by Toby Neal
Once they exited and got back on the road to the Kahului Station, Stevens addressed his partner again. “Can you put these papers in the file and run a background on André Métier, the cousin? Let’s find this guy. In the meantime, I have to call the financial planner. He’s in France.”
“Sure, LT.” Mahoe appeared to be making an effort to rally, infusing his voice with energy. “I’m on it.”
Stevens’s shared office with Kathy Fraser was on the administrative third floor, a spacious room that could be used for trainings. They’d shoved a third desk for Mahoe between his and Kathy’s. Mahoe loaded the papers into the file’s case jacket and booted up his computer. “I’ll start looking for the cousin with a DMV search.”
A tasteful, gaily wrapped package waited on Stevens’s desk. A small tag on it declared, Best to the family. Love, Kathy.
Lei hadn’t mentioned Kathy attending the shower and bringing a gift—she would have if Kathy had been there. He just wanted them all to be friends, but the tension between Lei and Kathy must still be there if his ex-partner hadn’t attended the shower. But maybe Kathy’d just been away from the office. He could hope that was the case. After their more friendly exchange on the phone today, he was in the mood to hope. “More loot for the baby.” Stevens kept his voice light as he moved the package to the floor.
“Don’t know where you folks are going to put all that stuff,” Mahoe remarked, eyes on his monitor. “Babies sure need a lot of crap.”
“You have no idea.” Stevens sat and dialed the number he’d retrieved from the victim’s home office. “Hello? Is Monsieur Raveaux available?” He identified himself and the urgent nature of his inquiry.
The financial adviser came on the line after a short wait. “How can I help you, Detective?” an accented voice asked.
“Lieutenant,” Stevens corrected him. “Monsieur Raveaux, I’ve had our office fax you the death certificate and a warrant for the records of our murder victim, François Métier. I hope you’ve received them?”
“Yes, we have the documents and our legal department is reviewing them. I’m happy to assist. So sorry to hear of this tragic loss.”
“Thanks for your cooperation. Tell me about Métier’s income. How much was it monthly?”
“He received a quarterly percentage of his investment’s gains. Right now that has been particularly strong, with the rebound of the economy. I believe it’s in the area of two hundred thousand U.S. dollars.”
Stevens whistled. “Quarterly?”
“Yes. Quarterly.”
So Métier wouldn’t have had to curtail his spending long to start his own restaurant. Which meant his job at Feast had been strictly to gain experience under a brilliant chef, in order to take his recipes—and perhaps his wife? With that kind of financial clout, Métier might easily have been able to afford to lure Elena Noriega away from her abusive husband by offering her a comfy nest to land in with her child. And if Winston Noriega knew of Métier’s intentions, he’d have had a motive as old as man’s possessiveness.
“We are looking for reasons someone might have wanted to kill Métier. I know you may not have known him, but do you have any information that might be helpful?”
The man considered. Finally, “Yes. Were you aware of the Bukowski Group?”
Stevens’s attention, which had wandered back to his computer screen, sharpened. He refocused on the yellow legal pad he was using to take notes. “That name is familiar.”
“The Bukowski Group is a coalition of more distant relatives of the Métiers. They’ve come together to try to break the Métier Trust and claim a portion of the profits, citing an illegal squeeze out from jointly owned lands by the Métier parents. The case is still making its way through the French courts.”
Stevens wrote Sage Bukowski on his pad and underlined it. “That’s very interesting and useful. Anything else you can think of, give me a call.” He left his information and hung up.
Mahoe looked over at him. “I can’t find anyone named André Métier in the DMV records.”
“Well, he’s a French national. Maybe he’s living under another name, or hasn’t established residency here. We’ll have to keep looking.” Stevens frowned. Concentrating had brought a familiar fog of pain. “Let’s take a break and get some food.”
“I’ve got to go out to get something. Need anything, LT? I’m going to Taco Bell.”
