Mana (8 page)

Lehua looked startled. “You mean he has names?”

“Not on the Big Island, but he does have some for Oahu. He figures he can expand the jury's functions to encompass what you've uncovered. He thinks there's a close tie-in between the gang here and some of the shenanigans going on over there.”

“It sounds to me like he's just going on a fishing expedition.”

Cy grinned. “What else would you expect from a consummate politician? He has his eye on a senate seat. I'm sure he figures if there's something here, he'll get more than his share of publicity. He's not letting the grass grow under his feet, either. He's coming over this afternoon and wants to talk to you. He probably figures that will be an excuse for a photo opportunity and maybe a front-page story detailing his concern about organized crime.”

Lehua made a face. “Well, whatever his motives, it does seem things are moving.”

“They are, for sure. The FBI is becoming involved, because they have something similar going on in LA, and they think there may be a connection. By the way, your office is back together again.”

“So soon? I thought I'd have a piece of plywood over that broken window for at least a week. Since when do repairs in Hawai'i take place in one day?”

Cy's grin came back. “Anyone as special as you needs special treatment. I promised Aloha Glass free advertising and a special position if they'd get out here stat. They did.”

“Well, I guess I've finally figured out how to get clean windows in my office. Next time they get dirty, I'll just smash them.”

* * *

“Wow!” Millie said as she surveyed the view. “Better come over and see this. This glass will never be as clean again.”

Lehua joined her and looked out over Kailua Bay. The sea wall had its usual scattering of fishermen and a crowd of children, joined by a few adults, walking its length. Tourists filled the street and sidewalks of Alii Drive, only recently turned into a vehicle-free mall. Out of the giant banyan trees overhanging the street, mynah birds were flying and squawking their enthusiasm for life, all the while hopefully eyeing the pedestrians for someone willing to share a piece of sandwich or a fry. The old steel-and-concrete pier was busy with passengers lined up to board one of the glass-bottom boats, and the Bay itself was alive with sail-boards.

“I know it's just another tourist trap,” Millie said, “but I can't think of any place else I'd rather be.”

“I know what you mean. It took two years of upper-division work in college over on Oahu to convince me the west coast of the Big Island is where it's at. Even those big fields of barren lava look good to me. I can't see myself living anywhere else.” “Enough of that. You've got work to do, and I brought some food magazines along. Now that I'm cooking for three, I'd better hunt up some mouth-watering recipes.”

Lehua smiled. “Relax, Millie. There isn't going to be another window washer. Not after what happened to the last one.”

“Maybe not, but I'll feel more comfortable if I stay here.” As she spoke, she pulled a chair over to the corner of the room and started leafing through her magazines and copying down names of recipes and page numbers on her note pad. Lehua shrugged, turned on her computer and began work on the next installment, leaving plenty of blank spaces to be filled in by Carlo's promised information. The morning slipped by quickly for both of them.

At noon the phone rang and Cy informed Lehua the AG was in the editor's office, waiting and eager to meet her. Lehua passed the word along to Millie, and they agreed to make the meeting a short one. Millie said, “I'd much rather be grocery shopping than talking story with a politician on the make.”

Kerry “Kimo” Page was definitely a politician on the make. Tall, blond, with movie-star good looks, and a smile that would have done credit to any toothpaste advertisement, he had just a hint of native Hawaiian in his ancestry. If it shows at all, thought Lehua, it's around his eyes. Whatever amount it was, it was little enough so that, in an earlier age, he could have hidden it successfully.

With a change in social values, Page now played it to the hilt, and had even resurrected a nickname he had probably never used or ever been called by. Today, he was his usual, affable, political self. He rose when the two women entered the editor's office and held out his hand to Lehua as Cy introduced her. For a moment she was caught off guard, made a tentative move to take the proffered hand, then withdrew hers, saying, “I'm sorry. I banged up my hand this morning.”

Without missing a beat, the attorney general accepted her stammered explanation, gave her a smile that somehow conveyed his concern and understanding, insisted on moving on to a first name basis, shook hands with Millie, and arranged the chairs in front of Cy's desk so Lehua was sitting next to him.

Following the introductions, it was Cy who first brought up the visitor's reason for the meeting. “Kerry is going to try to get indictments on some of the organized-crime figures over on Oahu, and he wants to include any you may uncover in your investigation.”

