Paradise Crime Box Set 4

by Toby Neal

  Lei let a breath out in a whoosh. “That’s good.”

  “But paying the ransom is a last resort,” Westbrook said. “We have to try other means to get the men back first. Our policy is not to negotiate with terrorists.”

  “Are these terrorists?”

  Westbrook cleared his throat, apparently deciding he’d told her too much. “I’ll keep you further informed as I’m able.” He hung up abruptly.

  Lei wanted to swear and throw the phone. Instead, she pressed Call Back to Westbrook’s number. It rang and rang and then went dead. No voice mail.

  No way to do anything about any of it.

  Lei walked up and down the hall, getting herself under control before she returned to the morgue. Westbrook hadn’t had to disclose anything to her, really. If she antagonized him, he’d simply cut her off.

  But Lei knew someone who could find out just about anything about anybody, anywhere. She wasn’t out of options yet. Lei marched back to the sally port leading into the morgue.

  Dr. Gregory had unlocked the door for her, and she joined him at his desk. She was relieved to see he’d taken off the blood-spattered rubber apron and gloves. Today’s aloha shirt was emblazoned with cartoon cats wearing leis. He eyed the skull on his desk with an expression of delight.

  “You bring me the best presents.” He had a lopsided grin. Lei heard Tanaka give a snort from the other side of the shoji screen. “Where’d you dig this up?”

  “It wasn’t dug up. At least that’s not how we got it.” Lei opened the Ziploc bag, and Dr. Gregory, gloved up, removed the skull and set it on the plastic bag. “It washed down one of the streams in Hana and was discovered in a pile of driftwood. Captain Omura thinks it’s probably old, so she didn’t call out the cavalry on it.”

  “Yes. It’s old, but not that old.” Dr. Gregory picked up the skull, turning it gently. “This red-brown color is staining picked up from the soil in the area where it was buried. If it were older than five years or so, the bone would be more porous.” Dr. Gregory turned the bone back and forth. The skull looked small in his hands, the eye sockets empty and staring. “I’d say a male, aged ten or so. This fracture—don’t think that was cause of death. It looks fresh.” He turned on the gooseneck lamp on his desk, aimed the light at the break in the rounded front of the skull. Picked up a loupe and gazed at the cracked area. “See how the interior of the bone is white inside the crack? You can see where the soil staining ends and the break begins. If this were premortem, the coloration would be the same inside the broken area.”

  “So this may not have even been a homicide,” Lei said.

  “Right. The captain’s a savvy lady. I’m guessing she took a look and knew that right off.”

  “Okay. Anything else you can tell me?”

  He weighed the skull in his hand thoughtfully. “I can send a bone sample to Oahu for dating.”

  “That would be great. In the meantime, I’ll take a trip out to Hana and talk to the woman who brought it in.” Lei stood. “Can I leave it with you?”

  “Sure thing. I have a special storage drawer for bones.” Dr. Gregory pulled out a toe tag. He labeled it, John Doe male skull approx. aged 10, Hana, added the date, and put the tag in the Ziploc with the skull. “I’ll keep him for you.”

  “Thanks. We’re in between big cases, so this is a good time for me to try to find out a little more about this artifact. Call me when you get the dating back.”

  “Will do.” Dr. Gregory was already wielding a handheld bone cutter that reminded Lei uncomfortably of pruning shears, snipping off a bit of bone from near the occipital cavity.

  What a small, tender neck that would have been, attached to that delicate sphere of bone. The pathos of it shuddered through her. Children were so vulnerable.

  “Thanks again.” Lei let herself back out of the morgue and took the elevator to the ground floor. The hospital was built on a hill, so it commanded a fine view of the town, the ocean, cruise ships in the harbor, and the imposing blue-purple bulk of Haleakala across the valley. Once outside, she took some deep breaths of the fresh air blowing up from the direction of the ocean.

  It felt like wasted effort to run down the woman who’d found the skull of a cold case that might not even be a homicide, when somewhere in Central America, her husband was in danger.

