. And I want to be the first to meet with you. I have some evidence to discuss.”
Marcella came to hug Lei, careful not to jostle, and stood close enough that Lei could feel her body heat.
“I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding,” she said to the agents, with her best dimpled smile. Unfortunately, LaSota appeared impervious, and so did Pillman.
The nurse arrived at that moment and helped Lei into a wheelchair. “Off to get a CT scan,” she said. “Only one person can accompany the patient.”
Marcella stepped in. “Lead on.”
After the CT scan, they admitted Lei for observation, and she was propped up in bed, sipping water from a straw when Ken came to the door.
“Your turn, Marcella. They’re using an empty exam room for the interviews,” he said.
Marcella tweaked one of Lei’s curls as she got up to leave. “Don’t worry, Sweets. This is just Waxman getting a bug up his ass. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Good thing I took some steps at the scene to protect you,” Ken said. “Agent Pillman was almost disappointed I’d taken your weapons and checked them—not discharged. I also swabbed your hands for GSR. I showed them the evidence that you never, at any time, discharged or handled a weapon at the scene.” Lei dimly remembered handing him her Glocks, the damp swab on her hands. She’d barely registered what he was doing at the time.
“I owe you, partner. Big-time. I had no idea they’d go in this direction with this.” Lei felt sick at the thought of being prosecuted for Healani Chang’s death. “Thanks for the quick thinking.”
“I know how a defense attorney thinks, and I hadn’t just gotten a concussion.” Ken took Marcella’s seat beside the bed. “Just wanted to get some insurance for you after what you’d told me about the Changs a while ago.”
“Those assholes,” Marcella said. “I’ve got a few things to say on the subject.” She stomped out.
“Just relax,” Ken said. “This’ll blow over. Stay cool. You’ve been through worse with Waxman, right?”
“Yeah.” Lei’s head hurt too much to think. She closed her eyes. “Can I have a pill yet? The pain is really bad.”
“Yes, young lady, you can.” An unfamiliar voice. She opened her eyes to see a doctor reviewing her chart. “You have a concussion, which means there’s some swelling around your brain. I want to keep you here overnight for observation since this is a two-time injury. Now that we know what’s going on, it’s okay for you to have something for pain.”
He signaled, and the nurse who’d been standing by injected medication into Lei’s IV, and in mere moments, she felt herself slipping into blessed darkness.
Chapter Thirty
“You’ve got that boxer brain syndrome now.” Stevens drove her home the next morning in a lime-green Ford Fiesta he’d rented at the airport the night before. “We can’t have you banging your head anymore. Period.”
“Apparently not, though getting shot point-blank by Healani Chang didn’t really appeal either.”
The contusion on her head had migrated, giving her a black eye, while the bruise on her chin swelled that side of her face. She felt better physically, but miserable with apprehension about what would happen next. Did they really think she’d shot Healani or provoked the woman’s suicide somehow? And if that wasn’t enough, there was always the Kwon murder and Marcus Kamuela to worry about.
At the house, the dogs, lonely and missing dinner, were beside themselves, and that drama took a while to settle. Lei let Stevens handle it and went straight into the shower. She was glad when he joined her there.
“Make me forget all this,” she whispered, plastered against his wet length, leaning in to him. “Make me feel better.”
“My pleasure,” he whispered in her ear. And very gently, he did.
Their cocoon lasted only a few hours before Lei’s phone buzzed with a text from Ken: Heads-up. Waxman and goons on the warpath. They’ll be calling you to come in any minute.
Lei got out of bed, hurried to the closet. “IA and my boss are going to call me in. Should I look professional, or look injured?”
“How about both?” Stevens propped himself up on an elbow. “They shouldn’t be doing this so soon.”
“I’m sure it’s because Dr. LaSota’s in town. She’s always on a schedule.”
Lei’s phone rang with the summons once she was dressed. She looked at her hair and face, appalled, in the bathroom mirror. Stevens came up behind her and touched the ripe black shiner that
had developed as blood moved down from the knot on her forehead and collected under her eye. “The clothes are professional and the bruises look heroic. The hair?” He pulled a curl. “Uniquely you. Don’t change a thing.”
