Paradise Crime Mysteries

by Toby Neal

  “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him. Now, go call him about Kiet, and you can decide if you want to keep the name.”

  “Oh, we will,” Lei said, and blinked again as she hung up. Kiet. It sounded good when she whispered it.

  She called Stevens. “Where are you?” he asked. “I tried the house phone.”

  “I’m sitting in my truck, outside in the station parking lot,” Lei said, looking around at the parked personal vehicles and rows of squad cars outside the fortress-like building. She spotted McGregor and Chun coming out the sliding doors. She saw them heading her way, and McGregor pointed at her truck.

  “Listen, I can’t talk. I found something with the baby’s name on it, and I got it translated. His name is Kiet, spelled K-I-E-T. And it means ‘honor.’” A pause as Stevens absorbed this. McGregor was getting closer. His choleric face was frowning, and she could see a white paper in his hand. “I think we’re about to be served with search warrants. I have to go, but I was thinking you might put your dad’s name in as a middle name. A way to remember him.” McGregor reached her, knocked on the window. “Whatever you decide, I support. But I love the name Kiet already.”

  Lei hung up the phone. She took a deep breath, rolling down her window. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stevens put his phone back in his pocket. He was standing in the hallway of the hospital nursery, still in the scrubs and gloves he’d been wearing. The baby was being discharged the following day to the foster home.

  He hadn’t had a chance to say anything to Lei, to answer her at all, but he didn’t need to.

  “Kiet,” Stevens said aloud. “Honor.” And he knew it was perfect, as perfect as adding his father’s name as his middle name. Edward Stevens had been a firefighter and had died on the job when Stevens was sixteen. He’d been a hero. He’d saved three people before the fire in an old motel with faulty wiring claimed him and the rest who were trapped inside.

  Stevens had stepped into his father’s oversized shoes and done his best to be the “man of the house,” but his mother’s drinking, until then a little problematic, had tipped into raging alcoholism with the loss of her husband. Stevens escaped to the military and his brother, Jared, two years younger, had followed their father into firefighting.

  Kiet Stevens. It had a ring about it.

  He called the caseworker next. “Ms. Fujimoto? My wife found out what our baby’s mother wanted to name him. I’d like to get the paperwork started for his birth certificate, and to adopt him. His name is going to be Kiet Edward Mookjai Stevens.”

  McGregor handed Lei a folded white paper through the truck’s window. “Warrants to search your house and cars.”

  “Mine, too?” Lei frowned. “I alibied out on TV during the time of the murder.”

  “Doesn’t mean you weren’t in on it together,” McGregor said, but his eyes shifted away.

  Lei snorted. “Do what you gotta do.” She got out of her truck, gathering her backpack that served as a purse, where the blue cloth-covered book was stowed. The receipt she’d found planted in Stevens’s truck felt like it was burning a hole in her back pocket.

  She handed her keys to McGregor. Neither of them would meet her eye, and as she headed into the station, she felt a shiver of terror: Maybe whoever had killed Anchara had planted something in her truck, too. She’d been so preoccupied, she hadn’t searched her own vehicle; nor had she had time to return to check the house.

  Her palms were sweating. She needed to get rid of that receipt, but not to McGregor and Chun.

  Lei knocked on Captain Omura’s office door. Her boss looked up. “What is it?”

  Lei shut the office door and approached the desk. She set the receipt in its plastic evidence bag on the captain’s desk and slid it over to her.

  “I found this in Stevens’s truck at the airport. Hidden in the driver’s seat.”

  Omura looked up, frowning, studied the receipt. “Why didn’t you give this to McGregor and Chun? I know they were headed out to serve you with warrants.”

  “I don’t trust them,” Lei said. “I trust you.” And she turned on her heel and left the office with her boss holding the receipt.

  In the women’s room, Lei washed her hands and face, decided to leave her unruly hair in the ponytail, as it had completely frizzed once it had been restrained. She put on a touch of mascara and a dot of lipstick. Maybe looking better as she and Torufu went into the meeting with Captain Omura would help calm her nerves.