“Nah, brought something from home.” Stevens waited until Mahoe had left, then closed the door of the office. He moved his office chair out from behind his desk and took two powerful pain pills, swallowing them with a whole bottle of water. He pulled one of Lei’s yoga mats, tightly rolled, from beneath his desk, unrolled it, and lay down. On his back, eyes shut, he did some of the breathing Dr. Wilson had taught him, willing his mind to relax and the tension gripping his temples to let go.
He was missing some vital piece of information on this investigation. There was a thread connecting all these separate pieces, and though circumstance and motive pointed to Noriega, he still wasn’t feeling it.
Someone else had slid that knife between Métier’s ribs.
Chapter Thirteen
Kathy
Kathy
Kathy tested the door of the office—it was locked, though the light was on inside. She dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. She was brought up short by the sight of a pair of long legs in blue jeans lying on the carpet, protruding beyond the end of her ex-partner’s desk.
“Stevens?” He didn’t answer, but she heard a soft snore as she came around the corner of the desk to make sure he was okay.
Stevens was taking a nap, stretched out on a purple yoga mat. One arm was draped over his eyes, the other alongside his body. He must be really wiped out—she’d never seen him crash like that at work before. The brightly colored wrapping of her baby shower present was just visible beside Stevens’s foot. Kathy tiptoed back to her desk and hung her backpack on the coat rack. As her computer booted up, she smiled, remembering her coffee date with Jared.
They’d arrived at Wailuku Coffee Company from their separate workplaces at five. She’d still been wearing her uniform, but had left her jacket in the car so she could look more casual. Jared met her in the line to order coffee. He’d just showered and smelled of something lemony and fresh. Comb tracks showed in his dark hair. His eyes were very blue, a shade darker than his brother’s.
“Glad you could make it.” He had a great smile.
“Me too. Long day. Wish I’d had time to take a shower.” Kathy made a gesture to his clean shirt and wet hair.
“I had to. Tromping around through ash and debris is downright toxic. We have regulations about tracking that around outside of a burn site—and it helps to have a shower at the firehouse.” He pointed to the order board. “Why don’t you grab us a table and I’ll order?”
“Sure. I’ll have a latte.” Kathy found them a corner table in the dimly lit café, enjoying the vintage Hawaiiana collectibles on the walls as she looked around. Seated, she undid the top two buttons on her plain white blouse, loosened her hair from its ponytail, fluffing it, and touched up her lipstick nervously.
Jared wended his way through the tables with the coffees on a tray. He moved differently from his brother—Stevens had a rangy grace, his strides long, carrying his arms loose. Jared moved quickly and tightly, with the panache of a matador. He set the tray on the table.
“You look amazing. What lady magic did you do since I saw you five minutes ago?”
Great way with a compliment—also not like his brother. She needed to stop comparing the two; clearly they were very different.
“Lady magic—I like that. Thank you.” Kathy took her latte and he set the tray aside, sitting down with a cappuccino. “Stevens told me you were a smooth talker.”
His brows lowered. “Don’t listen to everything my brother says about me.”
Kathy sipped her coffee. This was a chance to find out more about the brothers’ relationship. S
he couldn’t resist probing that sensitive spot a little more. “So what does he say about you?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” Jared avoided her eyes, tinkling his spoon in his cappuccino.
“All right. He says you’re a player with the ladies, but he also says you’re great at your job and a hard worker. From him, that’s a compliment. Also told me you love cats. Collect anything to do with them.” Kathy wiggled her brows playfully. “Perhaps that part was my embellishment.”
“Embellish away.” His triangular grin brought out strong cheekbones. He was almost too handsome. “I actually do like cats.” He dug in his pocket and brought out his key ring, holding it out to her. A steel beer opener in the shape of Catwoman flaunted outrageous metal curves in his palm. She felt a tingle—it looked so sexy in his hand
What would his hand look like on her?
Kathy felt her cheeks warm. “Well, I guess she is a cat.”