  She had time for an important phone call. Lei got into her truck and called Sophie Ang. A friend since Lei’s FBI days, the computer tech expert was never short of ways to get at things that seemed impossible.

  “Lei! I heard from Marcella what happened to Stevens!”

  “Yeah.” Lei felt her throat close. Relief swept through her that she wasn’t going to have to explain. The three women were close, but her FBI friends Marcella and Sophie lived near each other on Oahu, and so were able to spend more time together. “I have to call her, see how the baby’s doing.”

  “He’s doing great. Marcella says Jonas put on weight before they even left the hospital.”

  “When I met him he appeared to be figuring out breastfeeding just fine.” Lei pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d flown over to Oahu and gone to the hospital for the occasion of her friend’s delivery. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you when I was there. I barely saw baby Jonas before I got the news about Stevens and needed to get home.”

  “I understand. I’d hoped you might call, to see if I could do anything to help.”

  “You read my mind.” Lei took a breath, blew it out. “Security Solutions. What do you know about them?”

  “A lot, as a matter of fact. They’ve got an office here in Honolulu.”

  “Well, that’s the outfit Michael was working for. Westbrook, the army liaison who informed me, called me today to tell me they’d received a ransom demand.” Lei filled her friend in on the little she knew. “I tried to get some leave authorized to do my own investigation, maybe go over there and help, but I got shut down. Westbrook won’t even tell me what country he was in, and the captain wouldn’t authorize my leave. So I was wondering if there was anything you could do to—find him. Where he is. What’s going on.”

  “Definitely. I think it’s interesting that the army is liaising with the families and not the company.”

  “I’m guessing it’s to provide an extra layer of ‘don’t hassle us for information,’” Lei said. “Westbrook seems like an okay guy. He probably told me more than he should have. I did get a satellite phone, supposedly issued by the company. Want the number?”

  “Absolutely. I can track the carrier and more with that.”

  “I won’t ask how you’re gonna do that.” Lei smiled.

  “Better not to. But before I start getting into all this—and trust me when I tell you, it’s not going to be authorized access—what’s your goal with this? You aren’t planning to go over there and do something crazy, like that other trip. Are you?”

  That other trip. It was always going to haunt her.

  “No. I can’t lose my job, and the captain isn’t giving me the time off. Not to mention, I have a son who needs at least one parent who’s willing to stick around.” Lei couldn’t help the bitterness that had crept into her voice.

  “Oh, Lei. I’m so sorry this has happened. Really.” Sophie’s slightly husky voice was soft. “I know you’ll forgive Michael when he’s back and safe. You know he loves you and Kiet. He must have had his reasons.”

  “I don’t have to understand them or like them, especially now that this has happened,” Lei said. “So what’s my goal? I want to know all that I can about his operation. Where he is. What they were doing there. And mainly, if there’s anything more that can be done to get him back. If there is, then I want to be in a position to make it happen.”

  “That I can understand,” Sophie said. “I’ll check back in with you as soon as I’ve got something.”

  “Thanks so much, my friend.”

  Lei heard the smile in the tech’s voice as Sophie said, “Right back atcha, girlfriend,” in a tone that told Lei she m
eant it, even while making fun of the Americanism. Sophie was half Thai and had grown up overseas, immigrating to the United States when she became an agent.

  Lei ended the call and got on the long, winding road toward Hana.

  Chapter Five

  I sat up in the dark and ate the ball of rice. Drank more water. Lay back down and rested. Lying there in the dark, afraid to fall asleep, I reviewed the first days in camp.

  Sitting in the orientation briefing with the other private contractors under a big canvas tent, I’d positioned myself near Major Forsythe. He took a spot at a battered metal stand that served as a podium and pulled down a large map from a metal roll.

  “We’re here.” He used a laser pointer to highlight a squiggly line on a large topographical map. “We’re in Honduras, in this area. This line here is the Río Coco River. On the other side of this river is Nicaragua. We’re inland about five miles from the river, and we are a ways off from the capital of Honduras, Tegucigalpa. Our mission here is to train the local police in investigation techniques and support the Drug Enforcement Agency in efforts to prevent drugs from entering the United States.”

