Twisted Vine (17 page)

Sophie felt all her senses sharpen as she stepped into the bare room behind Ken, who had attached the prisoner’s handcuffs to a ring on the steel table. The room smelled musty and closed up, and she realized how seldom she’d been in it—her job was usually behind the reflective mirror on the other side.

Overly bright fluorescent lighting bleached out Lightbody’s black undershirt and bent head. He was midtwenties, medium-height, slender-built, with the olive-tan skin of mixed Asian and Hawaiian heritage.

Sophie’d brought her handheld tablet to make notes, and she had an Internet connection open to her computers so she could ask him site-related questions. She sat down beside Ken, who’d turned on the recording equipment at the door. They were both piped in to monitors and clearly visible to Lei and Waxman on the other side of the mirror.

Ken stated the date, time, and names of all present and started in. “Tell us about the philosophy behind DyingFriends and how it got started.”

The young man, Terence Chang III, rubbed the skin of one wrist. Sophie could see it was red and abraded from the cuffs.

“Agent Yamada, I wonder if Mr. Chang needs to be cuffed. He doesn’t seem like an ordinary criminal,” Sophie said.

Ken glanced at her, one brow raised, but went with it. He reached over with his key and undid the cuffs. They dropped free with a metallic clang.

“All right, Mr. Chang.” Sophie placed the tablet on the table, touching it with her long fingers as she gazed at the young man. “I am an admirer of your work. The DyingFriends site is an extraordinary accomplishment.”

Terence Chang looked up, eyes widening slightly. She flattered him some more.

“I’m a technology specialist for the FBI, and I routinely crack into databases and track their source within hours.  It took me an extraordinarily long time to penetrate your site and track you down, and in the course of the investigation, I came to admire both your skills and your passion for your cause. This is your moment to share your vision with us. Help us understand what you were trying to accomplish.”

“I did accomplish it.” Terence sat back with a return of what looked like a natural arrogance in his demeanor. “I wanted to help people who were mentally or physically dying adjust to their circumstances, make it easier. Help them by having some control and say over the process.”

“What got you interested in something so different from your family’s usual business?” Sophie chose her words carefully.

“My grandmother. Her situation.” He folded his lips tight.

“Your grandmother,” Ken said. “According to Agent Texeira, who was with her when she died, she didn’t know about the operation that was going on literally under her nose.”

“Fucking Texeiras. Tutu always said they’d be the death of her, and they were.” Chang almost spit the words. Sophie started and glanced at Ken, seeing in his narrowed eyes this wasn’t an avenue they wanted to pursue. Terence went on. “Tutu inspired the site. I’m glad she’s free of her body now.” Chang looked down, rubbed the red mark on his wrist. “She was sick with diabetes first. Then the lung cancer. She was a powerful woman. She wanted me to go legit. So I did.”

“And yet here you are, under arrest,” Ken said. “I wouldn’t call that legit.”

“It’s a matter of perception. Society just hasn’t caught up with us. Someday everything DyingFriends stands for will be legal.”

Sophie felt a shiver of anxiety at the utter conviction Terence Chang conveyed through his words. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Chang. Sometimes mistakes are made. For instance, I got a call from the ME’s office, and Betsy Brown? Remember her?” She held up the tablet, displayed Betsy’s photo arrayed in the bridal nightgown. She saw by the slight pinch of his nostrils that he did recognize her. “She thought she was dying of ALS. She was misdiagnosed. She had Guillain-Barré syndrome, a viral paralysis that is nonfatal. She would have recovered.”

This time, Terence Chang’s face blanched. Sophie went on. “Someone assisted her suicide, and that person is a murderer.”

Ken leaned forward. “Who was it? Help yourself. Give us something.”

“Was it KevorkianFan?” Sophie asked.

Chang shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. People should have a right to die when they want to. It’s a basic human right and covered under ‘freedom to pursue life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.’ Sometimes pursuing life, liberty, and happiness means pursuing death.”

“But not everyone should die when DyingFriends promotes them to.
Corby Alexander Hale III. He was nineteen. Yes, he had AIDS—but he could have lived almost a normal life span with proper medications and treatment, possibly even long enough to see a cure. Your organization took that choice from him.”