“Yeah. As to the player thing.” Jared slid the keys into the pocket of his jeans and rubbed the back of his neck. He caught her eye. “I’ve just been waiting to meet the right woman.”
Kathy looked at the wall, the floor, anywhere but at him. “Ha. Sounds like a line.”
“Thought you might think that, and it’s fine. I’m prepared to prove myself.” His voice was low and sincere. She could feel his gaze on her face.
“Don’t exert yourself on my account.” Kathy finally looked at him then, her own gaze as tough as she could make it. “I need a man about as much as Catwoman does.”
“Ha! I know that bottle opener’s a little sexist, but it’s sentimental. Stevens gave it to me when I was sixteen. Couple of years after our dad died. He was eighteen, had left for the Marines. He sent it to me from overseas where he found it in some trinket shop. Don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” Jared rubbed the back of his neck again.
“No. It helps.” She had a feeling he hadn’t told that story often. She took a big swig of her latte, burning her throat, and coughed. He pounded her back helpfully. When that awkward moment had passed, he asked, “So, what brought you to Maui?”
“Oh, the usual.” Kathy smiled, on more comfortable ground. “I’m from Michigan. I came here with a friend on vacation and fell in love with the weather, the beauty. I’d been working as an officer in Detroit since college. I applied online for an opening in the Maui Police Department. The rest is history.”
She wasn’t ready to tell him about her partner being shot in a random drive-by when they were on patrol, and how that had spurred her move. She still couldn’t talk about it without choking up. She’d tell him someday, if there ever was a someday, when she trusted him.
She heard his story, complete with anecdotes about growing up with Stevens in LA, and they’d ordered sandwiches for dinner, finally leaving when the place shut down at nine.
Not a bad first date. She’d found him funny, articulate, and intelligent. They were going out again as soon as they could make their schedules work.
Stevens sat up slowly behind the desk. She peeked over at him. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“How long was I out?” He groaned, rubbing his hands through his hair, leaving a disorderly mass of tufts as he got up and sat in his chair. “Mahoe should be here any minute.”
“You were sleeping when I got in ten minutes ago.”
“Long day yesterday. And today. Listen, I’ve got a serious lead on something to do with Sage Bukowski.”
He was telling her about the twists in the Métier case when the door opened and Brandon Mahoe returned, carrying two Taco Bell bags.
“Brought you something, LT.” Mahoe set one of the bags on Stevens’s desk. “I know you didn’t bring anything from home.”
Stevens looked up at his protégé for a long moment. “You might end up being a decent detective after all, Mahoe.” He socked the young man in the arm, making him stagger. “Thanks.”
Kathy let Stevens munch through a taco before she asked, “Want me to go back out and talk to Sage again? See if he’s part of this Bukowski Group?”
“Well, given his distinctive name, I think it’s a foregone conclusion that he’s a part of the group,” Stevens said. “But I think we need more info before we talk to him, and that’s a conversation I’d like to have myself. With Mahoe.”
“Of course.” Kathy turned back to her monitor, feeling rebuffed, and addressed her screen. “Let me know if I can help on anything further.”
“Will do.” He softened his tone. “Really appreciate how you’ve pitched in here, Kath. With Elena and Bukowski.”
“Anytime.” Her shoulders loosened—he wasn’t just blowing her off. She liked that he was back to calling her Kath.
She focused on her e-mail inbox, trying not to eavesdrop, as the two men began discussing the case and Métier’s phone logs, which revealed a lot of calls to Elena but only a few names that might be male friends.
“I don’t think he confided in a lot of people,” Mahoe speculated. “He seems to have had a plan he was executing and keeping pretty secret.”
“Right,” Stevens agreed. “The captain said we needed to find out who he was going to propose to, and while we’ve now uncovered some financial motive for the mysterious cousin, we’re not any closer to knowing who that ring was for.”
Kathy’s cell rang. She pulled it from the holster on her belt and greeted the caller. “Elena!”