  Still, Lei knew she wouldn’t rest easy until she found out if McGregor and Chun’s searches had come back empty. She’d turned in the receipt. She’d had to. Destroying evidence in a murder investigation went against every case she’d ever worked on. Damning as the receipt was, she had to hope the process would clear Stevens in spite of how thoroughly he’d been set up. There was nothing to do but stay busy until then, and with a fresh body, that wasn’t going to be hard.

  On her way back to the cubicle, Torufu headed her off. “We need to meet the captain, update her about the Norwegian.”

  “Right. Did you get anything off that jackhammer?” Lei asked.

  “I did. Rock dust consistent with samples from the heiau.”

  They turned in to the captain’s office. Torufu handed her a folder. He’d prepared copies of all the data they’d collected on the Norwegian’s death for her, as well as for Omura. She gave him a grateful look. “Thanks, man.”

  Omura was sipping on a Diet Coke through a straw in a rare moment of relaxation as they came in. There was no sign of the receipt; nor did she indicate in any way that Lei had been in the room only minutes previously. She set the soda aside, turning to her keyboard. “Report.”

  They took the chairs in front of her desk, and Torufu handed the captain the folder he’d prepared. “Norm Jorgenson. At least according to his fingerprints in Interpol. Wanted for international art theft. We found no ID at the scene.”

  Omura leafed through printouts from the crime scene. “Crowbar. Messy. Where did you find the murder weapon?”

  Lei described the process of elimination that had led to the iron’s discovery under the window of the inn. “There were three perps in the room.” They all looked at the shoe print photos Lei had taken.

  “Were you able to surmise which pair of shoes actually connects to the murderer?” Omura asked, eyeing Lei over square reading glasses that made the Steel Butterfly look even more fashionable.

  “We haven’t had time to do a scene reconstruction,” Torufu said. He went on to tell her about the samples and the hand-held jack. “The victim probably had something to do with the heiau desecration Stevens is working on.”

  “So. Any hint of any connection to the Heiau Hui?”

  Lei shook her head. “Nothing direct. Stevens has his inside man keeping an ear out, and he’s on Oahu. I told him this vic was likely connected to the heiau case, and he said he was meeting Marcus Kamuela and would bring them up to speed.”

  “He’s supposed to be on admin leave, but yes. In fact, just before this meeting, I got a call from Kamuela’s captain on Oahu, asking us to bring the FBI and Interpol in on tracing this man Jorgenson’s financials and identity. He’s the first solid connection we’ve got to whoever’s looting the sites, and none of us here have the kind of online tracking the Feds and Interpol do.”

  “Do you want to make the calls, or should we?” Lei asked.

  “I need to sign off on an official request, but since you’re our FBI liaison, you call over there first. Let’s move on this. One last bit. What are you liking for motivation for this murder?”

  Torufu and Lei looked at each other. They hadn’t had time to do the usual brainstorming about motives. Torufu led off, turning back to the captain. “I see a possibility he was killed by his own crew. Wasn’t going along with their agenda or was going to sell them out or something. No honor among thieves.”

  Lei cleared her throat. “We both think there was a lot of anger in
the way Jorgenson was bludgeoned. Blood spatter flew all over the ceiling from multiple blows to the back of the head, when he probably died after the first blow. So it’s also possible this was someone from the Heiau Hui who tracked the thieves and let their emotions gain the upper hand. There were three people there, which speaks to some sort of grouping.”

  They sat for a long moment; then Omura turned back to her computer. “I’ll compose the request for FBI help and fax it over to Oahu, and, Lei, you let me know the name of the agent we’ll be working the case with.”

  “Yes, sir.” They both got up and left for their cubicle.

  Lei took the blue cloth book out of her backpack. She wanted to photograph the pages and send them to Sophie Ang, but first she needed a quiet place to make a call to Marcella, updating her on everything.

  “Back in a few,” Lei told Torufu.

  The Tongan just nodded, sitting down in his office chair. The chair squeaked in protest as Torufu opened the case report. “Just hope we don’t get any bomb calls today.”

