by Toby Neal
“Well, I’ll be in tomorrow to shake things up. Tell Gerry not to get too comfortable in my chair.”
Costa immediately asked for representation, but he didn’t have a lawyer. This meant rousting the public defender, who wasn’t happy to be roped in this late in the day on a Friday. While they waited, Lei called home and got Jared.
“Yeah, took the little man surfing at Ho`okipa after school.” Stevens’s brother’s voice activated a visceral longing for her husband. “He’s tuckered out now. We’re watching some cartoons and having Popsicles.”
“Good. No more than one, though. He has trouble sleeping if he gets too much sugar, and he’s already had trouble going to sleep ever since Michael left.”
A short, charged silence. “I could kill my brother,” Jared said.
Lei forced a laugh. “Don’t wish for that. I can’t get ahold of him. I’m starting to get really worried. Security Solutions hasn’t responded to my bitchy e-mail asking for updates, either. I’m not sure what to do.”
“Let’s talk about it when you get home. Any idea when that will be?”
“Don’t know. Got a pretty heavy interview ahead. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”
“Okay. I’m making enchiladas for dinner tonight—my favorite dinner for the guys when it’s my cooking night at the fire station.”
“Tell me why you’re single again?” Lei asked.
“I’m too pigheaded. Can’t find anyone who will put up with me,” her brother-in-law said.
“I don’t believe it. It’s you who’s too picky. I’ll see you soon. Not too much later, I hope.” Lei hung up and went to join Bunuelos in the interview room with Costa.
Costa was seated at the table with the public defender beside him. His shaved-bald head gleamed greasily, and his arms, revealed by a sleeveless shirt, were covered in tattoos of intricately coiled snakes with the faces of people as heads. He looked up at them from under bushy black brows.
“I’m Kent Haywood,” the PD said. “My client would like to make a statement.”
“Terrific.” Lei pushed a pen and pad over to the man, trying not to look too closely at the strange tattoos. “Perhaps he’d like to confess to killing Danielle Phillips, as well as shooting my partner?”
“I didn’t kill her.” Costa had a voice like driving a stretch of bad road. “But I know who did.”
“Yes,” Haywood piped up. “He has some information to trade for a reduced sentence.”
Lei looked at Bunuelos, who snorted. “You serious, man? You shot a cop and we have you cold on meth production and distribution. You’re getting hard time.”
“I know who did it,” Costa said. “I can give him to you.”
“We need a moment to confer with our commanding officer.” Lei tugged Bunuelos’s sleeve. Her temporary partner had sunk his teeth into the bad-cop role, though, and exchanged another long stink-eye stare with Costa.
Finally she got Bunuelos out into the hall. “The captain’s going to want to check with the DA on this. What’s got your panties in a bunch? Costa shot my partner, not yours.”
“Costa’s a scumbag. You know those kids we took in from the house in Ulupalakua? They’ve talked to the social worker, and Liz Black let me know today that, from what they’re telling the foster family they’re with, he was the uncle whose visits they hated the most.”
Lei felt her stomach lurch. Revulsion rose up to choke her. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Guy likes little kids.”
“I was better off not knowing that.” Old pain twisted Lei’s gut as she flashed to her own rape by her mother’s boyfriend at age nine. “So do you think we should bother trying to help him get a deal?”
“Let’s screw him over as best we can.” Bunuelos had an unfamiliar dark light in his brown eyes. “He shot Pono, cooks meth, and plays doctor with his niece and nephews. He deserves a lot more than he’s got coming to him.”
“Let’s sweat ’em a few more minutes, then. Meet you back here in five.” Lei headed for the break room, where she got a cold glass of water, sipping and breathing, her fingers touching the bone hook pendant around her throat. She was doing all she could for those kids by busting their uncle. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take them home, too.
She checked Stevens’s satellite phone. Still nothing. Frustrated, she pulled up her e-mail on her smartphone and at last saw a message from the recruiter at Security Solutions.