Chang shook his head again. “It’s about freedom. He chose his path. I merely helped him achieve his own goal.”

“So you’re admitting to that you assisted Corby Hale at his suicide?” Ken zeroed in on Chang.

A long pause before Chang answered. “I believe I’ll call for my lawyer now.”

Damn, Sophie thought. They’d pushed him too hard, too soon. Her earbud crackled with Waxman’s voice. “Offer him a phone, and see who he calls. We’ll get back to this later after the lawyer meets with him.”

Ken took out his phone. “Who can we call for you?”

“Bennie Fernandez,” Chang said. “He represents our family.”

Sophie heard Lei’s voice groan aloud in her ear. Fernandez was the premier defense lawyer in the state and had been a thorn in their side on many cases. Ken looked up Fernandez’s number for Chang and dialed it. Sophie looked back at the young man from the doorway as he sat on hold with the firm.

“I get what you were trying to do. You are a true pioneer.” Sophie wanted to leave him with the feeling of having an ally. She closed the door gently and followed Ken into the observation room, where Waxman and Lei waited.

“Good job, right until the part where you tried to get him to take the rap for murdering a senator’s son,” Waxman said dryly.

Ken shrugged. “He was going to lawyer up eventually. We’ll keep building the case against him—verify when he’s traveled and alibis for the deaths, et cetera. We’ve got this guy. We don’t need a confession.”

“I don’t think so.” Waxman shook his head. “I think you’re going to have to prove this case, and that’s going to be tough. And what the hell was that about the Texeiras?” Even in the dim light, Sophie could see the paleness of the other agent’s skin, freckles across her nose standing out like blots of paint and the bruises on her face darkening. “Lei, are you feeling okay?” Waxman asked.

“No. And, sir, I have a history with that family. Long, sad story.”

“Do I need to know it right now?”

“No, but you should know it eventually. Actually has nothing to do with this case.”

Waxman gave an abrupt nod. “Texeira, go home immediately. In fact, Ken, why don’t you run her home? It’ll take at least that long for Fernandez to get here and confer with his client.”

Lei rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, I think I need an ice pack or two. I can always review the tapes.” They left, and Sophie looked at Waxman. They both looked over at Chang, head bent over the phone.

“I’m glad you didn’t let Texeira go into the interview,” Sophie said. “We’ll get more out of him without her there.”

“Do you know any of this ‘long story’ she alluded to?” Sophie asked. Waxman’s pale brows had come together, and she felt her throat constrict with worry. She knew Lei had been under scrutiny since she joined the Honolulu office, but her chief needed all the facts to best handle the case.

“What history?” Waxman snapped.

“I know this from Marcella. You know she and Lei are close.” Sophie sketched in what Marcella had told her about Lei’s background in Hilo and the multistranded web connecting her and the Changs. “I wonder if that’s why Healani Chang took her own life—being defeated by Lei might have pushed her over the edge.”

“Texeira’s off the case,” Waxman said flatly. “And I’m going to want her interviewed separately about the showdown. If Terence Chang tells this to Bennie Fernandez—and he will—it could compromise our whole prosecution. I’ll see if Dr. LaSota can make a house call. She’s in town.” He got out and worked his phone, and Sophie stared through the glass at Terence Chang, who was still rubbing his wrists.

“Sophie, you can shut the site down, right?” Waxman had finished his calls.

“I can, yes, but we need an order to do it.”

“I’ll work on that, get a judge to issue an injunction so no more suicides go on while we’re investigating.”

“It’s too bad for the legit part of the site. A lot of people are helped by it. It doesn’t get weird until the deeper layers.”

“Can you disable just the deeper layers?”

“Not without Lightbody’s cooperation, if he’s even the site administrator. We’re still missing KevorkianFan, the author of all the op-ed pieces. I need to get into the operating system and make modifications. I’m not backdoored into all that.”

“Well. I want you to go back in alone and try to get that cooperation from him. If you can’t, I want you to shut the whole site down,” Waxman said.

“That I would be happy to do.” They both watched the next-generation crime boss of the Chang family, sitting arrogantly relaxed in the interview room. Sophie had a bad feeling she couldn’t put into words.

