Broken Ferns (Lei Crime ) (7 page)

“We were just looking into that, too. A hundred twenty-five miles is far enough to fly to Maui,” Lei said. “He could escape Oahu.”

“It would be very dangerous,” Gundersohn said. “There are strong winds; it’s all ocean to cross.”

“And the maximum height the plane can go is ten thousand feet.” Ang’s eyes were still on her screen as her fingers flew. “I’m not getting anything useful off this blog post.”

“This is probably a kid. He might not realize what he’s taking on. He might not know how dangerous it is.” Lei pictured the tiny craft bucking its way across that long hundred miles.

Ang was still working her keyboard but took a second to look up at Lei through the black bangs of a pixie cut. “What makes you think it’s a kid? You sound sympathetic.”

“I don’t know for sure that it’s a kid, but I think so. We haven’t had time to fill you in on all we’ve pulled together on the unsub.” Lei produced her spiral notebook, earning an amused glance from Marcella, who was always after her to switch to using her smartphone. “We have four possibles with motive and negative history with Max Smiley and Paradise. They’re aged seventeen to early twenties, and Ken and I think the attitude, the graffiti, and the theft of the dog point to someone young and at least a little impulsive.”

“Agent Scott, take notes for us please,” Waxman said. Lei spotted Marcella’s tiny eye roll; Marcella’s theory about why he always picked her to take notes was that the SAC liked her ass to provide visual entertainment for meetings.

They all looked at Marcella’s rounded behind as she turned her back to the group, picked up a marker, and uncapped it. She reached high to write TOM BLACKMAN, TYSON REZENTS, KIMO MATTHEWS, and LEHUA KINOSHITA on the boards as Lei read the names off to her, jotting down details under each as Lei and Ken elaborated.

Lei didn’t see the appeal—Marcella’s ass was round and high, but a little big, in Lei’s opinion. Why just look at that, when one of her friend’s top buttons had come undone, hinting at some truly stunning cleavage? Lei felt a pang of envy—it was hard to look at any part of Marcella without staring.

“So what else?” Marcella asked, gesturing with the pen.

“We think Blackman has the strongest motive,” Ken said. “He’s got a record, he has an attitude, and he was fired for threats against Smiley. Haven’t found him yet, though—he doesn’t appear to have an address. Kimo Matthews already has an arrest warrant out, and we bumped that to a priority BOLO.”

Marcella jotted the information. Her white shirt rode up and exposed a patch of golden skin at her tiny waist. Maybe Marcella’s butt wasn’t really that big—it just seemed that way contrasted with her small waist and those full breasts. This was not a problem Lei would ever have, with her slim hips and B-cup bra size.

Lei bit the inside of her cheek. She’d never worried about her attractiveness, hardly noticing herself in the context of other women before—she’d been too busy surviving. Since when did she care that other women were prettier?

Maybe since her ex married a gorgeous Thai girl.

Lei’s mind provided a mental picture of Anchara’s tiny, round butt with that long black hair swishing over it, so long it touched the backs of her thighs. Lei pinched herself viciously through her pants to stop the mental torture, and her hand crept into her pocket to rub the white-gold disc—but that only reminded her of her loss.

She yanked her hand out of her pocket.
Focus on the case, Texeira!
“Tyson Rezents is only seventeen years old. Until this morning, when he didn’t show up for work, he was an employee of Paradise Air.” Lei filled them in on the connections they’d made on Rezents so far.

Ken gestured to Lei. “Tell the group why you think he’s good for this.” He was giving her an opportunity in front of the group to expand on the ideas she’d been working.

“Rezents has had a rough deal. Mom’s a druggie and a prostitute. He’s been in and out of foster care, and he’s got a chip on his shoulder about the wealthy. I saw a Facebook page with a lot of rants about the ‘one percent,’ and I notice that’s in the blog caption.”

“Here it is.” Ang had been busy. Her screen popped up next to Waxman’s. Rezents’s Facebook page looked like it had been edited. She didn’t see the political cartoons she’d spotted before, and the rhetoric had been purged.

“That’s not what it looked like when I first saw it,” Lei said.