“I love you.” She turned and hugged him. “What happens in this meeting is what makes my mind up about Omura’s call.” She’d finally told him about the unexpected offer and its deadline. “With the case heating up, I’ve hardly had time to think about it. I wondered if you had something to do with Omura’s call.”
He snorted. “Me tell Omura anything? Good luck with that. No, I didn’t even know about it—though I confess to crying in my beer to Pono about the whole situation. I’m sure he’s working the ‘coconut wireless’ to get something for you.”
Pono Kaihale, her first partner and one of her oldest friends, was still looking out for her on Maui. Lei was warmed by that thought as she said goodbye to the dogs and left Angel and Keiki looking mournfully after them through the gate.
Lei was relieved to find they’d put her in Conference Room A, hoping that meant a more friendly interview. Her union rep, Herb Takayama, a Buddha-like little man with round spectacles that echoed the dome of his head, wedged in beside her on the too-small love seat. Waxman, LaSota, and Pillman sat on the bolted-down armchairs.
Takayama opened the questioning after they were apprised of the date, time, people present, and that the proceedings were being recorded. “First of all, I’d like see my client fully recovered from her injuries before she’s interviewed regarding—what is it, exactly?”
“We are trying to establish what her relationship was with the Changs, a known crime family,” Pillman said. “There is a conflict of interest with the situation that could endanger our prosecution of the case against Terence Chang.”
“What conflict of interest?” Lei felt the heat of anger flush her cheeks. Takayama shook his head, but she ignored him. “Yes, there was a prior relationship with the Changs. They hated me and my father and tried to take both of our lives in the past, but I thought that was all over with after I talked with Healani Chang when I was an officer at South Hilo Station. There has been no contact, threats, or evidence of interference from the Changs for either of us since. Our tech agent Sophie Ang followed the evidence, and I went where I was sent to do a raid with no prior knowledge of whose house we were raiding. All we had was an address and a username.”
“We’re concerned that Terence Chang will paint it that you had a vendetta, that he’s been set up in some way—even that you had a hand in killing his grandmother.”
“He can say what he wants. The evidence is what led us to him, and the evidence will back me up.”
“Tell us about your confrontation with Healani Chang.” Dr. LaSota’s dark eyes were expressionless, her pencil poised above a yellow legal pad.
Lei took a deep breath, closed her eyes a moment to remember the feelings she’d had looking at the woman on the bed. She pictured the proud set of Healani Chang’s head, the fog of grief that had come over the woman’s eyes just before she pulled the gun on Lei.
She described their exchange. “When I told her we were there for her grandson, it was a blow to her. I think she was hanging on for him, and finding out he was the reason for the raid—well, she got out her gun and said, “I should have killed you a long time ago.” I dove for the ground. She fired a round at me that went through the side of the mattress but missed me. Then she shot herself.”
A pause while they digested this.
“Why didn’t you search her? She should have been patted down immediately.”
“There was the dog situation to deal with. It distracted us.” Lei described what had happened with the animal. “It took both of us to cover Chang as he dealt with the dog, which saved its life, quite frankly, and Chang knew it. Then Ken took the suspect out the front, and I approached Healani’s bed. Yes, I should have immediately searched her, but you had to see how pathetic she was.”
“She’s been as active as ever, managing the ‘family business,’ according to reports from local PD,” Pillman said. “You should have assumed she was armed.”
Lei shut her mouth. She wasn’t going to agree with her mistake on tape.
“So, you at no time touched her weapon?”
“No,” Lei said definitely.
“So you didn’t stage the suicide.”
“What? I thought Ken told you he’d pulled my weapons. Neither were discharged!”
“You used her weapon.”
“There was no GSR on my hands!”
“Your partner isn’t exactly an unbiased witness.”
“Really? This is where you’re going with this?” Lei could feel the concussion pressing against her eyeballs along with tears. “How did I get these injuries, then?”
“You staged the suicide, then dove down and hit your head to lend credence to your story.”
Lei couldn’t speak. Her throat had closed completely, and spots danced at the corners of her vision.
“That’s one theory,” Waxman said, addressing Pillman. His pale brows had drawn together, his mouth tight. “It’s good for us to be prepared for what the defense will raise, so I agree we have to thoroughly investigate this situation. However, I want everyone to know that I’ve never seen Agent Texeira act with anything but sincerity. Impulsiveness, yes, sometimes not the best judgment—but murder? I think not.”
