Diamond Head (9 page)

Authors: Charles Knief

BOOK: Diamond Head

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T
he little red light on my answering machine was blinking when I returned home. I ignored it. I didn't want to talk to anyone until I secured
Duchess
for the night. Boats are like women. They require a lot of care. If they get it they will respond to you every time. Ignore them, and you'll lose them. I understand that's not politically correct. It's merely correct.

I pulled in her lines and secured her for the night. There was a little wind and chop, indications that Hawaii might be in for some heavy weather. We'd already had our hurricane for the decade, and even though we were in prime hurricane season I didn't think we'd get one. Iniki missed Honolulu at the last minute but savaged both the Waianae Coast of Oahu and the island of Kauai. The winds never rose above tropical storm levels in Pearl Harbor, and
Duchess
and I rode out Iniki in the middle of the harbor with the engine running and two anchors out.

When I was satisfied my boat wouldn't shift I went below and stared at the Stephen Hawking book. That lasted about five minutes because the words wouldn't come together. I was restless, dissatisfied with the way this thing was going. I was supposed to find the killer of one father's child. Another father had sacrificed his son for reasons I could not comprehend. I was the unwilling instrument of that sacrifice and I didn't like it.

Being used goes against everything I am. That's why I'm not employed by the big corporations or out working for a cause. There are no regulations on what I do. I submit no plans for approval. I have no review committee or inspectors to point out my errors. I labor under the illusion that I am free. When someone like Chawlie comes along and demonstrates that I am not as free as I'd like to think I am, the facing of that reality is threatening. We all like to have our illusions.

I made some coffee, the standard stuff, not the special roast. Tonight was not a night to celebrate. Tonight was not a night for another drink, either. I had not eaten dinner, but the thought of food made me queasy.

My cellular telephone rang.

“Caine.”

“This is Thompson. Come to my office to see me. Tonight.” The man's voice made my skin crawl, like listening to fingernails scratching a blackboard.

“Sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not tonight. Call me tomorrow.”

“But you can't â¦”

I hung up.

The phone rang.

“Caine.”

“I want you down here right now!”

I hung up.

The phone rang again. It may have been my impression, but the ring sounded angry.

“Caine.”

“Mr. Caine.” Thompson's voice betrayed his anger, but he was trying to retain control. “I told you to come down to my office for a reason. You obviously want something from me. You gave me information that turned out to be exactly correct. Now I wish to meet with you to discuss what you want in return. Tonight.”

“Thompson,” I said, “I don't take orders from anyone, so I don't take orders from you. If you'd like to see me, then ask, don't order. Taking orders can get to be a habit, and I have all the bad habits I need at the moment.”

After a moment of silence he said, “Can you come down to my office?” The effort in his voice was tactile.

“What's the magic word?”

There was a pause.

“Are you serious?”

I didn't reply. I just waited.

“Please?”

“Sorry. Can't come down tonight,” I said. “Call me tomorrow.”

I hung up.

It was childish and vastly stupid. I may have blown my only lead, if that lead was to Thompson. I knew I was not only reacting to my revulsion to Thompson himself, but also to what Chawlie had done.

I thought Thompson might call in the morning anyway. My strange behavior could have had the opposite effect. My refusal might even increase his interest.

At least I hoped so.

The blinking light on my answering machine caught my attention again. I looked at the digital display. Someone had called while I was in Chinatown. I pushed the Play button.

“Mr. Caine, this is Detective Katherine Alapai, Honolulu Police Department. We want to interview you regarding the death of one Garrick Choy. I need to know how you were involved in this. Call me for an appointment. You have the number.

“Bring a lawyer, if you feel you need one.”

T
his is Katherine Alapai, homicide detective, Honolulu Police Department, interviewing John Caine.” She stated the date and time and the fact that we were in her office at the main Honolulu police station. She had me repeat my name, age, address and occupation. This time I said I was a private detective, working for the family of a murder victim. It had a nice official ring to it. If this thing got nasty, I wanted everything on tape to sound official.

“Mr. Caine, are you aware that this conversation is being recorded?”

“I am.”

“And you have consented to the recording of this conversation?”

“I have.”

“And are you waiving counsel at this time?”

“I am.”

Katherine looked at me, her black eyes penetrating my feigned nonchalance. I was reminded we were not playing games.

“Mr. Caine, can you tell me your relationship to the deceased?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Garrick Choy.”

“I never met him.”

“Never?”

“Not once that I'm aware.”

“Are you aware that Mr. Choy worked for CAT Productions?”

I hesitated, reviewing my options. I decided that she would not have asked the question unless she already knew the answer.

“Yes,” I said.

“And what is your relationship with CAT Productions, CAT Enterprises or Carter Allen Thompson?”

“I met Mr. Thompson three days ago in his office downtown. It was the first and only time we've met. My meeting with him lasted approximately three minutes. I have not seen him since.”

Please don't ask the question,
I thought.

“What did you discuss with Mr. Thompson during your meeting?”

Thank you.

“I am looking into the death of Mary MacGruder, a young lady who lived with Mr. Thompson. I thought he could help.”

“Have you spoken with him since?”

Damn!

“Yes,” I said. “Last night. He called me.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted me to come to his office. I refused.”