Lei woke up from a Vicodin-assisted nap to the barking of the dogs warning her there was a visitor. She pushed a handful of curly hair off her forehead and encountered the knot where she’d hit the rail of the bed there. Her jaw, where she’d landed, still hurt too. Both had left nasty bruises. Considering the bullets flying around that morning, she thought they’d all gotten off light. Shot-up vehicles, two of the Changs in the hospital but expected to fully recover, and one suicide—all in all, not bad.

Lei walked to the door and was surprised to see Dr. LaSota, FBI psychologist, accompanied by an unknown agent, standing outside the gate. She hurried across the yard, shushing the dogs. “Come in, Dr. LaSota. This is a surprise. I expected a debrief but not so soon or at my home.”

“Yes, I’ll explain inside.” The diminutive brunette psychologist, pressed and perfect in her FBI gray, gestured to her companion. “This is Special Agent Pillman.”

Lei shook the agent’s firm, square hand. Hard brown eyes assessed her. “Call me Hank.”

“Nice to meet you, Hank. Come in, please.” She led the way into the little cottage, got through the dogs’ antics, and ushered them inside.

Something was up. She’d anticipated a debrief, but not until the next time she went in to work. She’d planned to take another day or two off, let her head get back to normal now that Terence Chang was safely in custody. But if she’d identified “call me Hank” Pillman correctly, he was with Internal Affairs Division.

She offered them refreshments, and when everyone had a glass of ice water, she sat down at the little table with them.

“So, Hank. I expected an interview with Dr. LaSota or Dr. Wilson, but what brings you here?”

He flipped open his cred wallet, showed her the unique badge that designated Internal Affairs. “You can call your union rep to be present for this interview.”

Lei’s heartbeat picked up.  Black spots encroached, and she felt the throb of the headache resurging. She held herself very still, one hand creeping down to pinch her thigh. “Am I in trouble? What is this about?”

Dr. LaSota, sharp, dark eyes observant and taking in every move Lei made, took out a tape recorder and set it on the table, pressed Record.

“You have been apprised of your right to a union rep,” she said. “Are you waiving that right?”

“For the moment. Until I know what this is about.”

“All right. We’ll get started, see where this goes. Tell us about the events of this morning’s raid, step by step.”

Lei took a sip of water and tried to focus. Her thoughts felt elusive, little fish slipping through her fingers. She tracked back and described getting the address and the call to do the raid, communicating with South Hilo Station and SWAT, flying into
Hilo, converging on the residence.

She paused for another sip of water.

“Was that when you realized you were raiding the Chang crime family’s house, or was it earlier?” Hank asked.

So that was what this was about.

She realized in that moment that the head injury really had dulled her thought processes. How had Internal Affairs found out about her relationship with the Changs? Waxman had to have called them.

“I recognized the Chang residence when we arrived at the coordinates of the location we were sent to. We didn’t have Lightbody’s name, just the location of his computer. I didn’t know until we pulled up to the house.”

“So did you say anything to anyone about your involvement with the Changs in the past?”

“It hasn’t been relevant. When we got to the residence, I told Ken I knew this family and that they would be heavily armed. We were about to do a raid, and a dog was barking inside the house. There wasn’t time for a lot of second-guessing.”

“So at what point did you realize you shouldn’t be participating in the raid?”

“At no point did I think that.” Anger had begun to build. “It’s pure coincidence that he’s a Chang. We followed the evidence. Nothing more.”

“And how interesting that Healani Chang shot herself while you were alone in the room with her,” Pillman said. “Isn’t there a feud between your families?”

Lei sat back, found her hand had come up to cover her mouth. “What are you saying? That I killed her?”

“Are you saying that?”

“I think I will call for my union rep now. Do I need a lawyer as well?”

“Lei. May I call you Lei?” Dr. LaSota leaned forward.

“No, you may call me Agent Texeira.” Lei’s head really was throbbing. “One thing I will say before this interview is over is this: I have a head injury and I need to get it looked at. If I hadn’t had it, I would have appreciated the situation I’m in more clearly.” She got her phone out. “I need to go to the hospital. I was supposed to stay there in
Hilo, but I wanted to continue with the investigation.”

“Uh-huh. Right,” Pillman said.