Kerry leaned toward Lehua, adding, “We have sufficient evidence to move and to move quickly against some of the ringleaders over there but, so far, about all we have in the way of material on Big Island activities is what you've written in your articles. I'm sure you must have a lot more information beyond that in your files.” A note of warm approval accompanied his words.

Lehua suddenly had the feeling the direction he was moving in was not where she wanted to go. “I'll be happy to testify before the grand jury but, of course, I can't reveal sources.”

Kerry's face lit up into a broad smile. “Of course. Of course. I certainly wouldn't press you to betray any confidences, but we're all adults,” his glance moved around the circle to encompass each of the listeners, “and we know that, in practice, reporters do cooperate with the police. After all, we have the same goal, to put these criminals behind bars.”

Lehua knew her expression had frozen, and she decided to terminate the interview as soon as possible. She not only succeeded, but managed to turn down an offer for lunch. As she and Millie walked down the hall, she couldn't resist commenting, “All he cares about is the next election.”

Millie shrugged. “What difference does that make, as long as he takes those murdering crooks off the street?”

Lehua had to admit Millie's pragmatism made sense, but she still resented the Attorney General's suave self confidence and his conviction that bending the rules was justified if it produced the desired results. Rather than argue with her companion, she asked for hints about the evening meal.

Chapter 9

Millie was busy unloading the four large bags of groceries, and Lehua was filing away notes and clippings when the phone rang. Millie held up her hand in warning as she looked for the portable phone, finally finding it next to the living room couch. Lehua answered on the fifth ring, and when Bill's reassuring voice came over the phone, Millie grinned at Lehua, clicked the button to off and went back to their purchases.

Bill was again only briefly in Lagos, was brimming over with news of the first lake they had visited, and was impatient to move on to the next one. It was only after he had gone into some detail about their findings that he mentioned the talking board. “Any word back yet as to what it means, if anything?”

Lehua decided to stay as close to the truth as she could without getting into the uncanny and terrifying events of the past few days. “Tessa's looking into it. So far, she hasn't found anyone who has any idea what it says.”

“My guess is it's just decoration.”

“I suppose that's possible,” Lehua answered, trying to keep the lack of conviction out of her voice.

“Is Carlo getting ready for another expedition to that tube?

“Oops! I almost forgot. He called and said the latest flow has covered up the entrance.”

“Damn! I was looking forward to a full-scale exploration of that tube.”

Lehua could feel his disappointment, a disappointment which, at the moment, she couldn't share. She mumbled a few noncommittal words into the phone.

“What are you doing for excitement?” Bill asked

“Nothing much.” Lehua almost laughed aloud at her own bland statement. “I'm still writing about the Angel Tong.” She described the governor's and attorney general's interest in the same subject.

“Hey. You're moving into the big time. Maybe you'll get a Pulitzer out of this.” Before Lehua could get her thoughts together to comment on that possibility, Bill added, “I sure miss you. Get ready for a rib- crushing hug when I see you at the airport.”

The possibilities which that comment evoked kept Lehua silent—so much so, that Bill asked, “You still there?”

“Yes. I miss you too. I was just left speechless by the thought of that hug.”

Lehua had barely hung up when the phone rang again. Millie scooped up the portable as Lehua answered. This time the voice was Carlo's, and the tone of that voice told her immediately something was wrong, even before she fully comprehended the words.

“The bastards have blown up the Alice C.”

“What?”

“I was taking the tourists back to their hotel when a car drove down the dock and someone threw a molotov onto the deck. It's badly gutted, and I don't think I can salvage any of it.”

“Do you think the Angel Tong did it?”

“I'm damn well sure they did. Number One's known for a long time I've associated with you, and he must have had a tap on my phone. When he heard what I told you this morning, he decided to teach me a lesson.”

“Where are you calling from now?”

“A phone booth, across the street from my apartment. I won't be able to get over this afternoon. The insurance agent is coming out to inspect the damage, and I have to file a report with the police. I'm also going to try and run down some witnesses. There must have been some other boat owners around.”

“Maybe Millie and I can come over there. I really want that information you have, now more than ever.”

“You won't need to come over. I'll bring the proof over in the morning, and I'll give you the most important part of it right now.”

“What's that?”

“Number One's name. I know who he is. It's Philip Cheng.”

