Black Jasmine (2012) (15 page)

“Let’s get out over here and distract him.” He gestured to the mountain-side window, away from where the shooter had fired.

Lei got in position beside the window as he ripped the sheet off the bed, dropped it over the straight chair, and heaved it through the front-side window, just as the entire bedroom door burst into flame with a roar.

They were out of time.

Lei clutched a pistol in each hand and jumped out the back window.

Chapter 21

Lei landed and rolled, forcing rubbery legs to carry her to cover behind the white propane tank that was surely too close to the fiercely burning house. Stevens was right behind her as she ducked behind the metal tank. She could hear the wail of oncoming sirens.

Her ears rang; her eyes burned. She scanned the yard lit by the fiercely burning house for her dog. She heard Keiki barking somewhere to the front.

“Let’s look for the shooter,” Stevens croaked. His eyes gleamed with a fierce warrior light—maybe it was just the reflected flame—but Lei nodded, energized by his confidence though still unable to speak. They circled the pyre of the house, covering each other and keeping to the clumps of banana and plumeria trees at the edge of the fenced yard.

Keiki stood barking at the north corner of the yard, where a stand of guava trees leaned out over the six-foot fence. Stevens got there first and used one of the guava saplings to boost himself over, setting off down the road. Lei ran to the front gate and unlatched it, following him.

She heard the roar of an engine, and muscle memory tightened her whole body with the traumatic threat of an oncoming car. Her heart thudded as Stevens stepped into the road and shot out the windshield of the speeding sedan, throwing himself to the side as the vehicle barely missed him. Lei got off a few shots at the passenger-side window and the tires. The sedan kept going, weaving wildly, and swerved to avoid hitting an oncoming yellow fire truck, plummeting off the shoulder and into a ditch.

Stevens and Lei ran over, weapons drawn. The car, a tan rental Taurus, was hubcap deep in the irrigation ditch, the shooter slumped against the steering wheel. The airbags had failed to deploy.

Stevens hauled the unresisting suspect out by the armpits, laying the stocking-capped man in a black coverall in the road. He patted down the body and removed a Glock and a couple of knives as one of the firemen approached.

“This man need first aid?”

“Eventually. This man set our house on fire and tried to gun us down. Police on the way?” Lei asked, as Stevens scooped up a little ditch water and splashed it on the man’s camouflage-painted face, slapping him briskly. No response.

“Hey!” the fireman exclaimed. “Don’t hit a man with a head injury!”

More sirens, and a couple of uniforms approached on the run, recognizing Stevens. Amid exclamations and a heated exchange with the emergency medical technician, Lei felt her wobbly knees give way. She folded up onto the side of the road, reaching to feel her singed head. She tried to breathe in the fresh air and ignore the crackling roar of the burning house, but coughed uncontrollably instead. Moments later, she was in the back of the ambulance wrapped in a blanket, an oxygen mask over her face.

“Good thing you already had short hair.” Stevens hopped up into the ambulance, reaching over to give her a hug.

“You don’t have any eyebrows,” Lei said, touching his reddened skin with a gentle forefinger. He winced.

“At least we’re alive—but on that note, I talked to the captain. He’s going to put it out that we’re dead. That might buy us some time to interview the gunman and see who put him up to it. Suspect wasn’t looking too good, though.”

As if to punctuate this, they heard the wail of the other ambulance pulling away.

Chapter 22

Lei huddled on the corner of the sofa in the police safe house, wrapped in the green army surplus blanket she’d arrived in. She should get in the shower, wash off the smoke and grime, but she didn’t have anything to put on afterward—no clothes but the filthy boxers and tank top she’d worn to bed the night before.

Her hand crept down to caress Keiki’s head, playing with the triangular silky ears as the big Rottweiler slept curled on the floor. She might not have anything else, but she still had her dog. Keiki could easily have been shot or perished in the flames.

Voices in the kitchen—Stevens retelling the tale to Rogers and Marcella. Lei was too exhausted to go through it again and had opted out. Having repeated the story several times, she just didn’t think she had the energy to deal with the agents’ machine-gun questions. Lei felt profound gratitude covering her as warmly as the blanket. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, and closed her sore eyes to rest them. The voices went on out in the kitchen, a low rumble punctuated by laughter. Lei found herself smiling as she sank lower into the couch, her hand on Keiki’s ruff as the Vicodin she’d taken carried her off into darkness.