“Agent Ang, spend some time on each of these suspects, work up some in-depth background. Also, see if you can put some kind of trace on that website, see where it came from and when our unsub uploads to it. Scott and Rogers, you’re on Tom Blackman. Texeira and Yamada, you’re on Rezents, since you already have some traction there. And, Texeira, you have some law enforcement connections on Maui—alert them. Let’s do an all-islands priority BOLO in case he makes a run for it.” Waxman retracted the overhead screen, signaling the meeting was over.

Lei gathered her coffee mug and notes. Her heart began a slow thud. She had a reason to call over to Maui, whether she wanted to or not. And she might end up speaking to Stevens when she did.

Chapter 8

Lei punched the numbers on the phone decisively.

“Haiku Station.”

“Lieutenant Omura, please.”

“Just a moment.” A slack-key guitar rendition of Muzak filled her ear while the call was transferred to her former commanding officer at Haiku Station on Maui. Lieutenant Omura was a formidable woman—one Lei was still intimidated by—but in the course of an investigation last year, she had come to respect her.

“Omura here.”

“This is Special Agent Lei Texeira calling from Oahu.”

“Lei! Excellent, I heard you graduated. How are you?”

“Fine. Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Captain, thank you very much. I’m in the middle of moving my office to Kahului Station. Captain Corpuz took early retirement, and I’m taking his place.”

“Congratulations! Even better that I got ahold of you today. This is an official call.” Lei filled Omura in on the investigation and the possibility of the ultralight’s flight to Maui. “We think it’s a kid. He’s hit two big houses here and is pissing off some very important people, and if he makes it to Maui, it’s going to be by the skin of his teeth.”

“You should alert the Coast Guard, too,” Omura said. Lei could tell she was taking notes. Lei experienced the bladder cramp her former commander could still engender at the reminder of something Lei wished she’d thought of. “Yes, we already did that.” Lei mentally crossed her fingers and hoped Waxman had taken care of it.

“We got the fax on this BOLO, but I’ll cover it in this morning’s all-island briefing—put our people on high alert. Now, there’s someone here who I know would like to say hi.”

Lei felt the blood drain from her face at the possibility of speaking to Stevens, but it was Pono’s rumbling bass that came over the line.

“Sweets!” Her former partner was never going to stop calling her that misnomer of a nickname, inspired by the Bing Crosby song “Sweet Leilani.”

“Pono Kaihale. It’s been a while.” She looked down at the yellow legal pad on her desk, drawing circles and blinking back tears. Pono had been like a big brother. She’d missed him more than she’d let herself realize. “When are you and Tiare coming over here?”

He snorted. “You know what we make. The kids are in school at Kamehameha now. We don’t take trips anywhere but to soccer games.”

“Shoots. I was just thinking about you guys. How’s everything?”

“Same smell. Iceheads, potheads, tourists getting robbed—just another day in paradise. Let me call you later. I’m sure the captain needs her phone. Still got the same number?”

“No.” Lei gave him her new cell phone number. “Talk to you later.”

She hung up and realized she’d drawn hearts, with her name in them, all over the page. They were all variations on the tattoo Stevens had had done when they were on Kaua`i—a tiny purple heart with LEI in it, inside his forearm near the crook of his elbow.

She wondered if he’d had it lasered off yet.

This was why she didn’t contact her old friends. They all reminded her of what she’d left behind and lost.

“Sounds like the Maui people are on it,” Ken said from his desk. She’d been so absorbed, she’d forgotten he was in the room.

“Yeah. They got our fax, but my old commanding officer is going to highlight it on the all-island daily alert. She reminded us about notifying the Coast Guard, too. She’s been promoted to captain of Kahului Station.”

“Yeah, Coast Guard got the BOLO too. Nice to talk to old friends?”

“A little mixed. I miss them. Some of them, at least. Okay, what next?”

“Let’s go out and pick up that box from the homeless shelter. See if there’s any new trace on it. It’s time to step things up.”

Ken pulled the Acura up in front of the Institute for Human Resources, right in the red zone in front, as Lei snapped off the siren/lights—time was of the essence now, and with the lights on, getting through downtown traffic hadn’t been the usual hassle.

They hurried up the cement steps, passing several homeless sitting in the sun. Lei glanced at their umbrellas and shopping carts, realizing her attitude had changed from annoyance to sympathy in the years she’d been a cop—homeless in Hawaii was warmer than other places, but still no picnic in the park, and the reasons that led to it were never simple.