Both Stevens and Mahoe looked up. She stood and wended her way around the desk to step outside the office for a little privacy, aware as she did so of the trickiness of divided loyalties. “What’s happening?”
“I need your help,” Elena whispered. “I need to leave Winston. I’m afraid he’s going to kill me.”
Kathy’s heart jumped in alarm. “Where are you?” She headed for the lounge in the corner of the floor, wanting to get away from prying ears. “Are you safe?”
“Yes. He’s at work, and I am home with Nicola.” Their three-year-old was a sweetheart, and Kathy loved being called “Aunty” by the little girl. “He got home from the police station last night just crazy.”
“How crazy? Did he hit you?”
“Yes. He was so angry about François and me. He found out from the detectives. I swore I’d be faithful from now on, that it was never anything serious to me. He hit me, not too bad, not the worst it’s been . . . but I realized, with François gone, life is short . . . he’s at work now, and I’m just . . . ” Elena broke into sobs.
“Pack a bag for you and Nicola. I’ll get you into the Women Helping Women shelter. Just grab what you need right now, get in the car, and meet me at the Starbucks by the mall. The shelter is in a confidential location, but I’ll lead you there and make sure they’re ready for you.”
“Are you sure he can’t find me there?”
“Yes. It’s a hidden site with security. It’ll give you time to figure out what you want to do, at the very least.”
“All right. I’ll meet you in forty-five minutes.” Elena ended the call decisively.
“What’s going on?” Stevens stood in the doorway, looking concerned, as she returned to the office.
“Elena’s finally leaving Winston. He beat her last night after he got home from your interview.” Anger warmed Kathy’s cheeks. “Didn’t it occur to you that he’d do something like that if he found out about her affair?”
“It did. I warned him we were watching him. Damn, I’m sorry to hear that. Is she okay?”
“No, not really. I’m getting her out of there and into the shelter.” Kathy brushed past him, already calling the Women Helping Women hotline as she walked to her desk.
Stevens followed as Kathy described the situation to the social worker, preparing them for Elena and her daughter’s arrival. Still on the phone, she shut down her computer and packed paperwork into her briefcase. Kathy ended the call and turned to Mahoe and Stevens.
“Find a way to nail Winston Noriega,” she said. “I don’t care how you do it. Just get it don
e. That man needs to be locked up.”
Chapter Fourteen
Stevens
Stevens drove through the bumper-to-bumper commuter traffic along Hana Highway through Paia Town. He’d consulted with the captain, who hadn’t wanted him to pick up Chef Noriega until they’d had an in person verification on Elena’s attack.
While he and Brandon waited for Kathy to let them know that Elena was safe and settled at the shelter, they’d gone down to the lab and processed the items they’d picked up at Métier’s apartment.
They’d also revisited the trace picked up on and around the body. None of it pointed to anyone in particular. The epithelial sample under Métier’s nails had been too small to process. Hairs on and around the rubber mat had gone back to a variety of restaurant staff, all of who would have legitimate reasons to be in the walk-in.
Kathy had called, saying that Elena was ready to talk, and since the shelter was on his way home, Stevens had dismissed Mahoe for the night and headed out alone. Once at the modest, anonymous home housing the shelter, he’d bitten back a curse at the sight of Elena’s swollen face and black eye.
“I’m so sorry. I thought warning your husband and moving ahead with charges would be enough to rein him in.”
“Winston just doesn’t know his own strength, and he’s so stressed out right now.” Elena’s puffy, split lip impaired her speech.
“Pick that bastard up!” Kathy’s eyes flashed as she put an arm around her friend.
“It’s a separate case, unfortunately. Captain said to get him tomorrow. Do you want to file a restraining order?” Stevens asked Elena.
“And keep Winston from seeing his daughter? He’d kill me.” Elena covered her mouth with a hand, blinking in distress. “I didn’t mean that literally.”
“Elena! You don’t owe him shit. He’s lost the privilege of being a parent!” He had left Kathy remonstrating with her friend, and now it was past time to get home, have dinner, and hold his wife.