Dear Ms. Texeira,
Attached you will find a copy of your husband’s contract with our firm. As you will see, the terms and conditions are more than generous. Unfortunately, due to ongoing security concerns, we cannot disclose the area in which he is working, but we can confirm that it is in South America.
There is no regular communication schedule we can apprise you of. Many factors may interfere with communications, everything from weather to equipment malfunction. Our personnel are closely monitored in the field, so if there is some legitimate problem, you will receive prompt notification from our Oahu-based management team or armed-forces liaison.
Sincerely,
Clayborne Rumsfeld, VP of Field Operations, Security Solutions.
“What a crock of shit,” Lei muttered. Rage at Security Solutions coupled with anger at Costa powered her back into the interview room. She took a moment to check the recording feeds as Bunuelos rejoined her.
“We have an agreement,” Bunuelos lied carefully to Costa and the PD. Lei knew he was aware of being recorded and was making vague statements that sounded good. “Your testimony is an important part of this case, and we appreciate your cooperation.”
“It would be so great to be able to give you credit for helping solve the murder.” Lei tried some feminine charm as she divided a bright smile between the public defender and the surly fish poacher. “We know you were just defending yourself when you took that potshot at your residence.” She fluttered her eyelashes, sure she was laying it on too thick and feeling sick at schmoozing this pedophile—but when she looked up, Costa had settled back in his chair in a satisfied way. Haywood, preoccupied with a handheld tape recorder, had neglected to ask for the agreement in writing.
She and Bunuelos resumed their seats and Gerry led off. “So. What can you tell us about who killed Danielle Phillips?”
“I didn’t go out that day. To Molokini.” Costa jingled the handcuffs attached to the table in a way that let them know he didn’t like the restraints. “I loaned my boat to some—colleagues.”
“Colleagues,” Lei repeated.
“Yeah. The guys who actually catch and ship the fish off-island.” Costa went on to disclose the names of the other two men they’d picked up, currently in holding. “They came back in from diving that day, really agitated. Said they had to ‘shut down’ some woman who was taking pictures. I didn’t ask any questions.”
“So it didn’t occur to you that ‘shut down’ meant murder?” Bunuelos asked.
“I know when to ask questions and when to keep my mouth shut,” Costa snapped. “If you reduce my charges, I can tell you who said it.”
“We’ll have to check on that,” Bunuelos said. Again, the public defender failed to ask for proof of any of their agreements. The heads on the snakes on Costa’s right arm were those of his niece and nephews, the children she’d had taken to foster care. Lei stifled an inward shudder of horror and regret. Costa leaned forward, giving some sincere eye contact.
“The guys have a shipment going out tonight,” Costa said. “The fish you confiscated? They just went out and got more. They’ve already dropped them at the airport.” He gave them the airline and flight times. “They put the barrels, with bubblers and whatever the fish need, in crates. Then they air-ship the crates. These are going to LA. Lot of aquariums there.”
“Thanks,” Lei said. “You said you’d share the name of your friend who told you about ‘shutting down’ Danielle Phillips?”
He told them. Lei noted it on her tablet.
“And what is your
alibi for the time of the murder?”
“I don’t have one.” Costa spread his fingers. “I was tired from the other time I went out with the guys, so I passed on that run out to Molokini, like I said. I was at the house. Doing that other thing I do.” He smiled for the first time, and Lei winced at the state of his teeth.
“Well, we’ve got some actionable information here,” Bunuelos said. “And we’ll see you again at your arraignment.”
They left the public defender explaining the process. Lei flagged down a uniformed officer. “Can you book Costa into the jail? We have to do some more interviewing.”
Lei took a moment to call Mark Nunes as another officer fetched the man Costa had named. “We’ve got a lead on some poachers shipping fish out,” Lei said. “Can you intercept the shipment at the airport and take possession of the fish?”
“Of course.” Nunes’s voice was short and clipped. Lei remembered that the last time she’d seen him, she had him escorted to a cell on suicide watch. “Where and when?”