Phil Cheng! Lehua's eyes opened wide in astonishment. Millie, who had been listening to the conversation shook her head in disbelief. Phil Cheng was a pillar, deeply anchored in the Big Island community. Ever since his arrival from Taiwan as a teenager, he had been active in everything from roadside cleanups and charity drives, to heading the United Good Neighbor Fund.

Lehua could see the small, smiling Chinese handing a diploma to a high school graduate or an award to a deserving Boy Scout. His contracting company had been run without a hint of corruption, of attempts to curry favor with local politicians, or any other signs of anything but an honest endeavor to compete successfully within the system.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive. Tomorrow you'll have some signed documents to prove it.” As he spoke these last words, Lehua could hear what she thought had to be a car backfiring. Carlo mumbled something unintelligible over the phone. This was followed by the sound of the receiver banging against the side of the booth. Lehua looked across the room in horror at Millie, who stepped forward, broke the connection and dialed the station.

* * *

The desk sergeant plugged Millie into the Hilo patrol car circuit, and she and Lehua listened to the report of the officer who first arrived at the scene.

“Phone booth's shot up. Must have been an assault rifle. Occupant is definitely dead. He's…”

Lehua didn't stay to hear more. The tears streamed down her face as she ran off to the back of the apartment. Millie listened to the details, then tried to contact Captain Silva. It took several minutes before his booming voice came over the phone. “We picked up the conversation on the tap to Lehua's apartment,” Silva explained. “That's how the Hilo PD got a car there as fast as they did.”

“What are you going to do about Phil Cheng?” Millie asked.

“Not a damn thing. We can't. What have we got but a dead man's word?”

“Carlo couldn't have been making it up.”

“I'm not saying he did. I'm having the Hilo police check his apartment, but unless we can locate something a lot more positive than we have already, there isn't a thing we can do except keep an eye on Cheng.”

Silva passed along the information that, so far, the police had been unable to find witnesses to the shooting, though one person in a second story apartment had seen a car driving away at high speed following the sound of the shots. The moments passed, and Millie could hear the police radio in the background. “Just got word. Carlo's apartment's been thoroughly tossed. If he had anything there to support his statement, it's long gone. They're going to check out his boat to see if that safe survived.”

Millie looked over in the direction of Lehua's bedroom, unsure whether or not to add this piece of bad news to what they had already heard. The Captain left her with the unnecessary order to get in touch with him immediately if anything happened at the apartment.

Millie hung up, walked over to the window overlooking the street and pulled back the curtain. Everything was quiet. A patrol car rolled slowly by, and the driver again threw a shaka sign in her direction. Millie didn't feel much like returning the signal, but did so anyway.

Still unsure about whether or not she should try to console the grieving Lehua, Millie finally went off to the bedroom to see what she could do. It took her several moments to realize Lehua had slipped out the back door.

“Jesus Christ!” Silva's voice exploded over the phone when Millie got through to him and told him about Lehua's disappearance. “You damn well should know where she's gone! Get over to Phil Cheng's office. I'm on my way.” The phone crashed in her ear.

* * *

Lehua's fury had mounted to the bursting point as she drove the half-dozen blocks to the building occupied by Phil Cheng's business. Her mouth felt as though she had just finished throwing up, and only her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel kept her hands from shaking. There was no difficulty finding his office. She had once been there to observe and write up the ceremony where Phil presented the Hawai'i Humane Society with a thousand-dollar check.

The receptionist, a spinsterish-looking haole wearing old-fashioned rimless glasses, glanced up as Lehua stormed in. She was totally unprepared for the younger woman's rush past her desk and into the inner office. “You can't…,” she began, then rose and followed Lehua in through the door left open by her whirlwind entrance. The scene in the office was frozen in place.

Behind his desk, Phil Cheng, a small, hollow-chested man, wearing a suit—something rarely seen in Kona on anyone other than attorneys and funeral directors—looked up at the newcomer. Sitting in an imitation-leather chair at his right, another Chinese, taller, heavier in build, and wearing the much more common “aloha” attire—slacks and open-collared sport shirt—was in the midst of saying something with hand upraised.

Cheng was the first one to recover. “That's all right, Mrs. Cable. I was expecting our visitor.”

The pale-faced receptionist backed out, closing the door behind her. Cheng's guest lowered his hand, and sat back in his chair, not relaxed, but instead looking like a coiled spring.