Lei woke up to instant coffee, a peanut-butter sandwich, and a bag of clothes Pono had brought over—some of his and Tiare’s castoffs. After a shower and dressing in an outsized muumuu, she felt strangely disembodied but at least clean.

“Sorry—Tiare thought it would fit because it says one size fits all,” Pono said, eying the way the tentlike dress hung on Lei’s slim frame.

“It’s fine. Thanks, Pono. I’m in disguise anyway.”

“Yeah, on that note, I picked up this wig for you.” He handed her a long red wig. “The kids had it left over from Halloween.”

She set it on her head and heard Stevens snickering.

“Shut up, Eyebrow Boy,” she said to him. Stevens’s dark hair had singed patches and his eyebrows were completely gone, his face red. “I’m never gonna live this down.”

“Actually, everyone feels really bad for you,” Pono said. He came over, gave her an awkward side hug. “Nobody’s going to say a word.”

They turned Keiki loose in the fenced yard and piled into the purple truck. He drove them to Kahului Station for a debrief meeting. The air-conditioning was turned up high in the conference room, and seated around the long table were Lieutenant Omura, Pono, Bunuelos and Torufu, and Captain Corpuz. Lei adjusted the wig on her singed head, reaching up to scratch her scalp with a pencil. Stevens wore one of Pono’s Hawaiian-print shirts and sat kitty-corner to her.

“You two definitely have made an impression on someone,” Captain Corpuz said. “The fire investigation team said there was some sort of incendiary device set in your house, probably on a timer or with a detonator.”

“Maybe that’s why Keiki was so agitated,” Lei said. “She was all riled up that evening. Wonder how the guy got past her.”

Stevens’s reddened face looked odd without eyebrows. He rolled his Styrofoam coffee cup back and forth in his hands. “Any news on our hit man?”

“Still in a coma. We want to keep you two on the downlow and put out the story that you’re dead. That’ll buy us some time to figure out who’s behind this,” Captain Corpuz said.

“We really need to find the Thai girl. Did you guys put out a BOLO? She’s the key to the case right now.” Lei wanted to get up and pace. She missed the black stone, then remembered it was burned, along with all of the contents of her little koa box—each item an irreplaceable loss. She pinched the web between her thumb and forefinger and that helped, but not much.

“Done,” the captain said. “It’s been out ever since the FBI came in yesterday and interviewed Silva.”

“I want to know more about this art gallery owner,” Omura said. She looked fresh and immaculate in a navy uniform whose brass gleamed. A skirt that hit her above the knee showcased toned legs ending in a pair of pointy-toed slingbacks. Lei was pretty sure she’d left a trail of tiny pockmarks all the way across the station. “Let’s bring her in for an interview. Since you and Pono blew your cover, we’ll have Bunuelos and Torufu bring her in.”

“On what basis?” Captain Corpuz asked. “She seems like one of those uptight
haoles
with a lawyer on speed dial.”

“She’s our only lead to the hookers, and the hookers are our lead to Jane Doe’s identity and this whole sex trade ship thing,” Omura said impatiently. Her tone implied she wasn’t all that convinced the idea had merit. “In the meantime, I want Lei and Stevens to lay low at the safe house.”

“I don’t think they’re after me,” Stevens said. “It’s Lei who someone tried to run over with a car. I’m just the lucky boyfriend.” The room erupted in chuckles, and Stevens glanced over at Lei.

She saw, by the widening of those blue, blue eyes, vulnerable without lashes or brows—that he realized she wasn’t wearing the diamond ring around her neck. That same moment, she remembered where she’d left it—the ring was in a drawer, in a kitchen that was now a pile of ash. Her hand crept up to her throat, as if wishing could make the ring reappear.

“I can do more with the cockfighting ring,” Pono volunteered. “I can go reinterview all the names we got and look for connections to the girls or the House.”

“Why don’t you do that.” Omura inclined her shining head. “Try not to get the boys all riled up, though. Just do some casual fishing and we’ll feed anything you find to the FBI for their investigation of the House.”

“Why don’t I go with Pono? I think the ‘contractor’ was looking for Lei, and now that we’re both dead, I can get back out there,” Stevens said. He didn’t look at Lei again.