She told him and asked, “You okay, Mark?”
A pause. Finally, “I will be. Someday.”
“I’m sorry I had you spend the night in jail.”
“I’m glad you did. I don’t think it would have been a good idea for me to be driving by myself after hearing that news. I’m better now. Talking to the pastor at my church, and that’s helping. It feels good to do the work Lani loved so much.”
“I’m glad.” Lei said goodbye, feeling a little better about how Nunes was coping.
Emilio Rodriguez was a short, barrel-chested man with a crew cut. He hung his head as the officer clipped his handcuffs to the interview table. He’d been cooperative and unarmed when Lei and the team had captured him at the house.
“So tell us about Costa.” Lei hoped to point the man toward thinking the police were mostly interested in Costa. “What can you tell us about him?”
“Not ratting on my friend.” Rodriguez fisted his hands in the handcuffs.
Lei let a beat go by. “Funny. He had no such loyalty to you.”
Rodriguez looked up. Beads of sweat gleamed in his broad brown forehead. “What you say?”
“I mean that the reason we’re talking to you is that he told us to.”
Rodriguez’s jaw bunched. “I nevah believe you.”
Bunuelos narrowed his eyes and leaned in. “You had to shut someone down. Ring a bell?”
Rodriguez’s eyes flared wide. “Costa don’t know nothin’ about that!”
“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you tell us what he might have meant?” Lei said.
“I need a lawyer.”
“Probably. But not to tell us more about Costa,” Lei deflected smoothly. “How’d you get in with him, anyway?” She opened a folder that contained rap sheets for the men who’d been scooped up with Costa. “Says here you did a little time in juvie, had a burglary rap. But nothing serious like what we got on Costa—meth production and shooting a police officer. If he’s a friend, who needs enemies?” She gazed at Rodriguez sympathetically, head cocked to the side.
“T.J. always had an angle,” Rodriguez said. “Me and my cuz, we went to him when we needed a little work. He always had ideas.”
“Was it his idea to shut down this lady photographer out at Molokini?”
“No. It was my cuz.” Rodriguez, clearly not that bright, clapped a hand over his mouth. “I never said nothin’. I want my lawyer now.”
“Okay. If you want to play it like that, we’ll be here all evening,” Lei said. “When we could just clear up this misunderstanding and have you on your way.”
Rodriguez seemed to think this over. “I think I better get a lawyer no matter what.”
Lei and Bunuelos picked up their recording equipment and went into the hall. The young PD was just coming out of the other interview room.
“Got another customer for you.” Lei pushed the young man into the room.
She went into the observation booth and called Captain Omura on the phone from the dim, cool space. “Captain, I think we might have Danielle’s murderer.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The interview with Rodriguez resumed a half-hour later, with a more formal feel to it. The public defender kept clearing his throat, and Lei suspected he’d heard things he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle. She started off gentle, with a kind smile, sensing Rodriguez was a man who responded to a soft female approach.
“I’m sorry for the hassles Mr. Costa’s comments about you have caused,” Lei said. “Can I get either of you a glass of water? A snack?”
Rodriguez began to nod, but the lawyer shook his head. “No, thanks. We need to get going. I’ve advised my client it’s in his best interest not to comment further.”
“All right. Mr. Rodriguez, are you a friend of T. J. Costa?”
“Not anymore,” Rodriguez growled.
“I don’t blame you a bit,” Lei said. “So, according to your statements before, you went to Costa when you needed work. That’s how you met Costa, who is a known meth producer and fish poacher.”
Rodriguez nodded. The lawyer elbowed him, and he said, “No comment.”
“So you deny that T. J. Costa is a meth producer? Or a fish poacher?”
Rodriguez looked confused. “He’s both.”
“So it’s your testimony that you helped and assisted him in these illegal endeavors, including murder to cover it up?”
“No! I never did nothing! It was Keone!” Rodriguez burst out.