  She liked that about Abe Torufu. He didn’t bug her for anything she didn’t want to tell him. Lei ducked into Conference Room B, currently empty, and opened the case folder as she used the triangular phone in the middle of the table to place a call to Special Agent Marcella Scott.

  “Lei!” Her friend sounded rushed. “Just got back in the car after another bank robbery downtown.”

  “The fun never stops,” Lei said. “Do you have a minute? Omura’s putting in an official request for FBI assistance regarding this victim whose case I pulled this morning.” Lei rattled off the details.

  “I’m swamped right now. Better go up the chain with this one, let Waxman assign it.” Lei could hear Marcella turning on the AC of the black Acura “Bucar” her team used. “What’s going on with Anchara’s murder? That’s the case I’m really interested in.”

  “Me too, obviously. Stevens is over on Oahu bonding with the baby.”

  “I knew that. Sophie, Marcus, and I are taking him out tonight.”

  “Good. Well, I’ve been doing a little poking around myself. I know we’re being set up.” She told her friend about her visit to the GreenDeath Place and finding the receipt. “An hour ago, I was served with search warrants. I’m hoping McGregor and Chun come up empty, but I’m not at all sure. The GreenDeath guy told me two more shrouds were purchased. The only person left in my life who hates me this much is Terence Chang. What do you think about reopening the investigation into him?”

  “Already done,” Marcella said. “The file on him was barely closed, anyway.” Last year Lei had been at the forefront of a case in which the scion of the Chang crime family had been involved. His hatred for the Texeiras had been activated by Lei’s deadly encounter with his grandmother. “We haven’t found anything solid on him, but word on the street is that he’s assumed the reins of the Chang operation. On paper, and online, he’s clean as a whistle, with a nice little import/export business in Hilo and nothing more. I’ve got local PD keeping an eye on him, too, and he seems to be in Hilo most of the time.”

  “I am hoping a sketch artist can get a description out of the GreenDeath Place owner—not that it will show much, but all it has to do is rule out Stevens. The man described an Asian guy with a medium build.”

  “Someone was also with Anchara in the motel,” Marcella said. “With any luck at all, someone there saw that man.”

  “I forgot about that! Though McGregor and Chun aren’t exactly telling us anything. Seem to be running things totally by the book. I just want to see Stevens cleared.” Lei rubbed the white gold pendant around her neck. “We can’t bring the baby home, out of foster care, until he’s ruled out.”

  “Are you in a hurry for that? Really?” Marcella sounded skeptical. “I mean, I think you’re a saint to take him on at all. Anchara’s baby.”

  “Well, the more I think about it, the more I’m okay with it. It’s not his fault, poor little guy, and we can’t leave him in foster. But still, with this investigation, all our cases, and my aunty dying, it’s not exactly a good time.” Lei told her friend that Aunty Rosario was going downhill fast. “I just hope I can get away at all. I haven’t even asked the captain yet—I know she’s going to say no. Between the bomb squad and a fresh murder, this isn’t the time for compassionate leave.”

  “Yeah, about the bomb squad. I don’t like that assignment for you, Lei.” Marcella seemed to be gathering her thoughts. “I don’t think it’s a good fit for your personality. All the bomb techs I know are tinkerers who like figuring out how things work. They’re loners, and they’re emotionally under-reactive. The only part of what I just described that fits you is the loner thing.”

  “Yeah, and I’m an ex-loner,” Lei said. “I’ve been worrying about this, too. I don’t have cool nerves, and I don’t like the pressure.” She told Marcella about the simple ordnance retrieval they’d done and the massive public pressure and TV reporting. “I hated it.”

  “Talk to your captain sooner rather than later. And what if you get pregnant?”

  “Oh, God, Marcella. I’d succeeded in forgetting that.” Lei groaned. “I’m not getting pregnant now, with a baby already on the way.”

  “Why not?” Marcella echoed Dr. Wilson’s words. “When you’ve already taken the plunge, what’s one more? You could stop at two and have a complete family. Voilà!”

  “You make it sound so easy,” Lei said. “I gotta go. I’ve taken too long for this call as it is. Abe has been patient with me disappearing all day.”