  “I was told I was training U.S. troops on computer security and investigation,” Carrigan said. I was glad he was the one to open his mouth. I’d had a whole different idea about the gig, too. I smacked a mosquito that had found an uncovered spot on my arm. The pay that had seemed outrageous back on Maui might not be enough.

  “You are training our troops. This is a joint operation. We’re working with the local Honduran police, whose cooperation the U.S. government is interested in keeping, as well as our own MPs stationed in nearby countries. Perhaps you could let me get through the briefing before you ask any more questions?”

  Carrigan had the nerve to lean back and flap his hand in a “go-on” gesture. Forsythe swung back to his map.

  “We’re going to be doing operations in and around the jungle here. Michael Stevens is in charge of basic investigation techniques, including evidence collection and processing. Ed Carrigan is in charge of phone surveillance and online investigation. Pat Smithers is in charge of interrogation techniques. Brad Falconer, you’re in charge of survival skills, search and seizure, and capture of targets. Each of you will have a tent, much like this one, set up for your daily classes. There will be three rounds of class per day, and you’ll each be provided an interpreter for the Honduran investigators in your group. Questions?”

  There were many, but I didn’t ask any, preferring to extend my legs and rock my chair back a bit as I took it all in, fingers laced over my belly. It didn’t matter really. I had six months of this to get through, and asking questions, not to mention arguing, was just an illusion of control.

  The upshot was that we had two days to set up our instruction areas before the Honduran police and our U.S. trainees arrived and the program got going.

  I was billeted in a tent with Falconer, a large and silent black man. He immediately set up a workout area in the corner of our tent, filling up a portable plastic weight set with water, and a computer area in the other corner, with a space-age laptop powered by a small solar battery source, which he set up on the roof of the tent.

  “You can tap in, if you like,” was the extent of his conversation. I was glad. I didn’t feel like talking either. I took him up on the offer, plugging my laptop into the power strip he ran off the solar battery even though the tent had electricity from the ever-rumbling generator out by the mess tent.

  Lei had sent me a text asking me to call. I walked outside for a little privacy to call her back, but when I tried, the satellite phone wouldn’t connect.

  That first night was long, even under that white veil of sanity, mosquito netting, which our cots were covered with. The sounds of the jungle outside, the relentless humidity, the screeches and cries of unseen animals, darkness that felt thick as paste—all of it, and the last nip off my flask, combined to make the night seem endless.

  Just as it did now in my storage-shed prison.

  It wasn’t even night yet. I picked at the rope tied to my wrist for something to do. Even if I got it off, the door was probably locked. I chewed on the knot, but I still wasn’t sure of the best strategy to escape. More than likely we were all being held for ransom and the best thing to do was wait for payoff and rescue. Where would I go in this jungle, when the map I’d seen the first day, with its wiggly lines, was the only idea I had of where I was?

  And yet I still picked at the knot. The rope was cheap hemp with a fuzzy natural fiber feel to it. Using my teeth, I had it off before long. I was still racked with periodic shivers from the fever, but I felt stronger having eaten the rice ball.

  It couldn’t hurt to explore the storage shed, get a good sense of where I was being held. I rolled carefully onto my side and up onto my hands and knees. My clothing had dried, stiff with mud from the pit, but at least it no longer caused a wet chill, aggravating my illness.

  I stayed on my hands and knees to explore the shed, swinging my arms slowly as I crawled, feeling my way around the different objects in the shed. I reached one of the walls and felt around the bottom.

  As I had suspected, the wall was embedded several inches in the dirt, probably to keep the copious rain, which mercifully seemed to have stopped, from oozing in underneath the wall.

  I tested the area where the door was, a faint line of light.

  Locked, of course. There were two sides to the door, and rust was definitely impinging the hinges. I pushed, and the doors bowed out slightly but held, even when I put all my weight on them.