“You can check with SAC Waxman, with anyone on the team. When Healani pulled her gun, I hit the ground and whacked my head on the metal bedframe. My chin on the IV stand.” She pointed to her face. “Waxman sent me home to rest from the interview. I was supposed to go to the hospital on the Big Island.”

Dr. LaSota had a crease between her arched brows and seemed a little worried. She gave Pillman a quelling glance as he started to say something more. “We’ll take you there ourselves. You shouldn’t be driving if that’s the case. We can verify everything she’s saying, Agent Pillman.”

In the back of their black SUV, Lei texted Stevens, Marcella, and Ken:
Going to hospital. Head injury in raid. IA investigating me b/c of Chang involvement.

This was no time to suffer stoically alone. She needed all the support she could get. Dr. LaSota, sitting in the passenger seat, had called Lei’s union rep.  That worthy individual said he appreciated the heads-up but didn’t want to come until they resumed the interview, which he assumed would be after Lei had recovered from her injuries and a doctor had signed off on that. Pillman looked irritable at that news.

“So I don’t need a lawyer?” Lei asked.

“We aren’t charging you with anything at this time,” Pillman said over his shoulder. “We are just trying to get to the bottom of what happened.”

“I don’t understand where you’re going with all this. I did nothing wrong.”

Neither of the other agents answered.

Lei went through the paperwork at the emergency room, feeling like a suspect with the stoic agents standing behind her. Her phone rang with Stevens’s call, and she answered it, standing in front of the admissions clerk.

“I’m getting the next flight out.” His voice was tight with anxiety.

“You don’t have to.” Lei glanced at LaSota and Pillman, reveling in the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought. “I have company.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll see you soon.” He rang off. She was bolstered by his immediate support. Marcella and Ken arrived together a few minutes later, and she grinned at the sight of them in spite of her sore face.

“Good,” Pillman said, as they approached. “We need to interview both of you.”

“Have a little decency,” Ken said. “This is my partner, and she’s here with a head injury. Let’s see if she’s okay first. And I want to be the first to meet with you. I have some evidence to discuss.”

Marcella came to hug Lei, careful not to jostle, and stood close enough that Lei could feel her body heat.

“I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding,” she said to the agents, with her best dimpled smile. Unfortunately, LaSota appeared impervious, and so did Pillman.

The nurse arrived at that moment and helped Lei into a wheelchair. “Off to get a CT scan,” she said. “Only one person can accompany the patient.”

Marcella stepped in. “Lead on.” 

After the CT scan, they admitted Lei for observation, and she was propped up in bed, sipping water from a straw when Ken came to the door.

“Your turn, Marcella. They’re using an empty exam room for the interviews,” he said.

Marcella tweaked one of Lei’s curls as she got up to leave. “Don’t worry, Sweets. This is just Waxman getting a bug up his ass. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Good thing I took some steps at the scene to protect you,” Ken said. “Agent Pillman was almost disappointed I’d taken your weapons and checked them—not discharged. I also swabbed your hands for GSR. I showed them the evidence that you never, at any time, discharged or handled a weapon at the scene.” Lei dimly remembered handing him her Glocks, the damp swab on her hands. She’d barely registered what he was doing at the time.

“I owe you, partner. Big-time. I had no idea they’d go in this direction with this.” Lei felt sick at the thought of being prosecuted for Healani Chang’s death. “Thanks for the quick thinking.”

“I know how a defense attorney thinks, and I hadn’t just gotten a concussion.” Ken took Marcella’s seat beside the bed. “Just wanted to get some insurance for you after what you’d told me about the Changs a while ago.”

“Those assholes,” Marcella said. “I’ve got a few things to say on the subject.” She stomped out.

“Just relax,” Ken said. “This’ll blow over. Stay cool. You’ve been through worse with Waxman, right?”

“Yeah.” Lei’s head hurt too much to think. She closed her eyes. “Can I have a pill yet? The pain is really bad.”

“Yes, young lady, you can.” An unfamiliar voice. She opened her eyes to see a doctor reviewing her chart. “You have a concussion, which means there’s some swelling around your brain. I want to keep you here overnight for observation since this is a two-time injury. Now that we know what’s going on, it’s okay for you to have something for pain.”

He signaled, and the nurse who’d been standing by injected  medication into Lei’s IV, and in mere moments, she felt herself slipping into blessed darkness.