“Hey! I’m going to go crazy sitting around that box of a house!” Lei exclaimed.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a car and burnt by a fire and you need another day off. For now you can do some online research for us and work with Kendall, the sketch artist, on a picture of the Thai girl for that BOLO. Get that done so Pono and Stevens can take it out canvassing; then go back to the house and rest.” Omura had steel in her voice.

Lei frowned and scratched her head again. “Okay. Dammit. But I want to watch the interview with Magda Kennedy.”

Chapter 23

Lei sat in the booth behind the mirrored window looking into the interview room. Stevens and Pono had gone out on their assignments and there was some delay in the hall. Waiting for Bunuelos and Torufu to bring Magda Kennedy in, Lei looked down at the copy of the sketch Kendall had worked up on Anchara, the Thai girl.

Wide, dark almond eyes looked startled above those scimitar cheekbones. He hadn’t gotten the mouth quite right—it looked puffy and pouty, and Lei remembered it as full but decisive, a set to the lips that said she would do whatever she needed to, to be free. Lei respected that and found herself saying a little prayer that the girl was safe until they could find her and bring her in.

The metal door with its little safety glass insert opened. An imposing bearded man in business casual walked in, followed by Magda Kennedy. Regal in a creamy halter dress, long black hair that had to have been flatironed shimmered under the harsh neon lights as she sat and crossed spectacular legs ending in a pair of gold sandals.

Bunuelos and Torufu followed. Lei could tell they were intimidated, as Gerry Bunuelos combed an overlong sheaf of hair out of his eyes repetitively. Abe Torufu hoisted his belt as he sat, relying on his size. Lei knit her brows, concerned they might not be up to the task of interviewing such an intimidating witness.

Captain Corpuz, jaunty as usual, joined her in the booth. He’d brought a pair of Styrofoam cups of coffee and handed her one with a wink. “We have bad coffee too.”

“Thanks.” Lei didn’t have time to express her worry before the show got under way.

“I’m always happy to support Maui Police Department in whatever way I can.” Magda fired the opening round. “If you check, you’ll see I am a regular supporter of police charities. How can I help you today?” She held herself stiffly upright, as if touching the back of the steel chair would dirty her dress—and it probably would.

“We appreciate that,” Bunuelos said. Before he could go on, the lawyer interrupted.

“Why is my client here? Her time is very expensive, and mine almost as much. Let’s get this over with before I have to send the county a bill for it.”

Bunuelos, rattled, spoke too quickly. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Kennedy and Mr. Chapman. We appreciate that your time is valuable and we just want some information. About this.” He gestured, and Torufu produced the satiny calling card that Wylie had given them with the number for the hookers on it, sliding it over in front of Magda.

“I was given that by a friend.”

“Do you know what it’s for?”

“I was told escort services. So I imagine that’s what it’s for.”

“Who is this friend?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“That’s not good enough!” Bunuelos tried to generate some heat, but it withered in the face of Kennedy’s and Chapman’s contemptuous stares.

The door opened and Lieutenant Cherry Joy Omura walked in, slingbacks rapping the floor. She made a flicking gesture, and Bunuelos gave a relieved glance at the surveillance mirror and withdrew, leaving Torufu behind for bulk.

“Where did you get this card?” A red nail tapped the item in question.

“And you are?” The lawyer tried some attitude, but Omura never blinked.

“Above his pay grade. I’ll be conducting this interview.”

Magda Kennedy stood suddenly, apparently scenting trouble. She picked up her little purse, a flat clutch painted in scarlet designs. “I don’t have time for this.”

She made for the door.

Faster than Lei could have believed, Omura blocked the exit, grabbed Kennedy’s wrist and twisted it up behind her back, horsing her onto the hard metal chair. She sat the woman on it, slapping on a pair of cuffs. The lieutenant then locked them on to a ring on the metal table.

The lawyer burbled objections, but Omura’s voice cut through them. “I’m placing you under arrest for suspicion of procurement.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Magda snarled. She yanked at the cuffs, and Lei could see that it hurt. Gold bangles jangled against steel.

“You can’t make those charges stick,” Chapman said.

“Probably not, but in the meantime I get to hold her for twenty-four hours. Or she can cooperate with our investigation.”