They walked into the urban-ugly building and down the hall to a receptionist. Lei had her cred wallet out first. “Special Agents Texeira and Yamada. We are here to pick up the box left on the front steps.”

“It’s in the director’s office.” The girl hustled out from behind the desk, led them down the hall, and knocked on another door.

“Come in!”

Ken and Lei showed their creds again to the short, balding man behind a battered aluminum desk. “Tell us about the box,” Ken said.

The director moved the box over in front of them, holding it gingerly with a pair of tissues. “I’m sorry. Our receptionist touched it when she brought it in. Kind of remarkable when you think about it, that no one took it.”

“Why would they?” Lei said as they looked at the box—a nondescript square. Ken snapped on rubber gloves, picked it up, lifting the flaps to look inside at the contents—bundled cash and jewelry matching the description of what had gone missing in the most recent hit.

“Lei, can you get the receptionist’s fingerprints, so we can rule them out?”

“Sure—but just a minute.” She reached inside her jacket for the driver’s license photos of Rezents, Kinoshita, Blackman, and Matthews, slid them across the desk to the director. “Seen any of these people?”

“Yes.” The director tapped the photo of Blackman. “He’s been our guest recently.”

“Is he still here?”

“No. Checked out last week, said he had a line on a place.”

“Any idea where that is?”

“Check with the receptionist. She has the clients fill out an exit form. Maybe he left some information on that.”

“Anything you can tell us about him?”

“Angry young man. Our social worker tried to counsel him, but he refused. Seems like he thinks the world owes him something.”

Ken scooped up the box, and the director peered at him over his reading glasses. “We’re going to ask for that donation to be honored.”

“That’s your business,” Ken said. “We will return it to the owner when we’re done using it for evidence, and what he does from there is between you.”

Lei hurried back down the hall to the receptionist. “I need your prints to rule you out on the box and any information you have on Tom Blackman.”

“Oh, Tom?” The receptionist seemed to perk up, and Lei noticed she was an attractive young brunette with a skull tattoo on her breast bobbing distractingly in and out of her neckline. “Is he in trouble?”

“No. We just heard he might have information related to a case we’re working on.” Lei opened her box for the fingerprint kit. She rolled the girl’s fingers across the pad and onto a card. “Do you know where he went after he checked out?”

“I have the exit form.” They finished the fingerprinting and Lei handed her a wipe. She rubbed her hands and opened a file cabinet, took out a bulging file. “We don’t do a lot of paperwork here, just an intake and exit form basically. He didn’t leave an address.” She pointed with a purple-tipped nail at the empty line.

“Did Tom tell you anything?” Ken had joined Lei.

“Yeah, he said he had a place with a friend from the airline. Said it was going to be a little crowded, but just until he got on his feet and got another job.”

Out at the car, Lei looked at Ken. “I know we need to take the box back in and check it over, but do you think it’s worth another drive out to Rezents’s place? I mean, those guys are around the same age.”

“I was actually thinking we should look for Rezents’s mother’s last-known address. Blackman isn’t from here, but Rezents is. Maybe the mother will know something.”

“Good idea.” Lei punched up Shawna Rezents on the Toughbook. “Got something here. She’s not far away, if this address is still good.”

Ten minutes later, Ken pulled the Acura into a potholed driveway in front of yet another sun-blasted apartment building, narrowly missing a blond woman running out the door. The face Lei saw flash by the window was the once-pretty, hard-used kind.

A portly man pursued her, and Lei opened her door, blocking him. “Can I help you?” she asked, stepping into his way as Ken bolted after the woman in the driver’s license photo they’d just been perusing.

“She owes me rent!” the man yelled. “Stop her!”

Ken had a hand on the woman’s arm, and as Lei and the landlord watched, they spoke. Then he took his hand off, releasing her, and she broke into a jog, moving rapidly away.

“Stop her, goddamn it!” the landlord yelled, face reddening, as Ken returned, smoothing his immaculate jacket.

“Not our problem.” He cocked his head at Lei. The two agents got into the Acura.

“What kind of cops are you?” the landlord yelled after them as they pulled out. “I’m filing a complaint!”

“That’s what I don’t miss about local law enforcement.” Lei rolled up her tinted, bulletproof window so she didn’t hear the invectives spewing after them as they drove away. “Does she know anything about Tyson?”