“You refused?”

“Yes.” I wouldn't give her any more than she asked for. I had too much respect for her intuition and abilities.

“Why?”

“I didn't want to.” If she kept at it, her questioning would begin to resemble that of a precocious three-year-old.

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

She angrily snapped off the recorder.

“God damn you, Caine!”

“What?”

“You're not telling me anything!”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why that young man was murdered. You know! I know you know! And I know you had something to do with it!”

“Maybe I should call my lawyer,” I said.

“Do you think you need one?”

“Now you stop it,” I said. “You know I didn't kill that kid.”

“I know you have the MacGruder file, and I know that you and I discussed Thompson four days ago, and I know that last night the kid was dead. He worked for Thompson. I know that three days ago you had a meeting with Thompson in his office, and immediately after that you got into a brawl with two of his men in the municipal garage. We followed you and watched you hurt those men. I know you've contacted Garrick Choy's father, both before and after he was murdered. You're into this up to your neck.

“That boy was tortured before he was killed. The medical examiner told me this afternoon that he had been kept alive for twenty-four hours before they killed him and when they did kill him he was better off. I want some answers and I want them now!”

“Unofficially I'll tell you everything you want to know. If you want me to talk into that recorder, or with a court reporter present, you'll get just what I'm giving you.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“I can hold you as a suspect or a material witness.”

I held out my hands in front of me, inviting the handcuffs. “I ought to take you up on that.”

My hands remained where they were.

She glared at me. I didn't dare tell her at that moment, but
when she is angry she is an incredibly beautiful woman. She drops her defenses and forgets to deny her beauty.

“Okay. Let's begin again.” She reached for her notebook, leaving the recorder alone.

“Not here,” I said.

“Kelly's again?”

“Kelly's again.”

“Shit.”

“Coffee,” I said. “And if you're good, maybe some banana pancakes.”

“You asshole.”

“Just doing my job, Detective.”

“You pay.”

“That's fair.”

We went in separate cars. She drove a midnight blue five-liter Mustang. The City and County of Honolulu pays its police officers to use their own vehicles. They can use them both for personal and official transportation. It's a cost-saving thing for the city, and it's good for the officers, too. There are certain cars they can't drive, such as the ones with puny little engines like mine. They are required to have eight cylinders under the hood.

She beat me to Kelly's and commandeered a booth in the back of the restaurant.

“I ordered you coffee,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. I didn't know if it was a trap or if I had been forgiven.

“Okay,” I said. “Here is the story.” I told her about my meeting with Chawlie and how we had developed the scheme to wedge my way into Thompson's office. I related the short meeting with Thompson as well as I could. I didn't tell her about the source of the file, or that Chawlie's little actress was now playing spy in Thompson's production company. I told Katherine that at the time both Chawlie and I thought his son was protected, as Chawlie had him under house arrest. The subsequent meeting with Chawlie and the standing order for my execution
should I ever approach him again was not mentioned, either. That was between Chawlie and me. I concluded with a recitation of my conversation with Thompson the night before, and about my hanging up on him.

“Did he call you again?”

“This morning. I have a meeting with him in an hour.”

“Would you wear a wire?”

“Are you nuts?”

“Where are you going to meet?”

“I'll tell you after it's over.”

“Mr. Caine â¦”

“Call me John.”

“John. You've got to cooperate with me. I want this guy.”

I nodded. “Me too, Detective.”

“Call me Kate.”

“Kate. I want to survive this thing. If I tell you, you'll put surveillance on me. If they drive a red Maxima they're not very good. And if they're not very good they could get me killed.”

“Red Maxima, huh?”

I nodded.

“You noticed them?”

“Like they waved, and shouted, âYoo-hoo! Over here!' “

“Shit.”

“That's what I thought of them, yes.”

“I'll have them replaced. I didn't think you'd notice.”

“Thanks.”

“You're starting to surprise me, John. I followed up on Souza's suicide. It doesn't look like a suicide anymore. A detective went out and interviewed the landlady. We're reopening the case. You gave good information there.”

“I got lucky,” I said.

“Yes,” said Kate. “You did. And you think this one's connected to Mary MacGruder and Garrick Choy?”

“Of course. Don't you?”

She nodded. “I know more about this case than I can tell
you. I wish I could, but it's impossible. If you're good and if you're still lucky you'll find out. If you do, we can compare notes. With confirmation of what I think I know we can nail him.” Kate's eyes told me she wanted to tell me. “He's a very dangerous man.”

“He's a stone killer,” I said, thinking of Mary MacGruder and a boy in a cane field and the hot, musty apartment where the private investigator had been murdered.

“This meeting. What are you going to do? He must be curious about you.”

“I won't know until I get there. It depends on him. I was vague about what I wanted. He wants to know that as well as the source of my information about Choy, and why I don't just fall down and worship him.”

“He has a pretty high opinion of himself.”

“Way too high,” I agreed. “But I can help him with a lesson in humility.”

“You'd do that.”

“All part of the service.”

“You'd better watch it,” she said.

“I'll get by.”

“That's not what I meant. You seem to suffer from the same handicap. Who's going to teach you humility?”

“You're doing a pretty good job,” I said, and sipped my coffee.