  “I’ll let you know anything I hear on Chang’s activities,” Marcella said.

  “Thanks. And give my husband a kiss for me tonight.”

  “I will. But I promise, no tongue with Marcus right there.”

  Lei laughed as she hung up. Marcella always made her feel better. Thinking how important that friendship was to her reminded Lei that two shrouds were left. She didn’t like wondering what plans the killer had for them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stevens was on the way to the airport the next morning in yet another taxi when his burner phone rang. “Lieutenant Stevens.”

  “Lieutenant, sir! This is Mahoe. I have a tip for you on the heiau case.”

  “Go ahead.” Stevens kept his eyes on the sparkling horizon line of the ocean as the taxi rose in elevation on the expressway into the airport. His head ached from drinking with Marcus and Lei’s FBI buddies, and his heart felt sore, too. He’d said goodbye to Kiet that morning at the home where his son was being cared for, and he’d been able to assure himself that the foster family were caring and kind.

  “I overheard something. Some of the higher-up organizers were talking about where the artifacts might be going, and they mentioned an art dealer on Maui. Magda Kennedy.”

  The woman’s name instantly conjured her in Stevens’s mind: lava-black hair, blue eyes, beautiful face—and an attitude. He and Lei had dealt with her on another case a couple of years ago—the same case that had brought Anchara into their lives. Could there be a connection?

  “Anything more? What her role is?”

  “I didn’t get anything more. I was just trying to get in and hear what they were talking about, and they shut up.”

  “Were they going to do anything about this?”

  “I believe what’s going on is that the Hui is conducting their own investigation. They are trying to figure it out on their own and shut it down. I know that’s dangerous to all involved, sir.”

  “You got that right.” The taxi swung in to the drop-off zone for Hawaiian Airlines and he got out, handing the driver cash and waiting for a receipt. “I need to pass this on to Captain Omura right away. Anything else? How’s Okapa doing?”

  “Uncle?” The young man’s voice contained a smile. “He’s having the time of his life. All fired up, comes to every meeting wearing his kihei robe and war paint.”

  “Well, you should be aware there’s been another development, and it means you need to be more carefu
l than ever.” Stevens reminded Mahoe about the bludgeon murder of the Norwegian. “Keep your ears and eyes open for anything about this.”

  “Will do, boss. Talk tomorrow.” They hung up, and Stevens called Omura next on her direct cell phone line.

  “Keep it short. I’m going into a meeting,” Omura said.

  Stevens passed on the tip from Mahoe. “I’m done over here on Oahu. My son is going into foster care until I’m cleared in Anchara’s murder,” Stevens said. “I’d like to return to work. My station needs me, and there are some developments in the case.” He passed on Mahoe’s tip. “I’d like to bring Kennedy in for an interview.”

  A pause. He could picture Omura frowning even as he went through the Hawaiian Airlines automated check-in kiosk. He had only a small backpack, so the process was short.

  “Well, let me take a moment to bring you up to speed on what’s been happening,” she said. “The Maui’s Secrets people have agreed to pull down and revise the book. They’ve issued a statement that should be on the news tonight that they want to show ‘respect and collaboration with the Hawaiian culture.’ So that’s good. I also went ahead and contacted Marcus Kamuela’s mother, Moani Kamuela, as our cultural expert. She came in and helped our team map out the sites of the heiaus. We’ve organized and begun supplementary patrols. All that is underway, but I really do need you back on the job. So, yes. Come back to work today.”

  “Thanks, Captain. Any breaks in Anchara’s case?”

  “You know I can’t discuss that with you. But I will say, the team on that case is following some interesting leads that don’t involve you or Lei.”

  “That’s a relief.” Stevens rose on the escalator toward the boarding gates, his spirits lifting at the thought of being back in his home office. “The sooner I’m cleared, the sooner I can bring Kiet home.”

  “Kiet? That’s an unusual name. How is the baby doing?” Omura’s voice was hesitant. He knew without being told that she wasn’t thrilled about how the sudden addition of a newborn was going to complicate the lives of two of her best officers.