Lei kept a straight face. “Keone Perreira? Who we picked up at the same time as you?”
“Yeah. Keone, he shot the woman. But he my cuz, so I told him I would never say notting.” Rodriguez seemed to realize he’d just implicated his cousin and hung his head. “No comment.”
“It’s too late for that,” Lei said gently. “I’m so happy to hear you weren’t the one to murder a woman.” The delicate inflection implied anyone who did was less than a man. “You should tell your story. For the record. Just so no one gets the wrong idea, like that you were the one who did it.”
“Rodriguez, keep quiet!” the lawyer snapped, but Rodriguez was nodding like an automaton.
“She my cousin, too. Angie.”
“Angie is also a cousin?” An idea bloomed across Lei’s awareness. She dove into it like a hawk on a mouse. “Did Angie tell you to kill Danielle Phillips?”
“Not me. She told Keone. Keone more smart. But she said there would be a big payday for all of us if it was done.”
Lei addressed the lawyer now. “I know you want to keep him from talking at all, but we aren’t after him if he wasn’t the one to pull the trigger. We want the people whose idea this was in the first place.”
“Okay.” The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I expect concessions for Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Of course,” Bunuelos said. “We’ll give him the same kinds of concessions Mr. Costa is getting.”
Lei smiled grimly. “Exactly.” Costa wasn’t getting anything but maximum charges.
“Mr. Rodriguez, tell them what you know about the murder,” the lawyer instructed.
“Yes, Mr. Rodriguez,” Lei said. “I thought the woman was shot because she was taking pictures of you.”
“Yeah. And because my cuz said she needed fo’ go make.” The Hawaiian word for “die” sounded harsh in the man’s mouth. “Angie told my other cuz that other girl was going be out there, and make sure she never came back. And if we did, was going to be one good payday for us all.”
“So then what happened?”
“We went out like usual. Was early on Molokini. No tourists out there yet, so we was catching some fish. And sure enough, the girl, she come. My cuz, he saw her taking pictures. He chased her. He shot her.” Rodriguez hung his head. “You not going tell him I told you notting, right?”
“Of course. I won’t say a word.” Lei was all sweetness.
“So then we get back.” Rodriguez picked at a thread on his sleeve. “Keone, he call Angie a
nd he say, ‘It’s done. She’s gone.’ We take the fish to Costa. I tell Costa we had to shut someone down, but Keone, he slap my head outside fo’ tell.”
“Not another word, Mr. Rodriguez,” Haywood said. The man hung his head.
“Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez.” Lei stood. They needed to find this mysterious Angie. “Your lawyer will advise you of the process. You’re going to jail to await your arraignment.”
She and Bunuelos left Rodriguez agitated and arguing with Haywood. Lei felt almost sorry for the young public defender.
“One more to go.” Lei gestured the SWAT officer to bring their last suspect.
Lei and Bunuelos sat with truculent Keone Perreira, a younger, meaner-looking version of Rodriguez. The man picked at his filthy nails and wouldn’t make eye contact.
“No comment,” he responded to all of their questions. “I want a lawyer.”
Lei rolled her eyes and got up to call. She and Bunuelos grabbed a quick bite of drive-through fast food and returned while they waited for another public defender to arrive. This one turned out to be blond and young, with too short a skirt.
“Leslie Fogarty.” The blonde handed them a card, embossed like a real estate agent’s with her name and a smiling photo of her face. “Where’s my client?”
They directed Fogarty to the interview room. Behind the observation mirror, the two of them ate their Burger King meals while watching.
“I really need to learn to read lips.” Lei sucked a long draft of root beer.
“I already can.” Bunuelos stirred a fry into a dab of ketchup on his burger wrapper. “‘Oh, my, what dirty nails and big tattoos you have,’” he said in a falsetto voice, imitating Fogarty. “‘You must be guilty of murder. Tell the nice detectives everything.’”
“We wish,” Lei said. “But if Costa and Rodriguez are right, we are looking at the murderer.”