“Please sit down, Ms. Watanabe. Truly, I was expecting you.”

“I'm sure you were.” Lehua couldn't believe the calmness of her own voice as she ignored his offer. “Carlo told me you're the leader of the Angel Tong. I didn't know what to think at first, but now a lot of things are falling into place. I'm turning all of the material I have over to the police.”

“Really? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

At that moment, there was absolutely no question in Lehua's mind Philip Cheng knew only too well what she was talking about. She looked down at the small man, his slender fingers stretched out in front of him on his desk. “Fine! By this time tomorrow you'll know what I'm talking about. My article is going to name names, and yours will be in the headlines.” With those words she turned and walked swiftly toward the door.

Behind her she heard Cheng give a command in a low voice, something in Chinese. Her hand on the knob, she turned to see the other man standing in front of the desk, blocking her view of Cheng. The thought struck her he must have moved at incredible speed, and that was when she saw the knife flash from his hand. It flew only three or four feet through the air, flipped and returned point first, with crushing force, into the middle of his chest, burying itself beyond the hilt. The face above it showed neither surprise nor pain. There was no life to give it any expression.

Since his view of her had been blocked, Cheng had been unable to see what had happened. As his agent collapsed, Cheng rose, an automatic in his hand. “I'm not sure what kind of tricks you have been engaging in, but that was the last one.”

Lehua could not be sure afterwards whether she had actually heard the sound of the shot. Too much happened too quickly for her to follow most of it. Cheng rose off the floor and slammed into the bookcase behind him. Blood splattered across the books. The shelves splintered and crumbled under the smashing weight of the body. Bits of bone and skull crammed into the spaces opened between the volumes. The expensive suit hung momentarily like a tattered scarecrow on the splintered shelves, then slowly fluttered to the floor, shattered arms and legs breaking through tears in the cloth.

Behind her Lehua heard the door open, followed by a scream and then another. The screams went on and on, almost drowning the sound of feet pounding down the hall toward the office. Over the hysterical receptionist's shoulder Lehua could see the blue uniform of a patrolman who stopped abruptly as he caught sight of the scene of devastation.

* * *

Lehua clung to the heavy navy mug full of black, bitter coffee as though her life depended on it. Millie was looking at her with an expression of mixed concern and anger. Captain Silva was staring across his desk at her, his expression unreadable.

“This time I'm going to tell you what happened, and that will save you the trouble.” Glancing at a paper on his desk, he said, “Lester Liu and Phil Cheng got into a quarrel. Liu smashed Cheng against the bookcase just as Phil stabbed him. That's the broad outline. Filling in the gaps may be a problem. Like how did Liu walk around the desk after being stabbed, since he must have died instantly?

“Why didn't Phil use the gun on Liu rather than a knife? We know he fired the gun, because we have another smashed bullet. So who was he shooting at? How did puny Phil manage to drive that knife into Liu, right through his chest and backbone, and leave none of the handle sticking out? How did Liu, who was no heavyweight either, manage to practically obliterate Cheng? Doc says he hasn't seen anything like it for almost twenty-four hours. The last one was a window washer.”

“Can't this wait, Captain?” Millie asked. “You can see Lehua's practically in shock.”

The broad, bulky shoulders inched upwards. “The receptionist says Lehua had her hand on the doorknob when she opened the door, and what was left of Cheng was still sliding down the bookcase. I guess no one's going to argue she made it across the room that fast after finishing him off. The one good thing out of this last Watanabe wipe-out is that there was enough material in Cheng's locked safe to identify him as Number One. Maybe now I can go back to dealing with ordinary knifings and shootings.”

Sam's voice softened as he looked at Lehua's hunched-over form. “You might as well take Lehua back to her apartment, Millie; we'll get a statement later. And stay overnight.”

As Millie rose, the Captain shifted his eyes over to her. “This time I think you can let her out of your sight.”

* * *

Over Lehua's protests, Millie did stay the night, but the following day, Lehua persuaded her guardian that protection was no longer necessary. “Besides, I'm going to have to learn to live without a full-time bodyguard.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Lehua shook her head. “Uh-uh, and I guess it isn't the most important one. I'm just terrified that any minute you might brush against me.”

“What are you going to do when Bill gets back?”

“I'm even more terrified at that thought.”