  No surprise there.

  The exploration had wiped me out. I crawled back to my pallet and clumsily replaced the rope, looser this time, and curled up to sleep.

  I managed to get some hours of sleep before I woke up screaming. I didn’t think it was close to morning, because with my eyes open, I still could hardly see a hand held in front of my face.

  I kept seeing things moving at the corners of my vision. I was pretty sure they were hallucinations, but there was a weird fluidity to them, like they were snakes undulating down the walls.

  Closing my eyes didn’t help. I still saw them. So I opened them again. This time, a tiny light fluttered around my pallet. The light seemed to intensify, coalescing into a glowing object that danced around the darkness like a grave light.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I eased myself up into a sitting position, leaning my back against the metal wall on one side, drawing my knees up.

  The glowing bug, moth, or whatever it was landed on the edge of my blanket near my feet. It rested there a moment. I blinked, looking at it.

  Probably some sort of bioluminescent insect.

  It swelled, expanding, its intense greenish yellow light spreading and dimming, and it seemed to be the shape of a woman. I could see through her to the far wall, and her features were blurry—but I recognized her anyway. I knew that petite, slender shape, the outline of hair long enough to brush her hips as she knelt.

  My ex-wife, Anchara. Kiet’s murdered mother.

  At least she wasn’t covered with blood in this hallucination. I raised a hand to rub my eyes, refocusing them.

  She was still there.

  “What are you doing here?” I must be dreaming. She didn’t answer. The expression on her translucent face was sad.

  “I am releasing you.” Anchara’s voice was a rustling whisper that sounded like wind in the tops of the trees, but I understood her perfectly. “I was angry. I thought it wasn’t fair, what happened, that you got to raise our son. I didn’t go when I was supposed to. But now I see that driving you mad has led you here to an unsafe place, and our son needs you.”

  I blinked repeatedly. It felt unnatural because my eyes were open so wide. My mouth had fallen open, too. “You aren’t real. You’re a hallucination. You’re dead.”

  The rain started up again on top of the metal roof, just a gentle patter. Anchara was still there, even after I rubbed my eyes. “You’ve bee
n haunting me? Why?”

  “Because you lived, and I didn’t,” she said. “It wasn’t fair.”

  The hairs rose all over my body, but I controlled the urge to back as far away from her as I could. There was nowhere to go with my back against the wall, and she’d already done her worst in my dreams.

  “You won’t see me again. I forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself.” Anchara looked right at me then, a feeling like a searchlight passing over me. She faded, wavering in the air. The luminescence that had spread to assume her shape contracted back down to a moth, and it fluttered around the space.

  My eyes couldn’t stop tracking it. It was going somewhere, flitting and darting, bright as a flashlight in the total darkness. I tugged at the loose knot on my wrist and got it undone, and followed the glowing insect as it flitted into one of the corners of the shed and disappeared.

  It had gotten out somehow.

  I was probably still dreaming or hallucinating. I kept waiting to wake up as I made my way to the corner where I’d last seen the flying glow-bug, and felt my way up the wall.

  The moth had disappeared through a sort of window or ventilation hatch, a simple square opening with a metal shutter hanging down over it. And when I pushed, that metal shutter wasn’t locked.

  My mind raced. I could get out. Maybe I could free the men in the pit. Maybe I could find my way…to where?

  This was nuts. I was probably dreaming the whole damn thing.

  But the patter of rain hadn’t stopped, and the metal under my hand felt cool and sharp. I should have woken by now. If it was a dream, it was the most realistic one yet.

  I pushed the shutter outward slowly, looking around. The shed butted up against a wall of dark, dripping trees. A sliver of moon barely lit the area enough to see anything, but fluttering and dipping, deep into the shadows, was the glowing moth that might have been Anchara.

  Maudene Yamaguchi peered at Lei through a screen door green with mold. Split coconuts in wire hangers, sprouting orchid plants, bracketed the doorway. “What you like?” The old woman’s voice sounded like a rocking chair on a wooden porch.