“We’re leaving,” Takayama said. “Any further interviews will be accompanied by legal counsel.” He tugged Lei’s arm and pulled her out the door.
She couldn’t believe that things had taken such a turn for the worse, that even what her partner had done to protect her was being questioned. Even so, it warmed her to hear Waxman come to her defense.
Stevens stood up from the chair in the hall, took one look at her face and folded her into his arms. “That bad?” he said into her hair.
“Worse,” Lei whispered hoarsely. “Pillman thinks I murdered Healani Chang.”
She felt the outrage shoot through his body in the sudden clenching of his muscles, in the sharp intake of breath, in the way he straightened up, reaching for the door. This time, she clung to him, holding him back. Takayama harrumphed, reminding them of his presence.
“Better to let the investigation take its course,” he said. “These things are unpleasant, but my sense is that the evidence will support Agent Texeira or be inconclusive. Just sit tight, and you can retain legal counsel as a preventive measure. Here are some of the lawyers we’ve used successfully in the past.” He handed Lei a slip of paper with names and numbers on it. “Absolutely no further meetings with your administration without me present.”
On that note, Waxman came to the door, stepped out, and closed it behind him. “Texeira.”
Lei wanted to hide her face in Stevens’s rigid chest, but she made herself turn to face her boss.
“I’m required to take your ID and sidearm for the duration of the investigation. You are off the case and are not to discuss it with your coworkers.”
“Yes, sir. Ken already has my weapons.” She handed her cred wallet to him. Behind her, she felt Stevens radiating leashed heat against her back. It was the only good thing in the world.
“I want you to know, I don’t believe this trumped-up bullshit for a minute.” Waxman had hectic red spots on his cheeks “Hang tight. This will blow over.”
“Yes, sir,” Lei whispered.
Stevens clamped his arm over her. “I’m taking her home. Don’t contact us without Mr. Takayama present.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The next day, Sophie and Ken ushered Robert Castellejos into Conference Room A. The bald-headed cancer patient, looking tanned and relaxed, smiled as he sat on the love seat facing them. He’d carried in a leather folio slung over his shoulder; the metal detectors had let it through but Sophie tensed as he reached inside. He only produced a couple of jars of clear golden honey, which he set on the coffee table before them.
“Brought you so
mething to sweeten your day.”
“Thank you. We are not allowed to accept gifts, however,” Ken said. “This is a formal interview that is being recorded, to question your involvement with the DyingFriends site.” Ken recited the date, time, and attendees for the record. Sophie was conscious of Waxman’s watchful presence in the booth next door, but her earbud stayed silent.
“Yes. I’d like to make a full confession.” Castellejos wore tidy chinos and a brown T-shirt with a honeybee on the front. “Bennie Fernandez, my dear protégée Terence Chang’s lawyer, contacted me yesterday that Terence had been arrested in connection to deaths related to the site, and I’d like to set the record straight.”
Whatever Sophie had been expecting from the beekeeper, it wasn’t this. They’d been stonewalled in attempts to interview Chang further until Bennie Fernandez had called them with the unexpected news that Chang wanted to cop a plea in return for information on KevorkianFan, the “mastermind of the site.” He’d implicated Castellejos.
“DyingFriends is my project. I recruited Terence to provide the technical skills to run the site—the boy’s good with computers and believes in the cause. At no time did he ever participate or assist at any suicides. If you check his alibis for the dates of suicides in the photo galleries, you will see that they hold up. I, however, have been quite the traveling man.”
Castellejos reached into his folio and produced a handwritten log along with a stack of Visa bills. “I’ve traveled all over the United States fulfilling the last wishes of DyingFriends members. This log contains their names and times and dates of death. These Visa bills document the tickets they gifted me with and my travel to meet them. I’ve personally witnessed the last moments of more than three hundred people who have chosen to exercise their freedom to die with dignity.”
Sophie felt her face freezing into a mask of immobile horror. She’d spent hours poring over those photos, seeing everything from jumping to hanging to overdoses, and the thin, tanned, smiling face before her, sitting in his honeybee T-shirt, just wouldn’t compute as their executioner.